Totes, Taste, and TikToks: Performing Identity One Swipe at a Time

The Age of the Tote and the Labubu

Lately, I’ve been away—not just from this blog, but from the noise. I needed space to observe, to step outside the algorithm and let myself notice what often slips by in the rush. And in that quiet, something started to crystallize: a strange pattern that kept surfacing. At first, a whisper. Then, a scream—echoing through street corners, tote bags, and TikTok scrolls. I began noticing a strange pattern: we’re performing our identities more than ever, and consumption is the costume. From Mubi totes to Rhode’s Glazing Milk, from Summer Fridays flat-lays to those ever-present Labubu dolls dangling from $1,200 bags, it’s clear—we’re no longer buying just for function or even aesthetics. We’re buying to be seen.

In an era where owning property feels out of reach for most millennials and Gen Z, what’s replaced real estate as the ultimate status symbol? Knowledge. Taste. Quirkiness. And, of course, the visible things that signal them. We’ve traded permanence for performance. But beneath this theater of self-expression lies a deeper question: if we’re all wearing the same curated badges of belonging, are we really expressing ourselves—or just mimicking each other?

Status Has Shifted: From Property to Performance

Not long ago, traditional markers of success were tangible: a house, a car, a closet full of designer staples. Today, as inflation bites and housing becomes inaccessible for large segments of the population, status symbols have shrunk. They now fit in your hand—or more precisely, in your feed.

The new markers of status are portable and postable: a New Yorker tote bag suggests literacy and urban sophistication; a piece of “ugly-cute” utility wear implies you're in touch with function-over-fashion aesthetics. Social capital now hinges on what you can signal with a small, shareable token. Performative consumption is what fills the vacuum left by unaffordable aspiration.

The Labubu Syndrome: Shareable, Shallow, and Strange

Few objects capture this cultural shift as perfectly as Labubu—a quirky monster plush born from Pop Mart’s blind box drops. Originally a niche toy figure by artist Kasing Lung, Labubu catapulted to international attention when celebrities like BLACKPINK’s Lisa and Simone Biles began flaunting them as bag charms. Suddenly, Labubu wasn’t just cute—it was cool.

With over 300 variations and secondary market prices reaching $1,000+, Labubu now functions as a soft power flex. It’s not about loving monsters—it’s about having the right one at the right time and sharing it at the right angle. The blind-box unboxing content floods TikTok. Reddit threads lament reseller culture. Meanwhile, grown adults—many well past 25—cling to obscure plush monsters as if they were secret handshakes into a cooler subculture.

Labubu isn’t the only one. From Sonny Angels to Stanley cups to Squishmallows, these seemingly odd status objects all serve the same purpose: being seen as plugged-in, playful, and current. If it makes people ask, “Where did you get that?”—even better.

Micro-Luxuries & the Shelf Appeal Economy

Then there are the little luxuries—beauty products and lifestyle items so aesthetically pleasing and algorithmically primed they practically beg to be Instagrammed. Rhode, Summer Fridays, and Sol de Janeiro dominate not just vanities but feeds.

Rhode’s Glazing Milk essence sells out not just for its skincare benefits, but because it’s a branded extension of Hailey Bieber’s personal brand. Summer Fridays masks glow more in flat-lays than they do on your face. And Sol de Janeiro mists? They’re designed to smell like vacation and look like one, too.

Search interest for these brands has spiked over 200% YoY in some cases. They’re not just products—they’re social currency. You can’t afford the Dior bag? Post the Brazilian Bum Bum cream instead. It’s not about indulgence—it’s about aesthetic fluency. In the shelf appeal economy, your bathroom becomes your showroom.

Flexing Taste: The Rise of Niche Knowledge

Once we’ve maxed out shareable products, we move on to something more potent: taste. Or at least, the performance of it. Streaming platforms like Mubi and social apps like Letterboxd have turned taste into a theater of its own.

Carrying a Mubi tote suggests you’ve seen more than just mainstream films—you have curated taste. Letterboxd lets you build an identity out of your “Four Favorite Films,” even if you haven’t seen them all the way through. The idea is not just to consume content, but to broadcast your curated intellectual self.

Psychologically, this taps into self-verification theory—we want to be seen the way we see ourselves—or do we? Perhaps what we really crave is for others to recognize and validate the carefully curated, interchangeable glass masks we’ve chosen to wear. In seeking to express ourselves, we might be losing sight of who we actually are. And sharing obscure facts, niche fandoms, or taste markers earns us “social currency” in the digital economy. When cultural capital is performative, knowledge isn’t power—it’s branding.

Have We Traded Subcultures for Badges?

In the past, belonging to a subculture took commitment. You went to the shows, read the zines, lived the ethos. Today? You buy the tote. Or hang the plushie. Or post your niche opinion on your Story.

We’ve replaced the slow burn of identity-building with the rapid rotation of aesthetic codes. Labubu today. Mubi tomorrow. Strava next week—because now everyone’s a runner, and the ultimate flex is a screenshot of your 5K pace. We cycle through symbols, but never fully sink into them. What once were communities now feel like rotating costumes—curated for the grid.

Mimetic desire, as theorized by René Girard, explains this perfectly: we want what others want, especially when it seems like it will earn us belonging or admiration. But when everyone’s performing, who’s actually connecting?

Shelf Space, Feed Space, and Selfhood

In the era of algorithmic identity, consumption isn’t just personal—it’s performative.

We tote around symbols of who we wish to be: a Labubu keychain that screams “I’m quirky and in-the-know,” a Sol de Janeiro body mist that whispers “I indulge, but cutely,” or a Mubi tote that tells the world “I don’t just watch films—I curate my taste.”

Where status used to be tied to permanence—home ownership, luxury cars, inheritance—it’s now attached to portability and shareability. Status fits in a feed, not a garage.

But this isn’t just about aesthetics. What we display, unbox, or hashtag reflects deeper needs: to be seen, to belong, to build a story about ourselves. Micro-luxuries, niche merch, and oddball collectibles act as badges of selfhood—swapped out, layered on, and recycled across trends.

Yet as we trade subcultures for aesthetic moods and deep passions for digestible “interests,” we might ask: are we expressing ourselves, or just auditioning for each other?

Performative consumption isn't inherently hollow—but it begs for intention. The next time we reach for a status symbol (be it glazed skin or a monster plush), maybe the better question isn’t “Who will see this?” but “Does this see me?”

Coming Soon:

In the coming weeks, I’ll explore the rise of the micro-luxury economy, the cultural mechanics of the Labubu craze, and how “being interesting” became the ultimate online performance. But for now—have you seen these patterns too? Maybe it’s time to reflect. What are the wildest bandwagons you’ve hopped on to feel seen? I’ll go first: I almost caved into the Sonny Angels trend—until I realized that wasn’t really me. Let’s share, let’s question, and maybe—just maybe—reclaim a little more of our truest selves in the process.