The Petty Rebellion of Gatekeeping

You’ll survive not knowing where those boots are from.

Online, the term gatekeeping gets thrown around a lot and almost always in a negative way. Originally, it referred to someone who controls access to something. To gatekeep is to withhold information to keep it exclusive.

Now, it’s become internet shorthand for anything that feels like exclusion. If someone doesn’t tell you where their trousers are from? Gatekeeping. Won’t send a link to their bag? Gatekeeping. Doesn’t reply fast enough? Gatekeeping.

It’s often petty, on both sides.

There’s an expectation that if someone shares an outfit, they owe us full disclosure. We want a breakdown of the look, the brand names, and links to buy everything. If they don’t give it to us? Suddenly they’re a bitch. They’re not a “girl’s girl.” They’re gatekeeping.

What if it’s not that deep?

Yes, it’s nice to share things. But isn’t it also nice to discover them for yourself?

Those shoes might be perfect, but why do you need that exact pair?

A video recently went viral on TikTok. A woman compliments another woman’s boots and asks where they’re from. The woman dodges the question awkwardly, and the original poster calls her “gatekeeping bitch.”

It’s got the same energy as a man who compliments a woman, gets rejected, and immediately calls her ugly. The hostility doesn’t just come from the rejection—it comes from entitlement. From expecting a yes and being offended by the no.

The woman didn’t just admire the boots, she wanted them. And when the information wasn’t handed over freely, she took it personally.

That’s what gatekeeping now means: You didn’t give me what I wanted, so now you’re the bad guy.

I’m pretty sure this story is fake. But the conversation it sparked about gatekeeping is real, and it’s the perfect excuse to talk about it.

Influencer culture has become so normalised it's warped our expectations. We’ve become used to people listing every item they wear, tagging brands, and sharing links, we now expect the same from complete strangers. Offline. In real life.

The lines are so blurred, we’ve started treating everyone like content creators. Like their clothes exist for our consumption. And if they don’t hand over a full shopping list, they’re a bitch for gatekeeping.

But admiring someone’s outfit doesn’t entitle you to a link. Not everyone is a personal stylist or fashion influencer. Not every outfit is content. Sometimes it’s just clothes.

It's Just Clothes

We’re so used to instant access and immediate answers that when someone doesn’t hand over information on demand, we don’t just get annoyed—we take it personally. We think they’re selfish. That they’re being rude, and not a team player.

But you are not entitled to the details of someone’s outfit.

It doesn’t matter if you think it’s silly when someone doesn’t want to share where their boots are from. Maybe it is. Go home, laugh about it with your friends, and do some online shopping. What’s equally silly is throwing a tantrum because you can’t buy the exact same pair of boots.

When people cry “gatekeeping,” it’s rarely about the outfit. It’s about feeling denied something they think they are entitled to. But again: you are not owed that information, even if you think it's not a big deal to share it.

Why do you need the exact same thing anyway? Why not keeping looking until you find something similar, or something you like even more?

Here's where I stand: I share my entire wardrobe online because I track every purchase to stick to my 5-items-or-less rule. So if someone asks where something’s from, I’ll tell them. No big deal. But I do think other people’s outfits are better used as inspiration, not a shopping list.

The Petty Act of Not Sharing

People love to say the only reason someone won’t share their outfit details is because they’re “afraid of being copied." And, yeah, often that’s true. Most of us don’t want to show up somewhere wearing the exact same thing as someone else. That’s just common sense.

If it’s a stranger online, the chances of that happening are basically zero anyway. But it’s not really about that. And no one’s claiming their outfit is so wildly original that we can claim full creative credit. Everything is a remix, after all—even our personal style.

But for a lot of us, it’s about principle. About trying to hold onto even the tiniest bit of individuality in a world where everything is copied and pasted. I built my wardrobe slowly. I scrolled, saved, hunted, thought about what I liked—and then searched for what I wanted, often for months. Why can’t you do the same?

Not wanting to share everything doesn’t mean you’re being precious. It’s a small act of rebellion against a culture obsessed with speed and sameness. It’s about pushing back against instant gratification. Of shopping as a reflex. Of seeing something and buying it without thinking.

We don’t all put the same energy into out wardrobes. Some of us care a lot about how we dress. We enjoy it. We see it as a creative outlet and a form of self-expression. It’s frustrating when someone demands a full breakdown of your style just so they can recreate it.

Whether or not you believe true individuality still exists in fashion doesn’t really matter. What matters is that—for some of us—style feels personal. It means something.

And that’s reason enough to not want to give it all away.

Lazy Shopping Kills Personal Style

I’m tired of seeing the same formulaic outfits, again and again. The Pinterest clones. The TikTok uniforms. Everyone chasing the same aesthetic, buying the same pieces, putting together the same look.

When something gets popular online, it’s everywhere within days. And maybe this sounds petty, but the people demanding links are often the same ones who will copy your entire outfit. Refusing to get all the details of your outfit is one way to make it a little bit harder for someone to replicate.

Style is supposed to be about expressing who you are. So how exactly are you doing that if your entire wardrobe is just a carbon copy of someone else’s?

That’s lazy shopping. “I see it, I buy it.”

No thought. No effort. No personality.

Gatekeeping disrupts that cycle. It forces you to do the work yourself. And in that process, you start discovering what you actually like. You stop copying, and start curating your own taste. You build personal style.

Style Isn't a Secret

Somewhere along the line, we started expecting everything to be handed to us. Even personal style tips from strangers. And when that access is denied, we get annoyed and treat it like a personal offence. We think we’ve been wronged.

But someone choosing not to tell you where they shop for trousers isn't a betrayal of "girl code." It’s just boundary setting.

Here’s my theory: the loudest complaints about gatekeeping often come from people still figuring out their style. And they assume you’re holding the missing piece. If they could just buy that exact outfit, maybe it would all finally click. When you don’t share, it feels like you’re withholding the secret.

But style isn’t about replication—it’s about discovery. Trial, error, happy accidents. That’s what makes it special. That’s what makes it yours. We’ve lost that.

We stopped feeling connected to our clothes because they don’t really belong to us. They’re just borrowed looks from other people. And you’ll never develop personal style by clicking on someone else's shopping links.

Cultivating taste means deliberately seeking out things you love, not just waiting for the algorithm to decide for you. It’s trusting your own instincts instead of letting trends or TikTok tell you what you should like.

When you find something yourself—when you dig it out of a thrift shop, or stumble across it online—it hits different. It feels right. It feels like you.

We need more of that. We need a little mystery again.

You can compliment someone’s outfit without needing to own it too.

You really don’t need the details.

Not into paid subscriptions? Buy me a virtual coffee or shop my jewellery — it’s a nice way to say thanks, no strings attached 🖤