How To Dress Like a Beetle

Beetlecore: Metallic returning to its roots, literally

“Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” I chant with my eyes squeezed tight, clutching a pair of silver Mary Janes, praying when I open my eyes I’ll see not a half-dead Michael Keaton behind me in the mirror, but an apparition of Miuccia Prada wearing these Spring ‘25 sunglasses. 

Listen, you either die a hero — shaking your fists at the sky screaming “stop adding -core to everything!” — or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain — add -core to something and write a Substack about it. Sue me!

Much like a raven, I too am attracted to shiny objects. This attraction has bled into my fashion aspirations so much so that any time someone on the street is wearing metallic I am compelled to shout it out mid-conversation. I saw a woman wearing metallic blue clogs walking down Broadway a couple weeks ago, and I nearly had heart palpitations. 

The magic of metallic, the dazzle of duochrome, the impact of iridescence—they need to return to their roots. Literally. This is my case for Beetlecore.

beetle display at the American Museum of Natural History. #22 is a jewel beetle, icon of the fashion world.

So what is Beetlecore if not just shiny clothing?

On one side of the polished chrome coin, metallics can often get stuck in space. The extraterrestrial treatment emphasizes the man-made-ness of it all: placing us inside in a man-made rocket, flying to a man-made space station, thousands of miles from nature. We’re dropping metallics into a barren landscape inhospitable to any life. 

In this vision, we've transcended the need for soil. Here we subsist on Soylent and nutrition pods. I love Zenon as much as the next girl, but there’s a reason they brought her back down to earth. 

think 60s space-age retro futurism & late 90s y2k tech revolution

Metallic can feel as though it exists in direct contrast to nature. The former: artificially manufactured; cold and slick; plasticky; smooth; impossible to sink your teeth into. The latter: dirty; fleshy; gritty; from and of the earth; clinging to its surroundings and leaving a mark. Metallic already exists naturally within the flora and fauna on our own planet—and it’s digging in the dirt as we speak.

Beetlecore is a beautiful marriage of flamboyance and practicality. Think sequins paired with natural fibers, workwear in silk organza, that metallic clog clomping down the street—shimmering plastic on top, earthy wooden sole below, a bridge between flesh and concrete.

Take New Year’s Eve as inspiration: a holiday about sequins, getting drunk, and kissing a stranger. It’s shimmering, it’s sparkly, and it’s messy as hell. It’s a throw-caution-to-the-wind celebration of becoming someone new, shedding an old skin, cracking off a glittering exoskeleton and leaving the pieces splayed on a sticky dance floor. 

I want Y2K frosty futurism to have a baby with grimy indie sleaze, leave that baby in the woods, and watch the baby grow up to be queen of the stink bugs.

Since the dawn of time when Cain killed Abel for spilling red lipstick in his white Valentino bag, the natural world has served as a beacon of inspiration for artists of all disciplines, fashion very much included. Beetles, more specifically, have been on the mood board for hundreds of years in Thailand, Myanmar, India, China and Japan, where their iridescent wings were used in the traditional craft of beetlewing art. 

Fashion’s obsession with nature was on full display at The Met’s most recent Costume Institute exhibition where pieces were organized into rooms categorized by the natural elements from which designers drew inspiration. These muses were of the land, sea, and sky, including—you may have guessed where I was going with this—beetles! 

Left: Dauphinette, Right: Alexander McQueen

The first time I visited this exhibit, months before conceiving that I might write about beetles here, I couldn’t shut up about the dress on the left. It’s a silk organza piece swarmed by jewel beetles from New York label Dauphinette founded by Olivia Cheng. These real beetles were sustainably harvested in Thailand, according to the Costume Institute. They come from an orchid farm where Cheng also sources flowers for jewelry.

“I’m in the business of reuse, and that means committing to the beautiful, the ugly, the nostalgic, and the somewhat-scary,” she said. “Beetles are all of those things.”

The Alexander McQueen piece on the right went in a less literal direction, opting for beaded beetles draped under a leather corset. Designer Sarah Burton has a bit of a history with bugs of other kinds as well—you may recognize her Spring/Summer 2011 monarch butterfly dress worn in the Hunger Games by fashion icon Effie Trinket.

Beetlecore is alive and well across runways this season, too. Let’s take a look at some of my favorite creepy crawly fashion week moments gracing the catwalk right now:

Prada

Even the HBIC herself (Miuccia Prada) said she was nervous to show this somewhat bizarre collection. I’m personally loving the bug-inspired glasses and beetle-esque metallic pieces paired with practical jackets and sweaters. To me, Beetlecore lies in exactly that juxtaposition of extravagance and utility.

Jil Sander:

Jil Sander showed several suits in this beetle-y iridescent fabric. I love the idea of something as conservative as traditional workwear constructed in a duochrome material. The colorways on the ends remind me of these sheets I’ve been obsessing over recently, and I am fully inspired to wear my own metallic silk organza top with trousers and a briefcase now.

Dries Van Noten:

Beetle pants! Again we have an iridescent green, a mainstay of beetles worldwide, and I love that it has some texture. Perhaps another silk organza piece (the Official Fabric of Beetlecore, clearly).

This necklace on the right is giving ancient arthropod swimming through the primordial soup. Silver primordial soup necklace is so Beetlecore.

Courreges:

It may not be metallic, but it’s definitely serving cunty cockroach. The leather cocoon evokes this Hercules beetle in both texture and attitude. Where can we get him a tiny pair of those sunglasses?

And on the streets of New York City, as I spend my hours contemplating beetles, bugs, and their relations to fashion, my eye feels magnetically drawn to any reflective surface. 

I spotted this bag across the room at an event and had to awkwardly ask if I could take a photo for research. She obliged, an angel really, and was actually thrilled to chat about Beetlecore as I explained why I was interrupting her conversation.

She too always seems to be attracted to iridescent pieces—like this COS bag and her not-pictured metallic blue fingernails—and it might have something to do with an ex-boyfriend.

“I used to date someone who bred beetles,” she told me, and credits her proximity to this unusual hobby as a reason why she’s always beelining for metallics. A girl after my own heart! (And a boy for whom I have some serious questions.)

This new Sally Hansen collection caught my eye in Target and it took quite a bit of self-restraint to go home without at least one shade.

(For the purposes of this piece, pay no mind to the fact that this is technically a galactic-inspired collection when I just tried to make a distinction between space shimmer and beetle shimmer.)

I reached into my own wardrobe as well and have given even more attention lately to my extremely well loved silver Mary Janes. And I wore this vintage silk organza top to a friend’s party in honor of the beetles. 

If this venture into Beetledom taught me anything, it’s that beetles are everywhere. They’re in your backyard, they’re in that cool girl’s ex-boyfriend’s bedroom breeding in a fish tank, and if I have it my way, they should be in your closet too.

What Beetlecore pieces are hanging in your closet? Any favorites from the runway? I’d love to hear your buggy thoughts.