Last spring, I strolled through the sun-drenched streets of Los Angeles and was struck by the moment. It seemed to epitomize modern boho chic—the style that’s evolved far beyond its vintage counterculture roots to become a truly modern platform for individual expression. I was at Coachella, where the desert heat meets an eclectic mix of artistry—and where the lines between high fashion and relaxed festival wear blur into something truly magical.
There I was, amidst the vibrant chaos of pop-up installations and live music echoing off the dunes, doing my best to scope out Coachella fashion as rapidly as possible. And what should I have seen but a well-known influencer, whose style we often dissect in our industry circles, caught up in the moment. And what should she have been wearing but a beautifully distressed denim jacket paired with a flowing Ulla Johnson dress that perfectly riffed on the occasion?
In the past several seasons, I’ve seen something change in boho chic—a change that goes beyond nostalgic winks to the ’70s. At a recent art and music festival in Joshua Tree, I had the chance to chat with a boutique owner whose specialty lies in bohemian-inspired apparel. Hers is an uncommon brand, one I doubt many of you know.
And yet, this is the point: During my conversation with her, and in my observation of festival-goers, who were themselves a mix of parallel-parked vans and art-bedecked sidewalks, I could see that the festival was an expression of virtually untamed America. It was a history lesson in how to be not just a follower but a maker of your own boho moments—wearing what you want, how you want, with the kind of audacity that’s emblematic of both the yesteryear of the 1970s and today. I remember a recent weekend in Palm Springs in which I found myself at an intimate brunch in a stylish mid-century modern café.
The guest list was a mix of locals, including some creatives and fashion bloggers, who are quite averse to the term “influencer” and who, in turn, are quite the insiders in a certain Palm Springs scene. Without any sort of afterthoughts, they stepped right into the brunch conversation, during which one of them discussed the importance of beadwork in Native American culture and its influence on fashion. Another guest picked up on this and perfectly transitioned, with impeccable timing, to discussing how much one of her friends had spent recently on a piece from an artisanal collective in Mexico—where it is not just the expense, but also the domesticity and craftsmanship that make the purchase worthy of a high-end fashion item.
What I find most compelling about the movement toward boho chic is the way it democratizes fashion. Boho chic, once a style long associated with rebellious spirits and countercultural icons, now embraces a vocabulary of diverse voices across a nearly chasm-like spectrum of real and imagined aesthetics. I was reminded of this when I bumped into a longtime friend at a recent pop-up market in SoHo, where one of my local independent designers had set up shop to tout her latest collection.
We hadn’t seen each other in a while, so we did what you do in these situations: gushed over how good each of our respective lives looked, all while half-mindedly plummeting into the handheld shopping bags that our local economy seems to favor at the moment. Anyway, what I’m getting at is that the protagonist of the story I’m telling next is a friend of a friend really. But I promise the thin plotline won’t get in the way of your enjoyment.
While pursuing my affection for fashion, I’ve discovered that when conversing with other enthusiasts, we’re apt to hear nostalgic, almost mythic tales of the kind of impromptu finds you make while rummaging through the collective cabinets of a society. Flea markets, thrift shops, and consignment stores are the temples of this kind of bohemian revival, and I call the finds within them gifts from the gods of good taste. The outfits I create with those gifts are my incarnation of boho chic.
I cobble together a wardrobe blending the old and the new, the delicate and the sturdy, the unpretentious and the artistically eccentric, like the vintage silk scarf I found in a Los Angeles flea market and the high-waisted jeans I bought from a discount retailer. The boho chic influence even extends to celebrity culture. At a recent charity event in Los Angeles, I got to see up close how stars can redefine style without losing authenticity.
A well-known actress—one I’m fond of for her eclectic and always-on-brand taste—arrived in a look that mixed a vintage-inspired embroidered blouse with tailored trousers and artisanal leather sandals. And on conversation went, one from an almost awkward start into a fully natural flow. The nature of the look and the actress set off several rumination stations regarding not only the evolving nature of boho chic in Hollywood but also what it means to have an Instagrammable outfit that still feels lived in.
Increasingly, the design houses behind such outfits—think Chloé, Free People—are collaborating with influencers to capture this vibe. What excites me most about boho chic is its unwavering versatility. This style is applicable to any occasion—be it a midsummer night’s dream or a sunlit afternoon in a quiet café.
Boho chic is an invitation to experimentation. I recently took that invitation and layered—a technique synonymous with this style—by wearing a long, flowy kimono over a fitted leather jacket and slim-fit jeans. The look was both unexpected and harmonious.
It told a story about contrasts and cohesion. And it was a reminder that fashion isn’t about sticking to tried-and-true formulas; it’s about the beauty of diversity and the art of the reinvention. Today’s fast-paced fashion world, where trends come and go with the seasons, can seem almost ephemeral.
But in this landscape, boho chic remains a steadfast alternative. Grounded in authenticity, it offers something you might even call a “look for all seasons.” Fashion’s current global citizens are as likely to commit to a bohemian way of dressing as were the flower children of the 1960s. And why not, when the artifacts of boho chic—whether they are lovingly handmade with age-old techniques or spur-of-the-moment assemblages of vintage and contemporary finds—evoke a kind of undying creativity?
Indeed, the very essence of boho chic has remained alive and well in a world seemingly ruled by irony. With every room I enter, whether it’s a conference hall or an intimate gallery, I imbue with the boho-chic spirit. For me, and I would wager for many others who find themselves drawn to this style, it is as much (or more) about mean and narrative as it is about simple aesthetics.
When I talk about the bohemian ethos, for lack of a better term, I do so as someone who feels deeply connected to it—who celebrates what it stands for and holds very personal memories of times when I’ve been in its company. Happenstance has thrown me together with the style on many occasions but also in many contexts.
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