Stop telling your Dad to beat the creases out of his those ancient, starchy Wranglers: Richard's Rocking Normcore, OK? New York Magazine describes the 1995 food court aesthetic as "going back to a time before adolescence, before we learned to differentiate identity through dress." In other words, it's a premeditated search for things to wear that make you look naturally like other people. In other other words, clothes. This is not a new idea, but sit down. Are you ready for Normcore? Let us help you to gain the ability to spot Normcore out of captivity while we help ourselves. A process together is a process forever (#Normcore).

This is spoon-fed to us as archetypal Normcore, and the Adidas trainers and Skating Rink Lost & Found boots certainly are. But a Barneys t-shirt? With the lone exception of scene sternum tattoos, chest-level branding is out. You want to look like an audience member for a Carmen Sandiego taping, and if I'm the casting director, the kid in the Barneys t-shirt is gonna have to hoof it over to Global Guts or some other chickenshit pony show that doesn't have my exacting standards.

Rating: SLOPPY NORMCORE

Let's get this out of the way: business casual is NOT Normcore. It's a playful notion arising from a Tim & Eric-ian idea that talismans of "relaxed" ultra-conformity (cell phone holsters, uncomfortable tucked-in polo shirts, bland colors) can be wildly transgressive, but Normcore doesn't strive for conformity. Normcore arrives at "fitting in" from a place of innocence, not compulsion. You only walk out of the house like this because it's been beaten into your brain to do so.

Rating: NOT NORMCORE, DAD


She's too much. Too much color, too many trinkets, too much Twee. This girl is Normcore only if we want to wade in the juvenilia of playing dress up with grandma's costume jewelry and whatever else is thrown in that giant cabinet under the TV filled with broken board games, picture books with bent spines and shattered light bulbs.

Rating: NOT NORMCORE

If this were a secret Sims character you'd have to type "Normcore" fourteen times forwards and backwards to unlock him. Muted colors, a faint trace of acid wash, and no belt (what conjures up more childhood memories than going beltless?) all point strongly to Normcore. Shiny shoes and claw-crotch-hand can be overlooked here as innocent mistakes, which fit nicely with the aesthetic anyway. Notice how you can't quite see the whites of his eyes and he just might be wearing a morset? That is body-horror-into-the-void Normcore chic.

Rating: SIMULATED NORMCORE


A primary color and a tippy-top button might cause "Normcore" to tumble off your Lik-M-Maid stained lips but this gentleman is clearly too stylish to be Normcore.

Rating: DIET SUPREME

In the immortal words of Normcore-by-way-of-that-song-that-always-played-when-Mom-took-you-to-Geometry-tutoring-and-then-quickly-changed-it-because-why-is-Q99-playing-this-hard-stuff? band Golden Earring, THIS look, this is where The Bullet Hits The Bone.

On its face, this man is wearing Normcore: a shirt not reluctantly accepted from a relative returning from vacation, trainers, a goddamned Red Sox hat, and a large iced coffee. A wedding ring. One might say that the celebrity-in-public-trying-to-blend-in is the Original Normcore.

Then again, Mr. Affleck's off-duty cop look just might ferry us across the river Styx to the Normcore aporia: this is Normcore, because it is actually normal, but it can never be normal, because it is Ben Affleck, and Normcore isn't a thing. #Normcore is just an annoying thrifting variant trend, time is a flat circle, irony kills, etc.

Rating: NOT NORMCORE

Gently, yet jauntily laced crosstrainers, America tan, a blank slate, throbbing veins, a gentle swath of leg hair, and calf muscles that would make any middle school P.E. teacher worth their V-sit & reaches swallow their whistle. This is Normcore at its bravest and boldest. Who said it can't be worn by anyone over the age of 22?

Rating: NORMCORE

With Marc Yearsley, who only wears Normcore in the shower.