When layering for cold weather, denim doesn't work

348 and Maine street: New Year’s resolution: You do you, but exercise more style

This was the week in which we woke up from our long winter’s naps and returned to early rising, feverous note taking, and, of course, the inescapable frigidity of the Artic—I mean, Midcoast Maine weather. Some of you will protest that your vacation was not a long winter’s nap, but rather a series of sun-induced dozes on your towel in Boca Raton. But most of you, if I may be so bold, did a lot of nothing over your hibernation period. Even those of you with deep tans, natural or spray on (which, by the way, will fade), spent a lot of time doing nothing with or without sand between your toes. But now the time has come for you once again to wash your hair at least twice per week, to change your underwear at least once a day, and to do something more productive with your time than watch marathons of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” or “Law and Order.” Now you must put away your Juicy sweats, those heinous housecoats of the twenty-first century that you bought in eighth grade, and put on some real clothes—clothes that will get you to class in sub-zero weather.

348 and Maine street: Logo-heavy clothes make winter tomatoes

Some things are hard to find these days. Because I am not a farmer, nor pretend to be a farmer, nor own anything close to almanac, I am not talking about things that are hard to find in the winter season—like blueberries that taste like anything.
Despite my aversion to agriculture (which is really just a dislike of dirt), I must admit that a winter tomato is pathetic on the palate.
By “these days” I rather mean “the modern day.”

348 and Maine street

When layering for cold weather, denim doesn't work

This piece represents the opinion of the author:

Evan Horwitz

Columnist

February 8, 2013

Kate Featherston

ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY: Horwitz, dressed completely in denim, appears ready to labor.

If you’ve recently visited an Urban Outfitters (I’m willing to bet you have), then I think you know. If you’ve seen even a preview of Girls, or—gasp—if you’ve actually walked the streets of Williamsburg (if you think I’m talking about a colonial village in Virginia, I can’t help you), then I’m pretty sure you know. If you’ve walked across Bowdoin’s campus in this decade, then you certainly know. “Know what?” you may ask.

Workwear is trendier than Lena Dunham herself.
Now some of you may be wondering what workwear actually is. This is probably the same ones of you who thought the streets of Williamsburg were cobbled and full of people with odd facial hair churning artisanal butter, making specialty preserves, and speaking in funny accents. Oh wait, that is exactly Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

But I digress. Workwear is—brace yourself—what you wear to work. And by work I don’t mean the kind of work you can dress for by pretending to live in a Banana Republic ad. By work I mean manual labor, like building a house or fixing a car or plowing a field with your bare hands and teeth. And by you, of course, I don’t mean you. Because the chances that you are a construction worker or a mechanic or a farmer—and no, you’re not a farmer if you went farm camp and learned how to plant six varieties of heirloom squash—are very slim.

I’m puzzled, then, why you are covered head to toe in industrial grade denim and canvas from Dickies and Carhartt. Does half this school—and all of Brooklyn— secretly spend its afternoons coal mining with Ms. Dunham? Is that why I can’t make it across campus without seeing at least 27 denim work shirts in various shades of indigo, grey, and charcoal? This can’t be the reason because I have never been invited to a coal-mining or even a concrete pouring party by any cast member of Girls, and I, too, sometimes walk by a mirror or a mildly reflective windowpane and, after contemplating my face for several minutes, realize that I am also wearing a denim work-shirt.

Nota bene: You may be wondering why I am devoting so much space to Lena Dunham, and the truth is that I don’t know. The recent trend for utilitarian chic (I’m being generous in calling it chic for it is anything but) well preceded the ascendance of Girls to the pantheon of zeitgeist-y-ness. Moreover, I’ve never seen Lena Dunham actually wear anything workwear inspired on the show, but I really feel that her Hannah Horvath must wear a horrific denim shirt to work at Cafe Grumpy. Or maybe not, but I bet you a soy latte that everyone else in that Park Slope perch is bundled in workwear, getting their caffeine fix between midday freelance writing and evening cheese-making class.

So why do we feel the need to dress as if we might be called upon at any moment to lay railroad tracks or build a pyramid? There is a reason that workwear is worn by those who work in manufacturing or construction or whatever it is they do in the Midwest that is the backbone of America. Workwear is practical. It’s protective and sturdy and reliable. But guess what else? Workwear is ugly.

I don’t mean to insult the wardrobe of hard laborers the world over, but truth be told, no one cares what your boots look like when you spend half the day underground and the other half covered in coal dust. The upside of working in a coal mine is precisely that: nobody sees or cares what you’re wearing. And you don’t work in a coal mine—of this much I’m certain—and I know that you’ve worn the same heinous utilitarian jacket and Carhartt pants and construction boots (don’t tell me they’re steel-toed) and, yes, that stiff, shapeless denim shirt, or some variation of this, every day for the past four months. Don’t fret, there is an upside to not working in a coal mine: no black lung.

We do not go to school in a mining camp. We are not highway builders for the WPA. We do not live in the Soviet Union. It is therefore unlikely that any of us will be called upon to pave a highway or build a car or shovel coal. (I know I have an obsession with coal mining; I don’t know why. I’ll call my therapist when I’m done writing.) So there’s no reason to be dressed as though Stalin could roll in at any second and ask you to carve his face on a mountain. Enough with the denim workwear, give it a rest. Your skin misses lighter fabrics, your feet long for shoes without steel toes, and, most importantly, I’m really, really done with cargo pants.

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