In the 16th century, the nobility across Europe grew fascinated with a new design trend. The ‘Wunderkammer’ (which is German for ‘room of wonder’ or, in English, ‘cabinet of curiosities’), began popping up in homes among the aristocracy and beyond, filling spaces with mini-galleries of peculiar knick-knacks and obscure discoveries. Described as a “microcosm of the world”, the Wunderkammer exhibited everything from fossilised butterflies to man-made creations.

This process of collecting and exhibiting bits and bobs is undoubtedly human. There are countless archaeological examples of societies and individuals collecting keepsakes throughout the ancient world. For example, as early as 105,000 years ago, humans were collecting crystals in the Kalahari region of Southern Africa. Fuelled by some combination of passion, spirituality, solidarity and nostalgia, our love of our things is as old as time – and now it has moved to the digital age.

Recently, our social media feeds have been filled with content that’s obsessed with curating, cluttering and celebrating our things. From used train tickets and half-drunk coffee cups to tangles of headphones and novelty lighters, we’re experiencing a renewed emphasis on stuff. Avery-Claire Nugent, who runs the popular Instagram account @girlswhocluster, coined the term ‘clustercore’ to describe the growing trend. Clusters of objects, trinkets and everyday items are filling Altoid tins, overstuffing carabiner keyrings, littering the humble bedside table – and claiming our social media feeds. It’s like a 21st-century iteration of the master’s still-life.

 

 

 

 

 

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A post shared by Girls Who Cluster™️ (@girlswhocluster)

The clustercore trend has emerged from the greige ashes of minimalism – a movement that tended to pathologise this very human instinct to show and tell. In the wake of recession, Western societies gravitate towards ‘streamlined’ aesthetics and as such, the design trends of the 2010s put an increased focus on utility, efficiency and convenience. Cluttered knick-knacks were seen as a faux pas – understood not just as tacky, but also as a warning of something more sinister (like gluttony or, god forbid, laziness).

It’s important to remember that the culture’s obsession with purging ornaments, mementos and personal artefacts from our lives represents more than just tidying up. As Charlotte Eckardt writes in TITLE MAG: “The intention behind minimalism is the erasure of every cultural object, leaving no indication of any cultural heritage or belonging.” By smoothing out the wrinkles of personal culture, we tend to forgo the true power of community that comes with it as well.

But after years of shunning any proof of life from our spaces, the very traces of lived-in-ness have begun to feel like art in themselves. The tradition of the Wunderkammer returns, manifesting in our physical spaces, like bookshelves or handbags, as well as our digital world. These community-based social media accounts operate like virtual Wunderkammers, posting images submitted by their followers. As a result, each nook of their social grid exhibits a microcosm of someone’s world.

A scroll through Halle Robert’s Instagram account, @girlscarryingshit, confirms that in this world of stuff, authenticity reigns over pure aesthetics. You’ll find photos of hands, overstuffed with a chaotic combination of items, with captions like, “elsa carrying shit: jumper cables, tote bag, cup, beach towel, sparkly inner tube, sunglasses (on head),” or, “maggie carrying shit: lighter, pack of cigarettes, doll leg, lit cigarette.”

It was a craving for authenticity that inspired Halle to start the project – an Instagram account that boasts almost 70,000 followers and jokingly documents “the evolutionary result of hundreds of years of women’s clothing not having pockets”. According to Halle, @girlscarryingshit is an antidote to the current state of social media. “You could say I was motivated to start it out of spite,” she says. “It was so cringey to watch, in real time, as brands invaded everyone’s digital personal space.”

 

 

 

 

 

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A post shared by GCS (@girlscarryingshit)

Scenes of clusters of items upon bedside tables or clutched in overstuffed hands feel like a spiritual descendant of the early social media failsafe: the flat lay. For the uninitiated, the flat lay tended to include a starkly white background with a painstakingly configured arrangement of objects – from magazines to a perfectly folded Gucci belt and an expensive perfume bottle – placed on top. While the flat lay is a spine-tingling relic of the 2010s minimalist-obsessed internet, in this current era, clustercore’s emphasis isn’t on things, but on our things.

The philosophy of clustercore could still feel cautiously consumerist – hypothetically just a new way to flex our possessions and assert wealth, prestige or status. But as Avery-Claire affirms, the art of the cluster demands a certain level of care and appreciation for the things we already own: “People are like, ‘This is over-consumption,’” she says. “But it really isn’t.

“I’m not saying, ‘Go out and buy a bunch of stuff to put in a cluster tray.’ I’m saying, ‘Was this receipt really beautiful? Put it on display, you know? … If I bought this really pretty lipstick, why would I put it in a bag? Why would I put it in a drawer? I want to look at it every single day.”

Avery-Claire started the account on TikTok after sharing snapshots of her New York apartment. “I was just posting random videos on TikTok and people would be like, ‘Why does this feel so “girl”?’” she says. Now, @girlswhocluster is an Instagram account followed by almost 35,000 community members who submit their images, offering intimate insight into girls’ spaces and clustering habits.

As an aesthetic, clustercore demands we find a sense of magic and whimsy in our everyday surroundings. There are no aspirational mausoleum-style homes or editorial-esque lookbooks – instead, both the minutiae and the momentous sit side by side. Random essentials, cherished mementos and of course, the occasional luxury item get situated as one.

 

 

 

 

 

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A post shared by Girls Who Cluster™️ (@girlswhocluster)

Accounts like @girlswhocluster and @girlscarryingshit feel akin to a digital museum, practically offering an anthropological deep dive into the inner worlds of girls (a term that’s used to categorise a general vibe rather than gender). Each square photo on the grid is like a glass window into a natural-history museum’s display. Inside, you find a miscellany of objects, clustered together and imparting sacred truths.

These inner lives of girls have remained shrouded in mystery through millennia – rarely being remembered by our institutions or textbooks. But these digital Wunderkammers let the everyday experiences and traditions of girls – or more importantly, non-men – be immortalised and, more importantly, recognised as worthy of remembering. 

“I sometimes get people saying, ‘I’m at my nana’s house and like, she’s so “girls who cluster”.’ And I’m like, ‘That’s the whole point.’ It’s a new term, but it’s always been there,” confirms Avery-Claire. “As women, we all have that instinct.”

This story was featured in frankie issue 123. To get your mitts on a copy, swing past the frankie shop or visit one of our lovely stockists. To nab future issues, subscribe here.