Susie Lau goes full goblincore

When you amalgamate ‘core’ with any vague aesthetic-driven word that’s been plucked out of thin air (or as per the OG core “normcore”, entirely invented by a trend-forecast agency), at any given time there will be a something-core that is supposedly trending.

That’s because we the people are eagerly trying to partake in our frantic core-led keyword searches — something my profession insists upon alas. On a weekly basis I get sent lively email updates on the movements of these ‘-core’ words. ‘Cottage-core’, the pandemic-fuelled romanticisation of bucolic The Good Life lifestyle is OUT. Too curated and dependent on suspiciously clean-looking cheesecloth blouses. ‘Regencycore’ is IN for obvious reasons, despite the second season of Bridgerton losing a bit of its sezzy sizzle. ‘Goblincore’ is the grittier, earthier evolution of cottagecore, where instead of pristine cheesecloth one might wear funghi-dyed cotton smeared with mud, snail slime and chaos.

As I sit typing this in bed with my unwashed face, rubbing sleep out of my eyes, asking Nico my daughter to feed herself with pre-packaged muffins (it’s gone past midday), I bear much more allegiance to the also-trending Tik Tok-sanctioned ways of ‘goblin mode’. It went mainstream earlier this year when we were universally gripped with the dissolution of Kanye ‘Ye’ West’s relationship with Julia Fox. It was put down to the fact he didn’t like Fox going into ‘goblin mode’ (which she later refuted).

It is basically a more feral iteration of slobbing out. But it’s not simply putting on some trackie b’s and boshing a boxset. To go full-on goblin mode is to wake up in the middle of the night, eat slices of ham straight from the packet, dive into a nu-metal YouTube wormhole and sloth slowly back into slumber, smelling faintly of a deli sandwich. As the Big Return in London meant the return of many office workers to their Pret a Manger habits and BO-on-the-Tube avoidance techniques, I along with others have languished in our WFH states.

My morning Zoom calls now have their video permanently off so they don’t see that my eyes are mascara streaked and the T-shirt I’ve grown attached to for the past two days is streaked with yoghurt, frying pan splatter and toast crumbs. And I have the pallor of someone who hasn’t moisturised in days. In the early afternoon while I’m waiting for 3pm school pick-up, putting off any excuse to answer emails from my accountant, I’ll go make myself the ugliest ramen combo on earth. In goes every weird pickled veg in the fridge and every dried umami furikake topping I’ve randomly bought on my old trips to Japan. And maybe some spam just for protein.

Once the child is in bed and fed (possibly with day-old pizza), I’ll sloth back down to my laptop, praying inspiration will come to me. Instead the goblin beckons. They (non-binary duh) really start doing their spritely goblin dance around 9pm when I optimistically think I’ll have three hours of productive writing time in me. They lure me to the TV remote and… wait, has Mile High, Noughties raunch series centring on a budget airline flight crew, found its way on to Amazon Prime? That deserves an obvious rewatch. I’ll wake up at 1am, with the TV urging me to switch off and I find a Monster Munch pressed into my cheek (I may or may not have eaten it). Come 7am, we do this goblin dance again.