Did recent beauty and style trends that evoke “old money,” the pastoral past and the “clean girl” aesthetic predict Donald Trump’s reelection? Quite possibly, at least if you ask the internet’s fashion girlies.

On TikTok and other social media platforms, fashion influencers swear they read the tea leaves ― or cottagecore prairie dresses, as it were ― and could have predicted the rightward shift in the electorate last week as well as white women’s embrace of conservatism.

“The fashion girls and others BEEN talking about ‘innocuous’ signs of the tide turning toward conservatism the last 2ish years through trends,” one viral tweet from this week reads. “Not just tradwives but also ‘clean girl’ aesthetic, ozempic & re-emphasis on thinness.”

In a viral TikTok, Elysia Berman, a creative director who works at Estée Lauder Companies, agreed that the writing has been on the wall for months: It’s not just milkmaid dresses that were suggestive of a cultural sea change, but throwback Reaganite style, too.

“I was thinking holistically about the industry ― about Celine, about this return to Americana [and] Ralph Lauren trending again, people wearing Polo bags and little lady jackets. There’s a value system associated with that aesthetic,” she said in the clip. “We’re turning to that aesthetic because we’re returning to that value system.”

Then there’s the fashion we often see on tradwives. “Tradwife” influencers ― women who embrace traditional gender roles and the idea that a woman’s place is at home and with her children, all while documenting it on Instagram ― tend to favor milkmaid dresses and bare feet, or vintage fit and flare silhouettes to complete their 1950s housewife cosplay.

Of course, wearing a cottagecore dress doesn’t mean you’re conservative, let alone a tradwife. During the pandemic, many gravitated toward prairie dresses and Hill House Home nap dresses because they were comfortable, not as a subtle endorsement of Roe v. Wade being overturned or because they wanted to look like an extra from “The Handmaid’s Tale” (even if they kind of did).

Still, even back in 2021, some feminists found the aesthetic a little troubling (especially when it made its way down-market to the aisles of Target and Walmart) because of what it visually communicated: modest, non-threatening, homebound femininity.

Danielle Vermeer, the incoming head of social commerce at online consignment site ThredUp, said she connected the dots about fashion trends and the return of Trump, too.

“Fashion trends don’t exist in a vacuum; trends are often indicative of larger cultural and societal shifts,” she told HuffPost. “For many people, fashion is a medium for self-expression, social signaling, and alignment with different subcultures. Fashion is political and it’s never just about the clothes.”

And there’s historical precedent for the idea that more pastoral, tradition fashion presages a shift toward traditionalism, and social and political conservatism, according to Deirdre Clemente, a professor who studies the history of the American fashion industry at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas.

“Before World War I and Vietnam, there was a notable shift toward more provincial dress,” she told HuffPost. (If you’re a Boomer, you probably owned a few peasant tops and dresses.)

“These all had ‘swings’ toward conservative dress in the years before the event,” Clemente told HuffPost. “Fashion makes the culture that makes the changes. The clothing is constitutive, not reflective, of cultural change.”

Peggy Heffington, a professor of history at the University of Chicago and the author of “Without Children: The Long History of Not Being a Mother,” added demure coquette dressing and balletcore to some style trends that might have suggested Trumpism was here to stay.

“These aren’t clear throwbacks to a traditional gender role-filled past in the same way, but they do a similar thing of neutralizing women’s bodies as political by making them safe and feminine,” she said.

What’s most interesting to Heffington is how effectively the influencers who favor tradwife looks and lifestyles have decoupled the aesthetic and way of life from the more provocative conservative ideology that’s usually behind the fashion choices.

“This has allowed conservative signals ― even explicit historical references like 1960s housewife fashion or prairie dresses ― to look like politically neutral fashion choices,” Heffington said.

Now that Trump has won, reality seems to be setting in for many followers of such influencers: Model and lifestyle influencer Nara Smith faced backlash from some of her 10.7 million TikTok followers after her husband, model Lucky Blue Smith, reposted a TikTok celebrating Trump’s win.

Similarly, on Reddit, fans of the hit reality show “The Secret Lives Of Mormon Wives” have been disappointed to see their faves reposting and “liking” crunchy pro-RFK Jr. posts and celebratory MAGA posts online.

Given these women’s backgrounds ― Smith’s claim to fame is being a 23-year-housewife and mom of three who makes everything from scratch, right down to homemade Coca Cola, while “The Secret Lives Of Mormon Wives” cast are housewives and practicing Mormons from Salt Lake City ― fans really shouldn’t be all that surprised.

As for the idea that Ozempic and the return to thinness as the body ideal after years of body positivity was a tip-off that Trump would win, some aren’t so sure.

Susan Scafidi, a professor, and founder and director of Fashion Law Institute at Fordham Law School, thinks the re-embrace of thinness has something to do with another, related cultural divide: rich versus poor, rather than conservative versus liberal.

“In a society overflowing with empty calories and mostly sedentary jobs, being thin requires leisure time to exercise, access to healthy ‘slow food,’ money to buy prescription drugs, or all of the above,” Scafidi said.

Being thin in America is expensive, Scafidi said, quoting a line that’s often attributed to Wallis Simpson, the American socialite-turned-wife-of-former King Edward VIII: “You can never be too rich or too thin.”

It’s worth noting that a lot of the aforementioned fashion trends absolutely do align with white womanhood: For instance, critics have argued that the “clean girl aesthetic” which promotes fresh and “natural” beauty, tends to elevate Eurocentric beauty. Others say it reeks of classicism; not everyone can afford to get laser treatments or buy the pricey skincare products that “makeup-free” clean girls make ample use of.

The idea that fashion is inherently political ― or can be used as a test of the political waters ― has its limits, said Henry Navarro Delgado, an associate professor of fashion at Toronto Metropolitan University.

“Fashion can be political, but not only so, even in our ideologically polarized times,” he said, pointing at how increasingly difficult it is to pinpoint someone’s politics, like the split voters who cast their ballot for Trump while upholding measures meant to strengthen abortion rights, or those who voted for liberal senators and house representatives while going for Trump.

“Trends that can be interpreted as ‘conservative’ aren’t only dominant right now, they share space with many other style perspectives resulting from the myriad of cultural and ideological postures found in our diverse, and increasingly vocal, communities,” Navarro Delgado said.

For example, Gen Z has embraced upcycling and sustainable fashion. Oversized athletic wear (think: Billie Eilish) and genderfluid looks are popular, too.

Vermeer thinks the embrace of secondhand fashion will intensify, especially if Trump’s aggressive tariff plan goes through and drives up the cost of clothing.

“Gen Z and Millennials have been driving the demand for thrifting to save money and shop more sustainably, and if their favorite retail brands are more expensive under the tariffs, it’s only more appealing,” she said. “Secondhand clothes already exist and are easier than ever to buy and sell online.”

Could Trumpism and social conservatism also usher in some more aggressive, decidedly less “quiet luxury” trends? If fashion is political, authentic personal style can be a radical act, or at least a statement against the status quo.

Think of how the punk scene and its associated aesthetic ― studded leather, safety pins, ripped jeans and mohawks ― sprung out from the conservatism of the Reagan era and its old money aesthetic: fitted Brooks Brothers suits and fussy tweed skirts and pussy-bow blouses favored by first lady Nancy Reagan. (The street style associated with hip-hop, with its bold, Afrocentric prints, oversized silhouettes, tracksuits and gold chains, came up around the same time, too.)

On TikTok, popular fashion influencer Mandy Lee recently predicted that “man repeller” looks could make a comeback in the wake of Trump’s win: baggy pants that ward off the male gaze or maybe blocky power suits with big shoulders that connote female power.

In Lee’s comments, other women said they’re hoping for a new tide of aggro, unpretty fashion.

“I’m really hoping the pushback of the clean-girl conservative look is the DIY punk rebellion of the late ’70s and ’80s making the biggest comeback,” one commenter said.

Another woman thinks grunge fits the moment more than punk rock. She called it “self defense fashion.”

“Clutches that look like holsters, knuckle rings, spiked shoulders,” she said. “The rebellion is gonna be grunge.”