Lauren Roth was scrolling through TikTok last week when she came across something puzzling: a cryptic post that had nothing but the date January 29 and the hashtag #cutewinterboots. Intrigued, she took to Google, determined to find some clarity, but had no such luck. “What was interesting was that when you stepped outside of the TikTok atmosphere, [the term] wasn’t present anywhere else, on any other social-media platforms,” the content creator recalls.
In the days that followed, more and more videos with the #cutewinterboots hashtag filled Roth’s feed—but despite what the phrase might imply, most of these posts had nothing to do with footwear. Instead, they detailed President Donald Trump’s newly enacted, far-reaching immigration policy. Some dove into the minutiae of his executive orders, warning of their imminent implications; some spoke about a January 29 march or protest; and others advised which “boots” protect people from “ice,” a.k.a. U.S. Customs and Immigration (ICE) raids.
As she scrolled, Roth started to understand that the #cutewinterboots hashtag was being used to create a centralized hub for this sort of content. Worried about censorship or shadowbans on the app, users had picked the phrase—memorable, easy to use, seemingly innocuous—as a code for discussing opposition to the MAGA leader and his actions.
The trend comes on the heels of not only Trump’s return to the presidency but also the brief TikTok ban and restoration that unfolded two days before Inauguration Day. The platform became unavailable to American users after more than a year of governmental concern that the company’s ties to China could present a national-security risk. But the prohibition was reversed just hours later, when Trump promised to pause the ban. While TikTokers were pleased with the app’s return, many worried that the platform—which issued a “welcome back” message that credited the president for its restoration—would have newfound allegiance to Trump and would censor or promote content accordingly. It’s with this concern in mind that liberal and progressive users have turned to coded language, like “cute winter boots.”
“Algospeak” like this is not exactly a new concept for social-media users, many of whom are familiar with using code words to circumvent algorithmic filters and spread sensitive information. But the “cute winter boots” trend takes it one step further by actually using TikTok’s algorithm, and its preference for product-focused, shoppable content, to its advantage. Some creators have even linked their videos to TikTok Shop to maximize their reach, linking not to shoes but to educational books or protective gear for protesting.
And although “cute winter boots” doesn’t include any real boots, it does build on a long and rich history of fashion as a means of political activism and identity. “Ultimately, fashion is a form of communication and self-expression, a very tangible one and a very accessible one,” says Einav Rabinovitch-Fox, a fashion historian and the author of Dressed for Freedom: The Fashionable Politics of American Feminism. “Clothing has always had a political aspect, because even if you don’t have the means to share your views through writing or speaking or by putting money into political campaigns, you can always make your voice heard through clothes.”
Throughout the country’s history, Americans, especially American women, have used fashion to make political statements. Discouraged or barred from speaking publicly about politics, women in the late 18th and early 19th centuries would wear golden eagles or black cockades to signal their support of the Federalist party, while Republican women would don Phrygian caps. Suffragettes embraced the color white to show their allegiance to the cause, and Black Panthers often sported berets and black leather jackets as symbols of their revolution. Even more recently, during the 2016 election, many women turned to pantsuits to express their support for Hillary Clinton and wore “pink pussy” hats in the subsequent months to protest Trump’s policies and values after he was elected.
There exists a certain level of plausible deniability in politicized fashion. “It really can serve as kind of a code, so when you cannot say the things you want to say because of censorship or because there may be repercussions, saying it through clothes gives you that protection,” Rabinovitch-Fox explains. “You can say, ‘Oh no, I was just talking about boots,’ and those who are in the know still know.”
Because fashion has long been seen as superficial or silly and reserved for women, it has often served as an under-the-radar way for like-minded people to unite and share their ideas without causing any suspicion. “Fashion and beauty are so heavily associated with femininity and frivolous consumption, but that’s exactly why they are powerful,” Rabinovitch-Fox says. “Throughout history, women have gathered under the guise of quilting or cosmetics, but as soon as the men lost interest, it was really like, ‘We’re meeting at nine for the revolution,’ and they could freely discuss their views. Great civil-rights activity was done in beauty parlors because women getting their hair done was seen as nonthreatening and no one gave it a second thought.”
In many ways, social-media platforms like TikTok and movements like “cute winter boots” are just the modern continuation of this storied politics-by-way-of-fashion tradition. “For Gen Zers, TikTok is kind of their beauty parlor, their place to communicate with one another about these issues and share information,” Rabinovitch-Fox notes. But she and countless others wonder if these political trends will lead to the same level of action, and ultimately progress, that those “real-life” movements of their predecessors did. “It is still creating those silos of activity, but I do think action in the real world matters, and you need to somehow translate it from the internet to some real action,” the historian says. “To have a million likes is great, and it does definitely help bring people into the cause or foster a sense of community. But at the end of the day, it’s not real action.”
In Roth’s case, the hashtag did translate to something tangible. After homing in on “cute winter boots” videos that focused on January 29 protests and gatherings, she was able to find one in her Boston area, the details of which were only advertised on TikTok. She made a plan to attend and then made a video of her own to further spread awareness of the event.
When she arrived at the protest a few days later, Roth was glad to meet so many others who shared her discontent with the new Trump administration and its divisive policies, particularly pertaining to immigration. “There were several hundred people there, and everyone I spoke to had also learned about it through TikTok,” she says. “But what was really amazing about the event is that it was held in a public, outdoor space, so bystanders and passersby could see what we were doing, come ask questions, and even join.”
Roth is thankful to TikTok, despite suspecting that it’s censoring the political content she’s most interested in, because it has allowed her to find a community and has opened her eyes to real-world issues. “What you consume through social media does have the power to effect change,” she says. It’s a reminder that people can’t be stopped from fighting for the causes they believe in, even if they have to cloak those efforts beneath a hashtag about boots.
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