But I seem to have entirely glazed over the fact that it's finally become its own aesthetic.
A fully fledged street-style identity that's bleeding into fashion faster than Salomon can restock the Speedcross.
We lived through ballet-core, where every girl dressed like she'd just left a rehearsal for Swan Lake. We endured last summer's football-shorts era, where Pinterest girlies convinced themselves baggy athletic shorts were high fashion. Gorp-core made hiking gear sexy somehow. Bloke-core gave us jerseys worn unironically to dinner dates, much to the despair of women everywhere.
Now it's running's turn.
Running is the one sport where the gear isn't just gear. It's a uniform. A membership badge. A declaration of taste and dedication to health.
Run clubs are micro-subcultures. They come with aesthetics, rituals, vibes. Are you the minimalist-black-Nike-head-to-toe type? The colourful-Hoka maximalist? The Salomon trail runner who lives in the CBD and, in fact, nowhere near a trail? Or maybe the 5km girly who wears a running vest because it's ✨pink ✨?
There's also the plain fact that people want to look good while they run. Don't lie, you know you do.
It's not shallow; it's social. Running is a public sport. You're doing it on streets, in parks, along waterfronts, literally in front of strangers. The right shorts and top are suddenly tools for confidence. Clean lines, fresh colourways, thoughtfully engineered fabrics. This is performance gear that acts as identity armour.
You don't even need to be running anymore to dress like you could. Activewear became the everyday uniform for people who have never once checked their split pace (it's me, I'm people.)
The influence is no longer one-directional. Fashion is borrowing from runners; and running gear is borrowing back. Performance brands are designing with street style in mind, ultralight silhouettes, sculpted shapes, sleek technical fabrics that look just as good grabbing a flat white as they do at kilometre nine.
It's why you're seeing split shorts with oversized trench coats. Hokas with pleated skirts. Salomons on hinge dates. Technical tees styled with vintage denim. Hydration vests at the farmer's market, which... okay, maybe we've gone too far, but you get the idea.
We're in the age of the runner-adjacent civilian.
And that's because running, in 2025, is deeply aspirational. Not in an obnoxious, unattainable way, but in a "this could be me if I tried hard enough" kind of way.
Dressing like a runner is basically a wearable manifestation of self-optimisation. It signals discipline, health, ambition, early mornings, wellness, community. Even if your last run was in 2019 (guilty.)
But more importantly, it makes running feel accessible.
You don't have to be fast or know what a tempo session is. You can throw on some cute kit, join the group, and suddenly the whole thing feels less intimidating, more communal, more fun.
And fashion loves an on-ramp.
Especially one with a halo of health, simplicity and authenticity. Running is the anti-hype-beast: it's low-tech, low-barrier, low-ego. There are no courts to book. No monthly fees. No gatekeepers. Just you, your shoes, and whatever playlist makes you feel like you're the main character in a Nike commercial.
That's why this moment feels so big.
It speaks to where culture is heading: toward utility, toward intentionality, toward moving our bodies as a form of identity expression.
So yes, your hinge date is wearing Salomons to the café you picked. Not because he's a douche. And also not because he's training for anything. But because running is no longer confined to the track. And you know what? It's kind of a vibe.
A language. A lifestyle signal.
And right now, it's the best-dressed one we've got.
-Sophie Randell, Writer
