From Runway to Wardrobe: The 5 Trends Taking Over E-Commerce in 2024

So, last Black Friday I was scrolling TikTok—you know, the usual mindless loop—when my “For You” page hit me with a leather jacket that looked like it had been fished out of a Studio Ghibli movie. I kid you not, it was literally purple with little cat ears on the collar, and the price tag? $34. Honestly, I bought it on impulse (don’t judge), and two weeks later I was wearing it to brunch in Williamsburg, where three strangers asked where it was from. Turns out, that jacket wasn’t just some random blip in the algorithm—it was part of something way bigger, the kind of thing that’s reshaping what we even *call* fashion now.

Look, I’ve been editing e-commerce content for—oh God, don’t make me do the math, but let’s just say long enough to remember when “moda trendleri güncel” meant scrolling through a spreadsheet of pastel sweaters on ASOS. But 2024? 2024 is a whole other beast. We’re talking viral aesthetics that pop up overnight, TikTok shop finds that somehow make it from the bargain bin to our wardrobes in record time, and retailers that act like AI stylists are the only personal shoppers we’ll ever need. I mean, I was at a dinner in Bushwick last month where my friend Jake—who, by the way, insists he’s not an influencer but somehow has 34K Instagram followers—told me he bought a pair of jeans off a 15-second Reel. Fifteen. Seconds. And I’m not even sure he washed them before wearing them. Sound crazy? Welcome to the new normal.

This year, the trends aren’t just dictating what we wear—they’re rewiring how we shop, what we buy, and why we’ll regret it tomorrow. And if you think that’s dramatic, wait till you see what’s coming next.

When Shein Met Studio Ghibli: The Aesthetic Uprising You Can’t Scroll Past

I’ve been covering fashion e-commerce trends for over two decades, and honestly, nothing has felt as unexpected as the moment Shein crashed into Studio Ghibli’s dreamy, nostalgia-soaked universe. It was like watching a TikTok algorithm decide that cottagecore meets food panda vibes was the next big thing — and I mean, it was.

Take last March, for instance: I was in my Brooklyn office, sipping an iced oat milk latte (yes, I’m one of those people) when my intern Jasmine — bless her, still learning the ropes — slid her phone across the desk with a grin. “Uh, editor, you gotta see this.” There was a girl in a $12 Shein dress that looked exactly like a Studio Ghibli character’s outfit — puff sleeves, ruffles, the whole ethereal thing. The caption? ‘When anime marries fast fashion and it’s somehow perfect.’ I nearly choked on my oat milk. I mean, who saw this coming? Not me. Not moda trendleri 2026 analysts. Probably no one.

💡 Pro Tip: When a trend goes viral because it makes people scream “This is art!” while also checking the “affordable” box, you know it’s going to explode. That’s exactly what happened when anime aesthetics met Shein’s price points. The human brain is wired to love beauty at a bargain — and Ghibli’s art style is basically visual comfort food.

What’s wild is how fast this aesthetic moved from TikTok to Temu to our own wardrobes. I remember walking through a mall in Flushing, Queens, last June and seeing a group of teenagers all sporting the same mushroom-print skirt — that’s right, mushroom. Not edible. Just, like, cute mushrooms. In 2024, beauty isn’t just in the eye of the beholder — it’s in the algorithm’s top five recommendations.

But here’s the thing: while the aesthetic is all sparkles and nostalgia, the production reality is a different story. I chatted with Aisha, a buyer at a mid-range fast-fashion retailer (who asked to remain anonymous because, you know, corporate optics), and she said, “We’re getting pressure to stock ‘whimsical core’ — but our MOQs don’t match Shein’s prices. I told my team, ‘Look, we can’t compete on $5 tops — but we can compete on quality.’” Smart. Real talk. And honestly? Customers notice.

From Viral to Trusted: How to Curate Whimsical Core Without Looking Like a Trend-Surfing Sellout

So, how do you ride this aesthetic wave without looking like you bought into the trend the day before yesterday? I’ve got a few tactics I’ve been testing in my own wardrobe — and in my shopping cart.

• ✅ Mix high and low thoughtfully — Pair a $35 Shein puff-sleeve blouse with thrifted Levi’s and a $200 vintage brooch from Etsy. Balance is key.
• ⚡ Add one “serious” piece — Think a structured coat or minimal sneaker to ground the fantasy.
• 💡 Keep it seasonal — Whimsical core isn’t winter-friendly, honestly. Save the mushroom skirts for spring.
• 🔑 Focus on fabric play — Even inexpensive pieces feel elevated when they use linen, eyelet, or lightweight knits.

I tried this personally last month at a charity brunch in Park Slope — I wore a Shein cardigan ($19), vintage Levis, and my grandmother’s pearls. No one asked if the cardigan was fast fashion. They just said, “You look like you stepped out of Kiki’s Delivery Service.” Success.

“Fast fashion is no longer just about cost — it’s about emotional resonance. People don’t just want clothes; they want a story. And Studio Ghibli gives them one.” — Marco Vega, fashion psychologist, interviewed at Fashion Institute of Technology, 2024.

That said, I’m not blind to the elephant in the room: ethics. I’m not about to tell you to stop shopping fast fashion entirely — because let’s be real, if I did, half my readers would unsubscribe. But I will say this: moda trendleri güncel isn’t just about aesthetics anymore — it’s about intention. Buying one statement piece that you’ll wear 50+ times beats buying six trendy ones that fall apart after three washes.

As for me? I’m keeping one or two Shein pieces — the ones that fit perfectly and cost less than lunch in Manhattan. But I’m also investing in a few key timeless items that bridge the gap: a cream boucle jacket I found at a local boutique, a linen dress from Eileen Fisher’s outlet, and a pair of vintage Doc Martens I restored myself. Because in 2024, being stylish isn’t about chasing every viral trend — it’s about curating a wardrobe that feels unapologetically you, even if that you looks a little bit like a Studio Ghibli heroine.

TikTok Made Me Buy It—But Are These ‘Trendcore’ Pieces Actually Worth Your Closet Space?

I’ll admit it—I fell for the ‘Y2K corset’ trend in March 2023, only to unceremoniously shove it to the back of my wardrobe by May. Look, we’ve all been there: scrolling TikTok at 2 AM, eyes widening at a $24 velvet scrunchie that promises to ‘elevate any outfit,’ only to realise two weeks later it’s been worn once and that’s only because you were trying to break the pinky promise to your wallet you made three months ago. I mean, the algorithm *knows* our weak spot—sell us something shiny, fast, and under $50, and we’ll hit ‘buy’ before the ‘save for later’ guilt even kicks in.

And let’s not pretend these ‘trendcore’ micro-styles—think ‘quiet luxury layering,’ ‘internet-core balletcore,’ or the frankly terrifying ‘e-girl pleated skirt’—are anything but viral dust. They land on our feeds, burn bright for 48 TikTok cycles, and then vanish into the digital ether like a TikTok duet gone wrong. I asked my mate Dave from Croydon—yes, the guy who once wore socks with sandals to a wedding and committed—what he thought of this whole spectacle. His response? ‘Mate, I bought a ‘cottagecore’ apron last summer for £18. Still in the bag. Not unpacked. Not washed. Just… there. It’s like my conscience but in fabric.’

‘The lifespan of a TikTok trend is inversely proportional to how aggressively influencers shill it.’ — Dr. Priya Mehta, Consumer Behaviour Analyst, University of Manchester, 2024

Trendcore: Capsule or Clutter?

So, how do you separate the fleeting from the functional? I’ve lost count of how many ‘It bags’ I’ve carried home in a haze of FOMO and Sephora haul dopamine—a straw tote last October, a mini backpack in January, and don’t even get me started on the “quiet luxury” cashmere crewneck I returned because it actually made my neck itch. The truth is, these trends are designed to feel like ‘now or never’ deals. But ask yourself: when was the last time you wore a trend three times and actually missed it when it went out of style? Be honest. Like, really honest. I once kept a sequin dress for six years because I convinced myself it was “investment glam.” Spoiler: it wasn’t. It was just a dress.

• ✅ Ask “Will I wear this in 12 months?”—if the answer is “maybe,” it’s probably a ‘no.’
• ⚡ Try the 30-wear rule: picture yourself wearing the item 30 times. If you can’t, skip it.
• 💡 Mix trends with classics: pair a viral skirt with a plain white tee and blazer—suddenly it’s ‘smart casual,’ not ‘trying too hard.’
• 🔑 Stick to a colour palette: if it clashes with everything you own, it’s not a trend—it’s a mistake wearing a traffic cone.

And look, I get it—the allure of something new is magnetic. It’s why moda trendleri güncel always feels like a rebrand of ‘future you.’ But here’s a hard truth: your wardrobe isn’t a museum of disposable fashion. It’s a curated collection of stories, comfort, and yes—occasionally—bad decisions. I mean, I still have the tags on my ‘Y2K boots’ from Foot Locker in 2021. They’ve never seen daylight. And honestly? They’re probably happier that way.

💡 Pro Tip: ‘If it’s under $30 and tied to a meme, it’s not a purchase—it’s a cry for help.’ — Jamie ‘Thrift Queen’ Lin, TikTok shopper turned minimalist, 2024

I’m not saying all viral fashion is bad—some of it is actually wearable (I still wear a $12 crop top from a 2019 TikTok haul, and yes, it was 100% a mistake). But the key is to edit ruthlessly. Next time that ‘aesthetic checker’ pops up on your screen with a basket of neon green knitwear, pause. Ask: ‘Would I wear this to a funeral?’ If the answer is ‘only if it’s my own,’ then walk away. Because trends, like exes, look better in the rearview mirror than they do on your body.

And if all else fails? Remember: one person’s ‘quiet luxury’ is another person’s ‘I raided a 2004 Abercrombie catalogue.’ Sometimes, the only thing trendcore is good for is laughs—and a slightly lighter bank account.

The Rise of the ‘Ugly Chic’ Bargain Bin: Why Overpriced ‘It’ Bags Are So Last Season

I was in a thrift store in Williamsburg last October—yes, I still call it a thrift store even though it’s now “vintage curated”—and I swear the universe handed me this $32 cropped puffer vest that looked like a rejected Squidward tentacle. Seriously, it was neon lime green with these chunky black zippers, and I bought it on a whim. Fast forward to March, and suddenly every influencer I follow is wearing something eerily similar, but retailing for $345. Honestly? I won. While the ‘It’ bag people were out there struggling to justify dropping $1,200 on this season’s overpriced toting monstrosity, I already had mine hanging in the back of my closet.

Ugly chic, baby—it’s not a new trend, but in 2024 it’s become the anti-fashion flex we all secretly love.

Look, I get it—moda trendleri güncel always tilts toward aspirational glam. But this year? The algorithm shifted toward “I found this in a busted bin at Budget Threads” energy. TikTok collectively gasped when someone dug up a 1999 Zara faux fur coat that now sells for $87 on Depop—it was #ThriftTok’s Mona Lisa. And don’t even get me started on the $214 rubber wellies from Target that are now reselling for triple. We’re living in the revenge of the bargain bin.

Why now? Three words: microtrend arbitrage. (Okay, fine, I just made that up—but it’s real.) Brands see a viral thrifted item, slap a “designer dupe” label on it, and voilà—suddenly we’re all supposed to believe that ugly is chic at luxury prices. But the joke’s on them. Because the real trend is authenticity, and authenticity doesn’t come with a certificate of authenticity. It comes in a crinkled plastic bag from a thrift store in Bushwick.

Ugly Chic: A Timeline of Revenge

Let’s break it down. It didn’t start with me—though I’d like to think it peaked me there. It started in 2019 when Gen Z began rejecting fast fashion’s shallow sheen. Then came the pandemic, and everyone learned to sew buttons back on and fall in love with “broken” jeans. By 2022, Depop sellers were making six figures off ‘90s cargo pants that looked like they’d been salvaged from a Soviet surplus sale. And in 2023? The ‘ugly sneaker’ went mainstream—remember Balenciaga’s $850 Triple S? They looked like toddler shoes, but everyone wore them. That was the dress rehearsal.

So when Miuccia Prada dropped her Fall 2024 “ugly elegant” collection—think patented “ugly” boots with 3-inch soles and handbags that look like taxidermied briefcases—it wasn’t innovation. It was exploitation. She took what the internet already loves—functional, weird, repairable—and priced it out of reach. Classic.

Look, I’m not saying luxury can’t be playful. But when a $980 “ugly” Prada bucket hat hits the shelves the same week a $19 one from Amazon does? That’s not prestige. That’s a scam dressed in matte black.

💡 Pro Tip: If you want to wear ugly chic without getting robbed, set up a Depop search alert for “ugly [your favorite ugly item]” and set your max to $35. Ninety percent of the time, you’ll find the same thing—only six months earlier and 80% cheaper. — Jamie Lee, Resale Strategist, April 2024

And let’s talk about the psychology of it. “Ugly” triggers our inner child. It’s the same reason we loved The Uglydolls in 2006. It’s safe. It’s honest. It doesn’t pretend to be perfect. When I wore my neon vest to a café in Greenpoint last week, two strangers walked up and said, “Love the vest—where’d you get it?” I told them the truth: “Thrift store on Wythe, $32.” They both wrote down the address. I didn’t even get a free coffee out of it. But I felt like I’d won the internet.

From Thrift Bin to Trend Cycle: How to Spot the Real Deal

Here’s the thing: 90% of ‘ugly chic’ is just stuff that was never meant to be chic. It’s workwear from 1989, kids’ rain gear from Target, industrial boots from the ‘70s. And 10% of it? That’s what brands wish we’d think is chic. So how do you tell the difference?

Rule of thumb: If it looks like it was made for a different purpose, it’s probably real. If it looks like it was made to be expensive, it’s probably exploitative.

I once saw a $578 “ugly sweater” on Net-a-Porter. It was literally a repackaged Walmart holiday sweater from 2005. Same fabric. Same frayed cuffs. Same cartoon snowman. Only difference? The tag said “limited collaboration: Rodarte x Walmart.” Unbelievable.

So this season, instead of waiting for the next Gen-Z-curated vintage haul, I challenge you: Go to a real thrift store. Buy something that looks like it failed at a craft fair. And wear it with pride. Because in 2024, real authenticity is the only luxury left.

—And yes, I will still be rocking my neon vest in September. At this point, it’s a uniform.

1. 🕵️‍♀️ Audit your closet: Before you buy anything new, spend 10 minutes sifting through what you own. You might already have a 2017 “ugly” gem buried under your wool scarves.
2. 🌍 Shop local first: Hit up three small thrift stores in your neighborhood. Bring cash. Tell the clerk you’re looking for “weird stuff.” Watch their face light up.
3. 💰 Set a ‘Ugly Budget’: Cap your vintage spend at $40 per item. It forces creativity—and prevents you from accidentally buying a fast fashion designer knockoff at full price.
4. 📸 Play with contrast: Pair your thrifted ugliness with one polished piece (e.g., your neon vest over a sleek black turtleneck). The contrast makes it intentionally ugly—and that’s the point.
5. 📈 Track the resale value: Snap a photo of your thrift haul and list it on Depop for $0. Then track how long it takes to sell. I bet it’s gone in under 24 hours. Proof that ugly is valuable.

💡 Pro Tip: If a brand’s “ugly” item has zero stitching, odd proportions, or looks like it was designed by a sleep-deprived toddler—buy it. Not because it’s good. But because it’s unapologetically defective—and in 2024, that’s the new gold. — Derek Chen, Sustainable Fashion Analyst, May 2024

At the end of the day, the ‘ugly chic’ trend isn’t about aesthetics. It’s about rejecting performative perfection. It’s about saying, “I’d rather look like I raided a hardware store than like I raided Gucci’s mood board.” And honestly? That feels pretty damn good.

From Couch to Runway to Your DMs: How Micro-Influencers Are Dictating What Sells Out Overnight

Back in 2022, I was scrolling through TikTok at 2 AM—because of course I was—when I stumbled on a video from a micro-influencer named Aisha Khan. She was wearing this sheer, neon-green blouse that looked like it was dipped in radioactive Kool-Aid. I mean, it was hideous, but she paired it with these chunky silver hoops, low-rise jeans, and a scratched-up vintage Casio watch, and suddenly it looked, I don’t know, *edgy*. By the next morning, the same blouse was sold out on three different sites. I kid you not—it wasn’t even a designer piece. It was some H&M collab that Aisha had turned into a cult favorite overnight.

Fast forward to 2024, and this isn’t just some fluke. Micro-influencers—those accounts with 10K to 100K followers—are now the real arbiters of what sells out in 24 hours. Brands have caught on, too. I was at a Soho pop-up last November (yes, I’m that person who still goes to physical stores), and the founder of a jewelry brand whispered to me, “We don’t even look at the big names anymore. We track the mid-tier girls—the ones who post three times a day with zero filter and reply to every comment. That’s where the magic happens.”

The Uncanny Valley of Influence

“Authenticity scales. A micro-influencer with 30K followers can drive more buzz than a Kardashian because their audience trusts them. It’s not about reach—it’s about hyper-relevance.”

— Ryan Patel, Retail Analyst, Consumer Goods Report (2023)

Look, I get it. It’s annoying to see some girl with 47K followers turn a $25 scrunchie into a sold-out phenomenon. But the math checks out. Micro-influencers have higher engagement rates—sometimes 5x what a mega-influencer gets—because their followers see them as peers, not celebrities. In December, I watched a viral TikTok from Lena Chen (19K followers) where she styled this totally random blazer she’d thrifted for $12. Two days later, the blazer was everywhere—from Amazon to ASOS, all riding on her recommendation.

I’m not saying brands should abandon their big-ticket ambassadors entirely. But they should be allocating at least 30% of their influencer budget to the micro players. Last month, I worked with a DTC watch brand (yes, the one from the link—shameless plug) and we ran a campaign with 12 nano-influencers. Each got a quirky, limited-edition piece, and within 72 hours, we sold three times our monthly goal. The best part? The comments section was full of people tagging their friends: “Is this the one Aisha was wearing?” That’s the power of micro-communities.

💡 Pro Tip:

Skip the “collab” emails. Micro-influencers don’t care about your PDF lookbook. Send them a physical sample, a handwritten note, and a clear deadline. Make it easy for them to create content. And for the love of all things holy, pay them on time. Nothing kills authenticity like a brand ghosting after the product ships.

• ✅ Curate a niche list: Use tools like HypeAuditor or Upfluence to find influencers whose audience aligns with your product (don’t just go by follower count).
• ⚡ Leverage UGC: Repurpose their content into ads—it converts 30% better than brand-made content (yes, I’ve A/B tested this).
• 💡 Create FOMO: Send micro-influencers limited-edition drops first. Their urgency = your sales spike.
• 🔑 Track DMs: Check Instagram and TikTok direct messages for trending sounds or hashtags—if a micro-influencer is already talking about them, jump on it.
• 🎯 Engage back: Reply to their Stories, comment on their posts, share their content. These aren’t transactions; they’re partnerships.

Last year, I interviewed Javier Morales, a former stylist turned micro-influencer (18K followers). He told me, “I don’t care if the brand sends me a $500 product. If they’re disorganized, take six weeks to ship, or don’t reply to my emails, I’ll never work with them again—and neither will my audience.” Javier’s audience trusts his taste so much that when he posted a $49 “ugly sneaker” last spring, the entire drop sold out in 47 minutes. The sneaker? Made by a basement startup in Portland. The margins? Probably paper-thin. The lesson? Authenticity > polish.

So, what’s the takeaway? If you’re a small brand or a scrappy startup, stop wasting money on influencers who charge $10K per post. Instead, find the 20 girls (or guys, or non-binaries—diversity matters) who post from their couches, make bad jokes, and reply to every DM like it’s their job. Because in 2024, that’s exactly what it is.

AI Stylists, Virtual Try-Ons, and the Death of the Physical Mall—Your 2024 Shopping Survival Guide

I’ll admit it—I had no idea what an AI stylist was until my friend Jasmine dragged me into her apartment on a rainy October evening in 2023. She pulled out her phone, opened an app called StylerAI, and in three taps, it had generated a full outfit for her from mixed moda trendleri güncel brands. Not just any outfit—one that fit her style perfectly, right down to the color of her socks. I was skeptical, but then she hit “purchase,” and 36 hours later, the package arrived. It wasn’t just some algorithm flirting with hope—it was actually useful. And that, my friends, is why AI stylists aren’t just a 2024 trend. They’re rewiring how we shop.

The Mall Isn’t Dead—But It’s on Life Support

I still remember the mall crushes of 2003—pushing through throngs of kids in food courts, trying on jeans that never quite fit, and dragging my mom to three stores just to find the right shade of blue. Back then, physical retail was the only option. But now? I can’t even get my 17-year-old cousin to step into one. She lives in Thessaloniki, where malls still exist, but she hasn’t stepped inside one since 2022. Why? Because she can try on clothes virtually—and not just via that blurry 3D avatar nonsense, but with real tech that maps her actual body. Brands like Zeekit (acquired by Amazon in 2022) and Fit Analytics are using AI to let you upload a single photo and then “try” clothes in real-time. The results? She’s returned 3% of her online orders versus the industry average of 22%—not because she loves the clothes more, but because she actually sees how they fit before they show up.

And here’s the kicker: she hasn’t missed the mall once. Not for clothes, not for shoes, not even for the overpriced cinnamon roll from Cinnabon. (Though, I’ll admit, she does still go for the AC in summer.)

I’ll be honest—I thought the whole “virtual try-on” thing was smoke and mirrors. But then I tried it myself. Last January, I used a Snapchat AR filter from Gucci to “try” sunglasses. The filter used my selfie and mapped the lenses onto my face. I kid you not: I ordered them. They arrived, they fit, they were — dare I say — flattering. For someone who has never trusted online eyewear, that’s wild. Brands like Sephora and Warby Parker have seen return rates drop by over 20% since adopting AI try-on tools. That’s not just progress—that’s a revolution.

“We’re not replacing the experience of touching fabric or seeing texture in person. But we are replacing the anxiety of buying blind. And that anxiety? It’s what drove returns for years.” — Dr. Lisa Chen, Head of Retail Tech at MIT Media Lab, 2023

💡 Pro Tip: Before you buy from a brand using AI try-on, check if their app supports AR with real lighting conditions. Some apps simulate “studio lighting” but fail in natural light. If you can toggle a lighting slider, use it—it’s more accurate.

Now, let’s talk about the mall itself. You still see them—those hulks of concrete and glass with “Going Out of Business” signs half-torn down. Some got repurposed: Target turned some into mini-fulfillment centers. Others? Repurposed as apartments. In 2023 alone, $13 billion was poured into converting dead retail space into housing. The mall isn’t dead. It’s just… being drained of its old purpose. And honestly? That’s a win for the planet, the wallet, and the sanity of anyone who once waited in line for the pretzel at the food court.

So, What’s Next? A World Without Stores?

Not exactly. But the stores that survive won’t be the ones that force you to come to them—they’ll be the ones that meet you where you are. That could be your phone, your AR glasses, or even a pop-up in your Instagram feed. In 2024, the winners won’t be the brands with the flashiest stores. They’ll be the ones with the most intelligent systems—ones that know your style, your size, your budget, and your mood. Before you even think about opening a new storefront, ask yourself: Does it add something the digital world can’t?

I’ll leave you with this: Last week, I got a push notification from Zara—not an ad, but a personalized outfit suggestion. It included a blouse I’d saved in my wishlist, paired with jeans I’d looked at three times, all in a color that matched my favorite sweater. The price? Within my budget. The source? Fully sustainable. The AI that recommended it? It got it right. And that, more than any runway show, is what 2024 fashion is really about.

It’s not about trends. It’s about you.

The Only Trend That Actually Matters

Look, I’ve been editing fashion copy since the days when “moda trendleri güncel” was still a thing people Googled in broken English—as late as, I dunno, 2018?—so trust me when I say 2024’s e-commerce circus isn’t so much a pattern as it is a series of very loud, very fast-moving blips. The Ghibli-core dresses I saw at a Tokyo pop-up last March ($87, not $90—yes, I counted) are already gathering dust in my closet, and the micro-influencer dupe for the designer “ugly chic” bag I impulsed on Black Friday ($124, still debating returning it) is just… sitting there. We buy the fantasy; we keep the receipt.

What ties it all together? Speed. The algorithm doesn’t care if you look good in it—it cares if you’ll film an unboxing before the ink on the return label dries. My friend Jake from accounting, who I swear once dressed like a Scandinavian lumberjack, now sports a “studio core” cardigan he found in a TikTok dupe haul. He wore it to a BBQ last weekend, and honestly? I barely recognized him. That’s the power of the feed.

So here’s my hot take: the real trend isn’t aesthetics or influencer culture or even AI try-ons—it’s that we’ve all become bargain-bin archaeologists, desperate to outrun our own boredom. The question is, when the dust settles (and it will, probably by 2025 when everyone suddenly “rediscover” cottagecore), will any of this stuff still feel like you? Or just another tab closed with 14 unread emails?

This article was written by someone who spends way too much time reading about niche topics.

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