In the music video for her recent single Drop Dead, pop sensation Olivia Rodrigo saunters beguilingly through the ornate rooms of the Palace of Versailles, her eyes fixed on the camera. It is an all round soft-girl production, shot by Petra Collins who captures a hazy teenage aesthetic close to a carbon copy of Sofia Coppola’s 2006 film, Marie Antoinette. But when the video aired last month, it was met with instant backlash online – not for her halting tourists from visiting the world heritage site for the day, but for Rodrigo’s Pinterest-inspired, pastel blue, babydoll ensemble.
The outfit – a floaty off-the-shoulder Chloé pre-fall 2026 babydoll top, styled with silky bloomers peeking out underneath and white pointelle knee socks – did not impress the keyboard warriors (likely, bots), who accused the singer of infantilising herself and invoking a ‘Lolita’ aesthetic. A few weeks later, Rodrigo donned a similar look (pictured top) on stage in Barcelona for Spotify’s Billions Club Live concert: a pink and white floral puff-sleeve babydoll top with matching ruffled bloomers from the small brand Génération78, offset by chunky black knee-high Dr Marten boots, equal parts soft and severe.
Online discourse immediately exploded, with many lodging accusations that she was dressing like a “sexy baby” and promoting “pedo core”, while others defended the singer, stating that she can wear whatever she wants. Among those defenders was Ertay Deger, co-founder of brand Generation78, who told the Guardian: “the babydoll silhouette was never conceived as infantilising. For us, it sits within a long history of fashion references tied to rebellion, performance, romance, and girlhood culture. The look felt knowingly performative rather than regressive”.
Rodrigo is a 23-year-old, critically acclaimed pop sensation who has long championed her creative independence, in both her sound and her look. “My Pinterest is all babydoll dresses and ’70s necklines,” she said in an interview for her cover issue of British Vogue last month. “I want it all to feel fun and laid-back.” Clearly this sentiment was lost to an online audience.
Rodrigo isn’t the only pop star embracing the baby doll aesthetic right now. Sabrina Carpenter has worn a sheer version, leaning towards a retro-lingerie aesthetic; Addison Rae posed coyly in an understated, plain white minidress on her Instagram – then there’s gen Z’s favourite indie-sleaze icon Alexa Chung who has worn these dresses for years.
The babydoll dress has long been subversive. Dr Liza Betts, researcher and senior lecturer in Cultural and Historical Studies at London College of Fashion, UAL, explains that this style can be traced back to the 1960s, where it developed in parallel with the mini dress. “It’s a material example of the tension experienced by women between the expected propriety that society demanded, and empowered sexual freedom and expression which was becoming more visible throughout the decade as a result of second-wave feminism”, she says. “The item is interesting because it was evidenced in both daywear and nightwear simultaneously.”
It was in the 1990s that the babydoll dress experienced a resurgence in alternative culture, particularly the ‘kinderwhore’ aesthetic donned by grunge icons like Courtney Love and Kat Bjelland, who used it to ironically subvert and poke fun at a docile form of femininity. Love recently defended Rodrigo: “If y’all are sexualising this, then maybe you’re the problem … you can pry my babydoll dress from my cold dead hands.”
So why all the fuss? Gen Z has often been characterised as notably puritanical compared to other generations. Indeed, we live in an era when the exposed horrors of child sexual exploitation are at the forefront of public consciousness. But this wave of outrage towards a perceived sartorial perversion is arguably a projection that serves to police the status quo of young women’s fashion, rather than a mark of genuine concern. In her own words, Olivia Rodrigo wants her fashion to be “fun and laid back”, why can’t we let it be just that?
Rodrigo may be a self-proclaimed fan of alternative music and fashion from the 90s, but the pop girl who began her career as a Disney Channel child star is not a direct descendant of the subversive ethos pioneered by the punk girls of decades past. Her pastiche take on the aesthetic is more prim and polished than Courtney Love’s ripped hemlines and messy bed hair. But it turns out, even the most tame and sanitised style choices can still become fodder for the vultures of controversy.
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