Cluttercore and how it quiets the clusterf*ckery of my brain

Graphic By Julia Norkus

By Julia Norkus

There’s a tendency amongst millennials to buy less and save more.  At least, that’s according to becomingminimalist.com, quite possibly a biased source towards the ways of minimalism. 

But over the last few years, I’ve noticed one glaring difference between my peers and the generation before us: we love stuff. Walls covered in garbage sourced from the street, collages plastered on every wall, outfits mixed with clashing patterns and colors, slip dresses layered under sweaters and button downs topped with dozens of chains and scarves—I think I’ve made my point. This type of maximalism has affectionately been referred to in the past as cluttercore, which feels like the appropriate way to describe it.

I won’t lie, my walls are also covered in collages that I made in my basement, along with scarves and doodles from friends. I even have a ripped up calendar fashioned into a frame for my embroidery hoop full of earrings. I’m not immune to the trend, but maybe it isn’t just a trend—it’s something that makes me feel at peace. I was told by a friend once upon a time that the more intelligent the person, the messier their living spaces are. This was qualified by the idea that the brain is so scattered, that their rooms reflect that. And I’m not going to sit here and wax poetic about just how intelligent I am, but I won’t shy away from describing my anxiety and the obsessive thinking that I’ve been crippled by over the years. 

Being surrounded by warm, mismatched frames and colorful wall art brings me some counterintuitive version of tranquility. Not to mention, the music which defines Gen Z has adopted the same style of maximalism. It takes me out of a place of turmoil and into a world just as loud and distorted as the colors and shapes on my walls.

Remi Wolf is one of the first artists that comes to mind when I think about chaos and clutter based on her music and aesthetic alone. Her first album, Juno (2021), is a conglomeration of sounds—bouncing melodies, wacky ad libs and some insertion of grating screeches all tie the ridiculous lyrics that Wolf has concocted together. “Volkiano” and “Hello Hello Hello” both have screeching guitars and repetition that may feel redundant to some, but the volume and ridiculousness just scratches my groovy itch.

The same ideas go for artists like Dora Jar, Indigo De Souza, Claud–all of the witches and wizards of music in their chambers cooking up beats with the same sounds that we hear on the street, just more ridiculous and even louder than before.

Dora Jar’s “Polly” has a bounce to it that is immediately apparent from the first guitar riff and click of the woodblock. But it’s the lyrics that really make the song feel chaotic and chewy. “Imma rip my face off and imma dance for you / looking at the feeling of an empty room / I wanna do everything that a god would do / so I’m invincible,” looks and sounds like a mouthful. When I listen, however, it makes perfect sense. The cacophony of sounds and jumbled sentences make me feel at peace and ready to dance away my troubles. Something about it also makes me nostalgic for the days in the backseat of my mom’s minivan–a time when I was truly at peace.

Maybe it’s too much, but I’ve gone too much of my life without embracing the wackiness and insanity of it all—so let it wash over you like a wave of gingham and leopard print, all while Remi Wolf riffs about murder or Dora Jar whines about demons. While everything else is loud, at least there’s something out there to quiet and enlighten it.