During the pandemic, this became especially clear. As the world paused, we rediscovered the simple joys of walking, touching soil, watching leaves rustle in the wind. Parks became sanctuaries, balconies became gardens, and even a brief glimpse of sky between tower blocks felt like a lifeline. For a moment, biophilia was not just a theory but a collective need — a quiet, instinctive return to what heals. And yet, as lockdowns eased and fashion houses rebooted their engines, that connection began to be rebranded, packaged, and sold back to us with performance fleece and colour-matched water bottles.

"GORP", short for Good Ol' Raisins and Peanuts, is hiker slang for trail mix. Gorpcore, a term coined around 2017, refers to the aesthetic embrace of outdoor gear: Patagonia puffers, Salomon trail shoes, North Face fleeces, Arc’teryx hard shells. It’s less about actual hiking and more about looking like you could if you wanted to. And it’s everywhere.

What began as niche utility wear is now full-blown fashion. Celebrities don the look at fashion weeks. TikTokers label their outfits with #techwear. Collaborations between high fashion and mountain brands (think Gucci x North Face or Jil Sander x Arc’teryx) have further cemented its cultural capital. Even those with no intention of scaling a hill have found comfort and cachet in the structured silhouettes of outerwear designed for glaciers and trails.

It makes sense: gorpcore taps into something primal. As climate anxiety rises, war simmers, and urban life intensifies, we dress as if for survival. It’s a form of modern-day armour.  Not against nature, but against modernity itself. Yet, what happens when the gear overshadows the journey? When preparation becomes performance?

Gorpcore may mimic nature, but it rarely engages with it. The movement risks turning biophilia into pure aesthetic performance. A curated Pinterest board of mossy tones, topographic maps, and hydration flasks. Nature becomes a brand, not a biome. It’s the Patagonia logo, not the pine forest. The Arc’teryx shell, not the actual rainfall. The fantasy of nature replaces the experience of it.

We now see people spending more on gear than time outdoors. A viral tweet once mocked it best: "You don’t need a £400 jacket to walk in the park." And yet, the market suggests otherwise. Biophilia has been absorbed into consumer culture: its textures mimicked, its logos commodified, its spirituality sterilised. The spiritual urge to reconnect with the earth is now filtered through sponsored content, drop culture, and delivery packaging.

What’s more, many of these so-called “eco-conscious” pieces are made from synthetic materials, shipped globally, and sold with little regard for the natural world they claim to celebrate. Recycled plastic is still plastic. Fast fashion dressed as slow exploration still follows the same treadmill of overproduction. The irony is sharp: we wear nature as a costume, even as the real thing grows more distant.

So why do we do it? Because gorpcore is not just about fashion. It’s a symptom of deep urban alienation. A world where we are physically, emotionally, and spiritually cut off from the earth. In cities, nature becomes a luxury. Access to green spaces, fresh air, even silence, is unequally distributed. For many, gorpcore offers a kind of simulation. A shortcut. A signal. A way of saying: I could belong to the wild, even if I don’t.

But the truth is, real connection to nature doesn’t come with zippers or Gore-Tex membranes. It comes from time. From effort. From discomfort. From being cold, wet, tired, and alive. From the ache in your knees after a climb, the dirt under your nails from pulling weeds, the scent of pine clinging to your hoodie days after the walk. These are the moments that root us back to the earth. And they can’t be bought.

Until we reclaim those messy, unfiltered encounters with nature, we risk mistaking fashion for fulfilment. We risk forgetting that biophilia is not a vibe but a practice. One that begins not with performance gear but with presence.

Gorpcore isn’t evil. It’s understandable, even beautiful, in its own way. Dressing for the outdoors can be empowering, comfortable, even comforting. But it isn’t enough. Dressing like a hiker won’t heal our disconnection from the natural world. To do that, we need more than style. We need stillness. We need humility. We need to remember what it feels like to walk with no reception and no reception to walk back to.

So go ahead, wear the jacket if you must. But don’t forget to actually go outside. Or, as the kids say, touch grass!

Published 31st of July 2025