Uniformly speaking, most of us develop a look, then stick to it
It’s strange that we spend most of our adult lives putting ourselves back into a uniform, despite rebelling against them as children
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.We spend most of our childhoods rebelling against the uniformity of uniform.
Just about everybody has done something to alter theirs: plucking school colours from ties with a compass or knotting it the wrong way around or extra short; rolling up your skirt to higher-than-regulation across the thigh; or any act of undetectable defacement, pushing the status quo until you’re hauled off to detention and ordered to buy a replacement.
It’s strange, then, that we spend most of our adult lives putting ourselves back into a uniform. I don’t mean actual uniforms – most people forced to wear those probably still despise them (I once worked for an investment bank and loathed the necessity to suit and boot every day). But elsewhere, a uniform develops. Perhaps subconsciously, perhaps just for ease.
It struck me at the spring/summer 2015 Paris shows, mostly because, having travelled across four cities in four weeks, I’ve been packing a lot of suitcases. And the suitcases invariably included the same garments, in multiple permutations. T-shirts, normally in black, narrow black jeans (detect a theme?), some form of lightweight jacket that’s easily bundled into a bag. That is pretty much it. Fashion? What fashion? This is a working wardrobe.
Other people take rather more idiosyncratic approaches to the idea of uniform. Look at American Vogue’s Anna Wintour, invariably clad in Manolo Blahnik mules, a fluted A-line skirt and a necklace of gems the size of Werther’s Originals. The whole point of a uniform isn’t the constant visual recognition or identification, but for ease and speed. It’s far more efficient to truss yourself up in similar garments day in and day out – get out, do the job, get back.
That doesn’t mean the more uniformly clad of the fashion press enjoy the spectacle of the shows any less. I suppose it’s about knowing what works for you, and on you, and sticking to those guns. It’s uniform in the best sense of the word – reliable, constant, and can take you just about anywhere. Plus we’re the ones who decide on it, and there’s no head-teacher to rap our knuckles if it isn’t quite right.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments