Ode to workwear

An

to workwear

Intro
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Our clothing reflects us. It’s a mirror of who we are or want to be, and it’s often the medium through which our personal stories unfold. No one understands this better than Shahidha Bari, Professor of Fashion Cultures and Histories at the London College of Fashion and author of Dressed: The Secret Life of Clothes.

 

As many of us begin to return to the office, we are reminded of the huge part our workwear plays in our daily lives. To quote Shahidha, ‘the clothes we wear to work seem to be full of character – our character.’ Here, Shahidha pens a reflective love letter to her workplace and the clothing connected to it, something that deeply resonated with me and I’m confident it will with you too…

 

Polly McMaster
Founder, The Fold

 

 

Our clothing reflects us. It’s a mirror of who we are or want to be, and it’s often the medium through which our personal stories unfold. No one understands this better than Shahidha Bari, Professor of Fashion Cultures and Histories at the London College of Fashion and author of Dressed: The Secret Life of Clothes.

 

As many of us begin to return to the office, we are reminded of the huge part our workwear plays in our daily lives. To quote Shahidha, ‘the clothes we wear to work seem to be full of character – our character.’ Here, Shahidha pens a reflective love letter to her workplace and the clothing connected to it, something that deeply resonated with me and I’m confident it will with you too…

 

Polly McMaster
Founder, The Fold

A Love Letter to Workwear

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Have you returned to
work at the office yet?

When I went back to my office on the 3rd floor of a glossy block in London’s High Holborn earlier this summer, it was after a full year of meetings, boards and committees all hosted on online platforms. It had been so long since I had been back that I had forgotten exactly which stop at which to hop off the no. 37 bus.

 

On the way, I imagined all the desks littered with wilted ferns and shrivelled spider plants, left cruelly unwatered for so long. But I had forgotten all about the clothes my colleagues had left behind too: Ali’s grey blazer still slung on his chair, now a little dustier, Effie’s red heels still peeping out from under her desk, sadly unworn. The scene looked a little like the tumbleweed strewn streets that you see in zombie apocalypse films.

 

But it was also weirdly moving. Here were familiar old friends, or at least their clothes. Across the open plan office, I surveyed the messy array of jackets, scarves, shoes and bags that colleagues habitually left hanging from chairs and stuffed under desks, and which had remained in place even as we worked from home. The clothes seemed to represent them even in their absence. Perhaps you know what I mean.

When I went back to my office on the 3rd floor of a glossy block in London’s High Holborn earlier this summer, it was after a full year of meetings, boards and committees all hosted on online platforms. It had been so long since I had been back that I had forgotten exactly which stop at which to hop off the no. 37 bus.

 

On the way, I imagined all the desks littered with wilted ferns and shrivelled spider plants, left cruelly unwatered for so long. But I had forgotten all about the clothes my colleagues had left behind too: Ali’s grey blazer still slung on his chair, now a little dustier, Effie’s red heels still peeping out from under her desk, sadly unworn. The scene looked a little like the tumbleweed strewn streets that you see in zombie apocalypse films.

 

But it was also weirdly moving. Here were familiar old friends, or at least their clothes. Across the open plan office, I surveyed the messy array of jackets, scarves, shoes and bags that colleagues habitually left hanging from chairs and stuffed under desks, and which had remained in place even as we worked from home. The clothes seemed to represent them even in their absence. Perhaps you know what I mean.

Think of your own workplace and all the personal things people leave littered around. They are a peculiar shorthand for all the colleagues we wave at on the way over to the coffeemaker of a morning. In my case, I think of a very particular black lacquer coat stand that stands silent like a sentry in the far west corner of the room. I could tell you from memory what you’d find on it: Sophie’s red cashmere cardigan with the bobbly bits, Samir’s green raincoat, several wonky umbrellas and someone’s posh Vivienne Westwood cape that nobody has ever seen claimed and everyone has tried on at least once while working late of an evening. What I mean to say here is that the clothes we wear to work seem to be full of character – our character.

 

So, has this long stint of lockdown forced us to adopt different characters in our working from home clothes? What, for instance, have you been wearing at home during the ten o’clock team meeting on Mondays? Perhaps you started off smart casual – a boat neck top, rather than a collar. Then, later in lockdown, you admitted defeat and lapsed into a jam-stained t-shirt as the kids clambered over you during their online class. I don’t blame you.

 

Think of your own workplace and all the personal things people leave littered around. They are a peculiar shorthand for all the colleagues we wave at on the way over to the coffeemaker of a morning. In my case, I think of a very particular black lacquer coat stand that stands silent like a sentry in the far west corner of the room. I could tell you from memory what you’d find on it: Sophie’s red cashmere cardigan with the bobbly bits, Samir’s green raincoat, several wonky umbrellas and someone’s posh Vivienne Westwood cape that nobody has ever seen claimed and everyone has tried on at least once while working late of an evening. What I mean to say here is that the clothes we wear to work seem to be full of character – our character.

 

So, has this long stint of lockdown forced us to adopt different characters in our working from home clothes? What, for instance, have you been wearing at home during the ten o’clock team meeting on Mondays? Perhaps you started off smart casual – a boat neck top, rather than a collar. Then, later in lockdown, you admitted defeat and lapsed into a jam-stained t-shirt as the kids clambered over you during their online class. I don’t blame you.

The clothes we wear to work seem to be full of character – our character.

At times of duress, there are ‘comfort clothes’ that can give us comfort as well as being comfortable to wear. And there is something powerfully humanising in seeing our workmates in homewear – we remember that they are busy partners, harried mothers and carers of demanding dogs. We see that them in the round, their responsibilities and commitments beyond work, in a way that office life doesn’t always allow. It strikes me that might be a good thing to remember when we’re back working together again if we’re to be humane and caring colleagues in our post-pandemic world.

 

But if, like me, you also found yourself woefully unproductive in lockdown ‘comfies’, perhaps you have now happily returned to office wear – a classic wrap dress, a belted blazer, a smart jersey print dress – in an attempt to recapture the rhythm of the office day and the formality that gives it structure.

At times of duress, there are ‘comfort clothes’ that can give us comfort as well as being comfortable to wear. And there is something powerfully humanising in seeing our workmates in homewear – we remember that they are busy partners, harried mothers and carers of demanding dogs. We see that them in the round, their responsibilities and commitments beyond work, in a way that office life doesn’t always allow. It strikes me that might be a good thing to remember when we’re back working together again if we’re to be humane and caring colleagues in our post-pandemic world.

 

But if, like me, you also found yourself woefully unproductive in lockdown ‘comfies’, perhaps you have now happily returned to office wear – a classic wrap dress, a belted blazer, a smart jersey print dress – in an attempt to recapture the rhythm of the office day and the formality that gives it structure.

This is the thing. Our work clothes give order to our day.

 

When you put on a pressed blouse and slip on smart shoes, you signal to your body that you are about to embark on a different kind of activity. A tie and a collar act to stiffen the neck and straighten the spine, but they also demarcate the time of day and the behaviour appropriate to it.

 

Without our office clothes, we can slump into slovenliness. Sitting on sternly professional interview panels during lockdown, it felt like a mark of respect to insist on meeting the candidate in a new silk blouse even if I was only talking to them through the screen in the corner of our sitting room. Some occasions demand dignity and our work clothes accord us that.

 

So, what will happen in the coming year, if, and when, we get back to the business of the old-fashioned office day?

 

This is the thing. Our work clothes give order to our day.

 

When you put on a pressed blouse and slip on smart shoes, you signal to your body that you are about to embark on a different kind of activity. A tie and a collar act to stiffen the neck and straighten the spine, but they also demarcate the time of day and the behaviour appropriate to it.

 

Without our office clothes, we can slump into slovenliness. Sitting on sternly professional interview panels during lockdown, it felt like a mark of respect to insist on meeting the candidate in a new silk blouse even if I was only talking to them through the screen in the corner of our sitting room. Some occasions demand dignity and our work clothes accord us that.

 

So, what will happen in the coming year, if, and when, we get back to the business of the old-fashioned office day?

This is the thing. Our work clothes give order to our day.

Some promise that this will be the start of a new roaring 20s, full of flamboyance and excess, not least in how we dress. There’s some indication that might happen in office wear too.

 

Why would we return to basic blues, greys and black, when we could relish in colour, cut, style and print? I long for tangerine oranges, emerald greens, daring prints and dramatic cuts – see Fold’s collection for some ideas. But I suspect we might also be more determined to keep an element of casual as part of business wear too – experimenting with wide legged trousers, capri pants, a silk print blouse that can segue easily from board meeting to bar.

Some promise that this will be the start of a new roaring 20s, full of flamboyance and excess, not least in how we dress. There’s some indication that might happen in office wear too.

 

Why would we return to basic blues, greys and black, when we could relish in colour, cut, style and print? I long for tangerine oranges, emerald greens, daring prints and dramatic cuts – see Fold’s collection for some ideas. But I suspect we might also be more determined to keep an element of casual as part of business wear too – experimenting with wide legged trousers, capri pants, a silk print blouse that can segue easily from board meeting to bar.

And this might reflect our new commitment to keeping a better work life balance – something that some of us have been forced to learn in lockdown.

 

Most of all, I think we’ll relish in dressing up. We’ll re-learn all that forgotten muscle memory that allows us to walk comfortably on a kitten heel and hold our shoulders back in a boat neck. There won’t be the same old unspoken rules and judgements. Instead, we’ll take pleasure in each other’s flair for colour and taste for tailored cuts, having spent so much time away from such things. We’ll openly compliment each other rather than eye enviously from afar, fearing lack of professionalism.

 

And this might reflect our new commitment to keeping a better work life balance – something that some of us have been forced to learn in lockdown.

 

Most of all, I think we’ll relish in dressing up. We’ll re-learn all that forgotten muscle memory that allows us to walk comfortably on a kitten heel and hold our shoulders back in a boat neck. There won’t be the same old unspoken rules and judgements. Instead, we’ll take pleasure in each other’s flair for colour and taste for tailored cuts, having spent so much time away from such things. We’ll openly compliment each other rather than eye enviously from afar, fearing lack of professionalism.

‘It’s been so long,’ we’ll say, with delight and affection,
‘Welcome back!’. And then, You look great!’. You do.

About Shahidha Bari

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Shahidha Bari is a writer, academic and broadcaster working in the fields of fashion, literature, philosophy and art.

 

She is Professor of Fashion Cultures and Histories at London College of Fashion and a Fellow of the Forum for Philosophy at the LSE. She was recognised as one of BBC Radio 3’s New Generation Thinkers in 2011 and won The Observer Anthony Burgess Art Journalism Prize 2016.

 

In addition to her academic accomplishments, Shahidha’s writing and broadcasting achievements abound. Her work has appeared in various publications, including The Financial Times, The Guardian and Frieze, and she features frequently on BBC Radio 3 and BBC Radio 4.

 

She is the author of Dressed: The Secret Life of Clothes, a philosophical deep dive into the hidden meaning of our wardrobes. She holds degrees from Cambridge and Cornell and currently resides in London.

Shahidha Bari is a writer, academic and broadcaster working in the fields of fashion, literature, philosophy and art.

 

She is Professor of Fashion Cultures and Histories at London College of Fashion and a Fellow of the Forum for Philosophy at the LSE. She was recognised as one of BBC Radio 3’s New Generation Thinkers in 2011 and won The Observer Anthony Burgess Art Journalism Prize 2016.

 

In addition to her academic accomplishments, Shahidha’s writing and broadcasting achievements abound. Her work has appeared in various publications, including The Financial Times, The Guardian and Frieze, and she features frequently on BBC Radio 3 and BBC Radio 4.

 

She is the author of Dressed: The Secret Life of Clothes, a philosophical deep dive into the hidden meaning of our wardrobes. She holds degrees from Cambridge and Cornell and currently resides in London.

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