English Version | Dress code, friend or foe?

10 Feb 2022
By Carolina Queirós

What is born out of imposition and becomes the norm, that is as fundamental as Fashion itself, and whose creativity challenges its purpose of uniformization? A tip? No invitation to any worthy event or celebration can ever be complete without it.

What is born out of imposition and becomes the norm, that is as fundamental as Fashion itself, and whose creativity challenges its purpose of uniformization? A tip? No invitation to any worthy event or celebration can ever be complete without it.

© Mayra
© Mayra

The dress code seems to be one of those classic riddles we can’t run away from every once in a while. Lately, intoxicated with the possibility of being able to celebrate whatever more-or-less freely, this little side note could almost be a form of celebration in itself… until the day comes when it reads dress code: kinky. The story of how we went from the casual/ formal dichotomy to the nearly-infinite wardrobe choices that exist today – applied to the equally extensive roll of contexts of social life in 2022 – is not only reduced to the potential bewilderment when faced with the last few lines of an e-invite. Rewind to the inception of Fashion. Just like clothing has the power to represent a certain social positioning, a status, so did the so-called dress codes begin by being a way of identifying someone’s ranking in society. A bourgeoise would not follow the same sartorial codes as a royal, or a monk, or a merchant, and that differentiation was like a sort of implicit ID – also because, as Cosimo de Medici so cleverly pointed out, “One can make a gentleman from two yards of red cloth.” As centuries went by, the dress code evolved to become an instrument of political control by excellence, a way to standardize clothing which curiously (or not) imposed much more severely on the feminine gender, and that often revolved around shaping the body according to the desired shapes of a certain time – the collective shortness of breath between the XVI and XX centuries caused by corsets is a testimony of that. 

From school uniforms to the women’s work uniforms at the beginning of the XX century, from the Victorian era to the French Revolution, up to what today we define as “waist up dressing” – literally, getting dressed only from the waist up, a movement apparently motivated by the active infiltration of Zoom into our lives since the beginning of the pandemic -, the definition of dress code provokes feelings of conformity and riot in equal measure: in the same way we comply with certain ways of dressing deemed “predictable”, it is with great revolt that we dispute the sense behind the establishment of many others. With the passing of time, we have motivated their development with the evolution of what our needs (ours, the ones of the men and women of the world) were in daily life – a social queue that allowed us (us, women) to finally wear pants, untie the corset, and say hello to casual Fridays at the office – to the point that it is debatable if there is still a need to use them as a measurement of social adequacy. I could not, even so, help but wonder if, when looking at the facts, dress codes were nothing but mere indications, somewhat obsolete, and definitively subjective. I decided to test the theory. 

Fast forward to the topic at hand. Despite the intermittent confinement of the pandemic, I can’t count with both hands the number of birthdays, dinner parties, events, and festivities I have dressed up to celebrate. It’s not a reason for pride nor shame, I see it more as a consequence of living in a city that celebrates any and everything, and of keeping a friend circle that has no need for a reason to do so – Hemingway would surely be thrilled to know that, even posthumously, he was right, “Paris is a moveable feast”. A while ago, I escaped from the city of light with some of those friends to the French Alps. The goal was simple: a weekend of snow in the mountains in search of good air condition and a sense of freedom our few square meters in the city were not able to provide. In the days leading up to the trip, whilst finalizing the last details, alas the first moment of crisis. “What are you going to wear?” At first, I didn’t perceive it as a fateful question, after all, it was only a few days, and we were amongst friends. That was the first mistake: never underestimate the power of persuasion of a good dress code, nor how much the fashion crowd loves an opportunity to explore their creativity. From such a simple interrogation we were left with three theme nights, two playlists, an infinite supermarket list, and a feeling of panic when everyone (no exceptions) realized we had “nothing to wear.” Ah, and one other thing: a huge rush of adrenaline. A weekend trip that was supposed to be nothing more than a getaway from the city, with no specific agenda besides recharging on the slopes of the 1850 meters high mountain, had just become the most exciting moment of the semester. We thus touch upon a fundamental point when it comes to the topic of dress codes: this ecstasy, this rush, is addictive. 

The implicit provocation of any indication, more or less reductive, of how one should dress, is the favorite drug of the creative mind, the final twist capable of transforming any celebration into a memorable occasion. In a way, creativity is to blame. In the beginning, there were two. Formal/ Casual. Simple. Done. As a ballpark for the expectations laid upon those who would choose to show their faces at any context of social interaction, this dichotomy served as a thermometer of how serious the situation was. The first designates a certain level of chicness, of panache. For the gentlemen, the indication translates into a full tuxedo, bowtie, belts, ribbons, vests, and such. For the mademoiselles, a long dress is a bulletproof solution, and the exception to the rule is easy to remember: in order to raise the hemline, one must raise the bar in equal measure – nobody would ever deem an Armani couture as inappropriate even if it’s above the knee. Being casual, on the other hand, implies a contrary base-concept: comfortability. Trade in the 5 inches heels for sneakers, replace the tux with a t-shirt and the long dresses with jeans. And on the second dress code, the fashion gods did not rest. The origin of the infinite replication that these two (apparently sufficient) dress-codes have suffered, distilled, and additively multiplied again and again, blazing away through a universe of celebrations, associating itself to different themes and contexts to the exponent of craziness to the point where we can’t even go to a beach party without the presence of some atrocious dress code like “gangstas & hoes”. Yes, you read that right. The classical trajectory, however, suggests the following spectrum, from the most relaxed to the most uptight: sporty (think, Lacoste), casual, business casual (what is most easily associated with the classical office attire), smart casual (an elevated version of the casual with business elements; dark jeans with a blazer, for example, go into that category), informal (different from casual, it’s a more relaxed version of business casual that maintains the formal aesthetic), semiformal (little black dress, tie, but no need for train dresses or full tux), and formal, also known as black tie. 

Pause. We still hold the argumentative line that the biggest cause for the aforementioned mess is the latent creativity of those who, assuming the risk of irreparable damages to their mental health and carpet condition, still draw some pleasure in receiving guests over on an organized event. However, it doesn’t seem fair to ignore the huge impact that social networks and the overexposure to television pop culture has had on the standards that define a celebration as “worthy” in 2022. From the Pinterest table-spreads to the center tables made mandatorily with seasonal flowers, to the need for a “theme” which naturally implies an equally specific dress code. In a small improvised market study, the following proposals arose: ABC (anything but clothes); 90s rom-coms; Euphoria inspired; the roaring 20s – the encore; Y2K; Hollywood Golden Age; iconic Tarantino characters… the list goes on. Empirically, one of the most common patterns amongst the themes that inspire the most diverse indications (or restrictions) to the dress codes revolves around some obsession with celebrity culture. Perhaps caused by an hour too many of MTV (or, in the case of my generation, of Morangos com Açúcar) during the critical years of brain development, or due to the intrinsic toxicity of every and any reality show, we have become ventriloquists of these characters, shaping ourselves to their image, making ours their messages and references. On the other hand, it feels equally unfair to reduce their influence in our wardrobes (and personalities) to the general passivity of the end of the abecedary generations – that would be ignoring the power an excellent performance, and corresponding dress code, can have in any good story, whether on the big screen or anywhere else. 

Besides an eternal crush on Hugh Grant circa 1999, as a generation, we seem to share, above all, the same need for evasion. In a world where everything moves to the speed of light – or at least to the one allowed by 5G -, and there the daily order is to decide which look from the latest Balenciaga couture collection my Animal Crossing avatar should wear, we’re invaded by a huge wave of nostalgia. We ache for some form of compensation to restore the balance, a connection to what we before defined as normal, before the vertiginous digitalization, before the prosecution at the hands of the politically correct, before the masks and auto-tests. Thus, we go back to the hits of 25 years ago, to vinyl, to the trends of other decades, to the movies and series that take us back to a time we haven’t lived but that curiously enough, feels much more familiar than our own. Going back to the future can be difficult, harsh even, especially for those who still reserve in it a glimpse of hope that it becomes, in 20 years from now, in the “good old days”. In the meantime, let’s celebrate. Let’s celebrate it all.

Translated from the original on Vogue Portugal's Celebrate Yourself issue, published February 2022.Full story and credits on the print issue. 

Carolina Queirós By Carolina Queirós

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