Recently, I got down to hemming a pair of carpenter jeans that I bought secondhand last year. They were too long for me, but for the longest time, I couldn’t figure what length I wanted. Until recently, my go-to was ankle length, for several reasons: I feel the length works better with flat shoes, which is my preferred shoe; I hate hems dragging on the floor (they get dirty and I step on them); and a cropped length feels practical, jaunty, ‘ready for action’ to me.
(My preference might also be circumstantial —I am 5’11 and most trousers are too short for me; perhaps I just got used to trousers that never quite reached the floor?)
Whatever the reason, last year, perhaps swayed by the trend of sweeping trousers pooling around our feet, I held off hemming these jeans.
Then some time back, Tiia of
mentioned Irving Penn’s ‘Small Trades’ in her IG stories. Irving Penn is one reason I have a bit of a soft spot for US Vogue; the magazine was how I learnt of his work as a photographer. And “Small Trades” is for me, his best work—tradespeople from Paris, London and New York photographed in his studio with the same dignity, precision and elegance of his fashion editorials.I had not opened the book in years, and as I leafed through it, I was struck by how many of my style preferences were reflected back at me—cuffed trousers, rolled sleeves, hems that never touched the floor or barely grazed it, midi-length aprons that echoed my love of long A-line skirts, denim and other fabrics with a rough-spun, hard-won texture. I am no tradesperson, but I do like my clothes to be hardworking and utilitarian in design, and through the exacting lens of Irving Penn, the sartorial details of these tradespeople shone through.
I closed the book, tried on my too-long jeans, and settled on my preferred length. They would be long enough to have a gentle break over the top of my foot, but hover ever so slightly off the floor. Fuss-free, practical without losing the ease and slouch that made the jeans so appealing in the first place.
My thoughts about trouser lengths dissipated, but the idea of hardworking clothing has lingered in my mind since. I’ve always been drawn to workwear-inspired pieces: denim, overshirts, chore jackets, apron/smock type detailing, practical and hard-wearing shoes. I like the idea of clothes with room for movement and made to withstand wear and tear. They suit the life I lead and their utility makes their design and appearance fairly timeless. They absorb the shocks of daily life and look better for it—creases, fades, stains, frays, small rips. Denim, my first love, is a prime example of a workwear fabric that’s become mainstream; despite the many denim trends that have come and gone, its beauty and essentiality remain constant.
There’s a photo in ‘Small Trades’ that I find especially striking—a waiter in a long white apron that comes down past his knees. The apron’s fold marks are sharp and pleasingly regular, forming a pattern that feels almost deliberate. It looks very much like the Prada “crease effect” skirts from the brand’s spring/summer 2023 collection, except that it’s real, not an effect.
No shade on the Prada skirt; it’s nice to see fashion that wants you to see details differently, “gestures of error”, as Prada co-designer Raf Simons put it. It made me think, not simply want, for a change. It reminded me of the small details that make clothes feel like a life exists in them. I remembered that I am drawn to the wear and tear of time, and by extension, the clothes that can withstand that.
There’s also a sense of formality running through Small Trades. Partly because portraiture tends to feel formal, but also because many of the tradespeople wore a uniform of some kind: waiters, doormen, cooks, painters, nannies, seamstresses, sailors, showgirls and cab drivers.
A uniforms is one of the more formal forms of dress there is, and it has its own share of negative connotations—they can dehumanising and demeaning (this episode of “Worn Stories” on Netflix is a good one to learn more about this) and they can be a form of forced conformity.
But as someone who has donned work uniforms in the past, I also appreciate how they telegraph a person’s trade or position, and often they protected me from the functions of my work (food splatters for one). When they are well-designed and made, they are practical, hardworking and instill in me a feeling of pride. A paint-splattered boiler suit is not formal wear, but it has formality in how it’s a considered choice of garment for what the environment calls for, and it demands respect for the labour it performs.
I dislike the word “formality”, which has such negative connotations for me (“rigid”, “conservative”, “appropriate”). But looking at “Small Trades”, I was inspired by formality in a different way—less about rigidly observing decorum, more about an acknowledgment of context and sometimes, a gesture of respect.
And all this is to say, I love clothes that are hardworking and I respect the quiet dignity and sense of place that utilitarian design imbues its wearers. (Why, if I were a style adjective type of person, I might even pick ‘hardworking’ as one of my words.)
I generally avoid actual workwear (think Carhatt overalls or chore jackets) since I don’t work in the trades associated with them, but there are many other ways to draw inspiration without resorting to cosplay.
I love the work of designers and brands like Margaret Howell, Studio Nicholson and Lemaire, all of whom draw on workwear for inspiration in a way that doesn’t feel like costume. And this article is a great starting point for seeing how Japanese workwear has influenced fashion.
But really, we can also think of hardworking clothes less as an aesthetic, and more of a spirit. It’s about embracing the wear and tear in our clothes, and acknowledging the beauty of things made to be lived in. Workwear or not, that’s something we can all appreciate.
Love this post, Lin! Your observation about the complex nature of formality is particularly thought-provoking.
The Irving Penn photographs are everything. They remind me of the August Sander photos from the book 'People of the 20th Century' that Yohji Yamamoto flips through in 'Notebook on Cities and Clothes'. Maybe you know the scene? The one where Wim Wenders asks Yohji why he is so fascinated by these photos, and Yohji says something along the lines of "people are not wearing clothes, they are wearing reality".
workwear is also my guiding force. in the last 10 or so years my lifestyle has changed and it’s taken me a while to find what makes me feel good and remain practical. although i work full time, i am remote. so what i really need to dress for is activities other than my paid job: largely hiking, running, gardening, and learning pottery. “leggings-as-pants” is not for me, and i don’t want my crafty side to skew art teacher aesthetic - workwear, i have found, is the answer. i absolutely love studio nicholson and margaret howell and seek them out on secondhand sites regularly.
sometimes i do miss wearing more precious clothes and have to be careful not to shop aspirationally that way. but i will sometimes seek out something softer (lauren manoogian, nili lotan, etc) as a detail to peak out from my denim shirt or apron and also to keep me cozy when i’m lounging or working inside.