Which Came First: The Microtrend or the Monetisation?
Exploring how the commodification of inspiration allows the business of aesthetics to profit from trends before they even fully materialise
Pinterest newsroom: Pinterest Predicts 2025 RolloutThere’s something deliciously ironic about scheduling innovation. Every year, the design world churns out its predictions: Pantone names its Colour of the Year, Pinterest unveils meticulously curated “Predicts” pages, and influencers on TikTok declare the inevitable rise of “2025 Graphic Design Trends”. We’re invited to distill a year of consumption into bite-sized visuals and dream about the aesthetics that might dominate our feeds next. But behind the alluring visuals lies a deeper tension: trends don’t just reflect culture—they increasingly shape and commodify it, as a result the cost isn’t just creative fatigue but the erosion of authenticity itself.
Admittedly, I’m as complicit as anyone. I pore over these lists with a mix of curiosity and quiet judgment, debating a studio’s forecast or finding delight in Pinterest’s faux worlds of set design (c’mon, tell me you’re not curious about which trends Giorgia Lupi and co want dead in 2025). There’s something irresistible about this collective pause, this moment when taste crystallises into tangible touchpoints. But this year, as I scrolled through the barrage of headlines and micro-aesthetics, a sense of cynicism crept in. The trends felt less like mirrors of culture and more like arrows pointing to a corporate agenda. Who decides what visuals define a year? And who profits when these predictions come to life?
Pinterest predicts throughout the years 2022, 2023, 2024Trends, at their core, tap into our need to belong, to adapt, and to feel relevant. Historically, aligning with the group was crucial for survival. Social proof—the tendency to follow the crowd for validation—offers comfort in an otherwise overwhelming world. Sociologist Barry Schwartz’s “Paradox of Choice” (think Iyengar and Lepper’s jam experiment, for my psychology nerds) explains this well: too many options lead to anxiety. Trends offer a shortcut, sparing us the mental labour of curating individual tastes.
“Trends offer a shortcut, sparing us the mental labour of curating individual tastes.”
For Gen Z, these choices come with heightened stakes. Raised in a world of algorithm-driven visibility, aesthetic fluency has become a form of cultural capital—one that’s often defined by the labels we attach to our identities. And oh, how Gen Z loves a good label (this is self-targeted). Dark Academia, Coastal Cowgirl, Indie Sleaze—each trend is a neatly packaged expression with its own glossary of features. These names, while fun, are necessary: they make trends digestible and marketable. How else do you survive the algorithmic churn if not by naming your look “Eclectic Grandpa Core” or “Underconsumption Chic”? (Though let’s be honest, it’s just a thrifted sweater from Goodwill.)
left to right: Eclectic Grandpa, tiktok discussing microtrends, what is the coastal cowgirl aesthetic?, dark academia outfitsThis dynamic isn’t new. Thorstein Veblen’s concept of “conspicuous consumption”—using goods to signal status—finds new expression in today’s trend cycles. But the difference now is speed and scale. Subcultures once shaped trends over years; today, algorithms and corporate interests compress those cycles into months, nay sometimes even weeks. This relentless churn prioritises immediacy over depth, leaving little room for reflection or genuine innovation. Designers, in particular, are often pushed toward mimicry, reacting to fleeting aesthetics instead of exploring enduring ideas.
This tension between organic emergence and corporate orchestration isn’t new either. Memphis Design in the 1980s rejected minimalism and embraced bold, playful forms without the constraints of corporate agendas. Unlike today’s trends, Memphis thrived not because of algorithmic amplification or strategic partnerships, but because of its audacity to defy dominant norms. Its influence endures, proving that authentic creative movements can resonate across generations without being engineered for disposability. By contrast, today’s trends reflect a system of planned aesthetic obsolescence: a rapid rise, saturation, and decline designed to sustain consumer appetites.
Left: Memphis-Milano posters of Bel Air, Tahiti, and Frist Chair
Right: Memphis Group designers 1980-1988Once a trend enters the mainstream, brands waste no time capitalising on it. Collaborations, limited-edition collections, and thematic campaigns flood the market, ensuring the aesthetic reaches every consumer. But this saturation also accelerates a trend’s decline. As Elizabeth Goodspeed aptly puts it, “Trends don’t predict the future—they create it.” Platforms and corporations don’t just observe trends—they engineer them, ensuring their ubiquity before orchestrating their fall. Planned obsolescence, once tied to physical goods, now drives trend cycles—an ironic twist that would surely make Raymond Loewy shudder.
“Platforms and corporations don’t just observe trends—they engineer them, ensuring their ubiquity before orchestrating their fall.”
Even as trends are fleeting and spontaneous in appearance, they’re rarely as organic as they seem. Platforms like Pinterest and Pantone position themselves as gatekeepers of inspiration, blurring the line between observation and orchestration– a rather chicken and egg situation.
Take Pinterest’s Predicts 2025 report, for example. Touted as a glimpse into the future of taste, it’s a meticulously crafted exercise in creative persuasion. From catchy trend titles like Rococo Revival and Cherry Coded to elaborate editorial photography and an interactive website brimming with microinteractions (credit where credit is due as a web designer), Pinterest’s influence is rooted in its algorithmic amplification of user data. By identifying patterns from its vast network of pins, the platform doesn’t just reflect what’s popular—it actively shapes what becomes popular. As Kira Klaas points out, these predictions often become self-fulfilling prophecies: once a trend is named, Pinterest’s algorithm prioritises its visibility, embedding it across curated boards and promoted content. This user-driven, bottom-up approach positions Pinterest as a powerhouse of cultural influence, transforming raw data into a polished roadmap for brands eager to capitalise on the next big thing.
Photography and website landing page of pinterest predicts 2025Pantone, on the other hand, operates with a distinctly top-down approach. Its Colour of the Year 2025, Mocha Mousse, epitomises how trends are orchestrated to serve corporate interests. Marketed as a “reassuring and timeless neutral,” the shade sparked widespread debate over its blandness. But far from being a reaction to user-driven trends, Pantone’s choice reflects a calculated strategy. Through partnerships with industries spanning fashion, interiors, and digital design, Pantone ensured Mocha Mousse became more than a colour—it was positioned as a cultural staple. A collaboration with Wix, for instance, integrated the shade into web design templates, presenting it as an “on-trend” solution for designers. Unlike Pinterest’s data-driven amplification, Pantone’s process leverages its authority to dictate taste, embedding its chosen palette into industry frameworks and encouraging designers to align with its aesthetic decisions as a mark of relevance.
Pantone’s color of the year 2025 mocha mousse
wix studio x pantone web capsule collaboration campaign and templatesPinterest’s influence is reactive, amplifying user data, while Pantone’s is prescriptive, shaping trends through strategic partnerships. Together, they illustrate how trends are engineered from both ends of the spectrum: Pinterest reflects collective imagination, while Pantone imposes a singular vision. Tools that once inspired now dictate, narrowing the scope of what is seen and valued. Trends may offer convenience, but their rapid cycles dull the edges of what makes design transformative.
“As long as designers remain willing to question the systems that shape their work, there will always be room for creativity to thrive.”
The challenge isn’t to reject trends outright—they’ve always been integral to creative evolution—but to resist their most reductive forms. Designers can look to slow design movements, DIY aesthetics, or hyper-localised approaches that prioritise depth and connection over ubiquity. Consumers, too, have agency: by engaging with trends thoughtfully, prioritising meaning over immediacy, they can support work that values creativity over conformity. At its core, design isn’t just about aesthetics. It’s about intention, empathy, and impact. Can we push back against the beige-ification of imagination and rediscover design as a practice of curiosity and risk? The answer lies not in rejecting the systems we find ourselves in but in reshaping them, challenging the platforms and corporations that have made inspiration their business.
As long as designers remain willing to question the systems that shape their work, there will always be room for creativity to thrive—not as a product of trends, but as a reflection of something deeper, something untethered by the need to conform. Still, escaping trends entirely? Let’s be real—I’m already knee-deep in Wicked’s inescapable pink-and-green rollout at my day job at NBCU. And yes, I’ll probably pin the next Cherry Coded design anyway.
