Bows Out, Bandanas In
It’s a bandana baddie summer!
Hot Takes are my bullet point thoughts on fashion's hottest issues. These posts get to the heart of why people are talking about what they’re talking about, what this means, and where this could go next.
Let’s set the scene.
Has anyone else's FYP been besieged by bandana videos?
First it was bows. Then claw clips clawed their way into our collective consciousness. Now, it’s the bandana’s turn to twist around our necks, heads, belt loops — and the zeitgeist. Bandanas, silk scarves, headwraps, kerchiefs, call them what you like, they are the moment.
Once an emblem of utility and rebellion, the bandana is back. Not as a throwback, but as a hyper-stylish, post-nostalgic nod to individuality. It’s not just trending. It’s transcending.
To call the bandana just an accessory is like calling a book just paper. The humble square (or triangle) of cloth has served purposes far beyond adornment. Since the 18th century, it has fluttered from the necks of revolutionaries, protected wartime women’s hairstyles, and signalled gang affiliation, gender identity, and political allegiance.
In the Old West, it kept cowboys' faces clean and identities hidden. In the '60s, it crowned the heads of Hepburns and Kennedys. In the ’70s and ’90s, it moved through disco and hip hop with equal flair. At the 2000 VMAs, Jennifer Lopez wore one like a crown. In 2025, it’s doing all of this at once.
The bandana’s return is less of a comeback and more of a cultural correction. In an era where fashion’s pace is dictated by TikTok trend cycles and AI styling prompts (yikes), people are yearning for pieces with personality, heritage, and a little ambiguity.
Google Trends shows "head scarf" searches are rising. “Scarf necklace”? Also on the up, reaching an all-time high in June 2025. What does this tell us? Maybe, just maybe, we’re ready to look beyond the capsule wardrobe tyranny and clichés. We want layers. We want story. We want culture and context.
The bandana is the original style-as-attitude item. It doesn’t need a logo. It is the logo.
More Than a Look: The Bandana as Cultural Code
Once a dusty staple of the Wild West and biker rebellion, the bandana has shed its purely utilitarian skin and reemerged as a versatile fashion cypher, chameleon-like in its evolution from rugged Americana to high-fashion ornament. On today’s runways, it’s doing far more than simply tying looks together.
At Chanel’s Cruise 2025/26 show, silk scarves caressed the models' heads, evoking a cinematic nostalgia — a quiet nod to leisure, wealth, and a sun-drenched past. Meanwhile, over at Gucci AW25, the bandana took a sharp turn: tied tightly under the chin, layered over baseball caps, it conjured a new archetype — part streetwise matador, part Milanese nonna. The result? A deliberate collision of heritage and high-low style.
But the revolution isn't confined to the catwalk. On TikTok, on sidewalks, and deep within your Instagram Explore page, fashion’s early adopters are engineering fresh meaning for the bandana. It slides through belt loops, drapes off tote bags like a charm with a backstory, and sometimes floats from pockets like a whisper of intention. It’s styling with wit and a wink.
Culturally, the bandana has always been more than decoration. It's signalled everything from insider status to being part of a community, queerness, solidarity and subversion — whether tied around a cowboy’s neck, tucked in a punk’s back pocket, or adopted by 1970s feminists. That history isn't erased by fashion’s reinterpretation; it’s layered in, giving it deeper meaning.
This is next level bandana: genderless, borderless, post-code, and wide open to interpretation. It’s less about how you wear it and more about why.
Bandana 3.0: One Fabric, Infinite Meanings
The bandana is one of fashion’s best shape-shifters: fabric that defies category, time, and identity. Its power lies in its duality: simultaneously genderless and deeply expressive, utilitarian and decorative, rooted in tradition yet pulsing with trend-forward energy. It has survived centuries, not by staying the same, but by being woven through the lives and aesthetics of countless subcultures and movements.
Historically, it began as a modest tool. But over time, the bandana was claimed and transformed by outlaws and icons, rebels and romantics. In the 1970s, it became a silent signal of identity in the queer community’s hanky code, worn as both armour and invitation. In hip-hop’s golden age, it was both a badge of affiliation and swagger. On the heads of Tupac and Aaliyah, the bandana was more than an accessory — it was attitude incarnate.
Fast forward to now, and it’s everywhere and nowhere at once. On any given day, you’ll see it tied around a low-rise jean in Los Angeles, wrapped around a bra top in Seoul, or tucked under a baseball cap in Berlin. From the Hadids, Biebers and Jenners to hometown heroes, truckers and TikTokers, the bandana has become democratised, unlocked and separate from any single narrative or demographic.
What makes the current moment compelling is the way this accessory is being wielded, not as homage but as a remix. One could argue that style maximalists aren’t simply referencing the past; they’re repurposing it with edge, irony, and intentionality. This is fashion’s version of sampling: a nod to history, chopped and changed for the here and now.
In an era obsessed with self-curation and signalling, the bandana is a blank canvas for the bold. It asks: Who are you today? And unlike many fashion staples that demand conformity or allegiance, this one rewards contradiction. It can be soft or subversive, high fashion or flea market, protest or play.
My two cents.
Fashion is becoming increasingly ruled by fast-moving trends and algorithmic aesthetics, but the bandana is gloriously, defiantly analogue. No swipe, no filter, no predictive algorithm can dictate how you’ll wear it. You fold it. You knot it. You twist it into meaning. It demands a moment of touch and decision, which is rare in a system increasingly dictated by seamless automation and “add to cart” convenience.
And yet, it remains high-impact. A style wildcard that resists overexposure, it doesn’t ask permission to exist; it just demands space to be interpreted. It says something, even when you don’t. It’s the rare piece that carries aesthetic and narrative weight.
Pre-dating social media and Pinterest boards, the bandana was the original trending item before trends were a thing. Think: Rosie the Riveter’s red polka-dot resilience, the Hanky Code’s coded language of queerness, or Tupac’s West Coast cool. Each era claimed it, reshaped it, and passed it on.
And therein lies the key. The bandana’s back. Not in a costume-y, try-hard way, but in a manner that’s clever, low-key, and almost subversively chill.
A thread on /r/bitcheswithtaste asked the exact question we’ve all been thinking: “How do you wear a bandana without looking like you’re in costume?” The answers reveal a quiet mastery of nuance. The consensus? Keep it casual, low-key, effortless. Tie it onto your bag, not your head. Use it like jewellery, not uniform. Layer it into your look, don’t let it dominate it.
When you look at the bigger picture, this is more than an accessory. It’s an idea. A thread that runs through identities, communities, and decades, and somehow still manages to surprise us. From uniform to unicorn, from Gracie Abrams to Rihanna, the bandana is sparkling with possibility.
Because when the algorithms have done their job and the trend cycle spins itself out, what’s left? The pieces that ask you to make a choice. To fold, to twist, to tie. That’s the beauty of the bandana; it has the potential to make fashion personal again.
If you're vibing with this newsletter, subscribe to get weekly doses of fashion goodness straight in your inbox. It’s worth it, I promise.
Want to get in touch?
Follow me on Instagram
Follow me on Twitter
Follow me on LinkedIn