Spring may have just begun but the month-long presentation circuit of the fashion calendar has already delivered its prognostic for Autumn-Winter. With the frivolity of Y2K escapism reaching the tail-end of its lifecycle designers have opted for a back-to-basics approach for next season’s offerings, emphasizing utilitarianism, city dressing, and exploring the possibilities of corporate attire. Indeed, the office space seems to be the perfect landscape for many of the fall collections.
Some writers have been quick to invoke the uncertainty of a recession with the gusto, and daftness, of a trend forecaster predicting a big denim comeback as an explanation. Others brushed it off as a side effect of the currently trending “quiet luxury,” a meaningless term so overused that it’s become an oxymoron; how come it's so quiet when nobody seems to shut the fuck up about it?
But could there be more behind this renewed interest in dress codes?
Fashion journalist Teri Agins traces the initial shift in workplace attire from formal suiting to business casual back to the fall of 1991 when Pittsburgh-based aluminum company Alcoa became the first major corporation to adopt the style. Soon enough, the rest of corporate America began to dress down. Initially, through incentives like “Casual Friday” and then, like IBM in 1995, entirely. The pin-striped suits, white button-down shirts, and rep ties symbolic of the 1980s business tycoon were replaced by khakis, Dockers, sports sweaters, and knit shirts more aligned with the laid-back trends of the 90s.
At the same time, the pared-down styles of Bill Gates and Steve Jobs came to represent a new look for the successful businessman during the proliferation of internet startups in the dot-com boom of the mid-1990s. Eventually, a new generation entered a workforce where established corporations and nascent tech companies alike had gone casual.
Nowadays office attire has gone from casual to casualty, in no small part thanks to an ongoing struggle to define the modern working schedule. Going to work in your pajamas went from a pandemic joke to a lingering reality for many, as jobs continue operating remotely either full-time or in some hybrid capacity. Additionally, tech entrepreneurs have fallen out of favor today and no longer hold the underdog status that previously positioned them as aspirational figures.
For instance, in 2018 Mark Zuckerberg was summoned before the U.S. Congress after a data leak scandal exposed British consulting firm Cambridge Analytica of harvesting private information from over 50 million Facebook users to build and sell voter profiles without their consent. On the day of his testimony, Zuckerberg traded his usual T-shirt and jeans uniform for an ill-fitting navy suit, a white shirt of the wrong collar, and a loosely knotted pale blue tie — worn with the same awkward discomfort of a child forced to attend Sunday service.
Robin Givhan noted in her hearing coverage that although, “There may be some sense of relief and comfort in slipping on one of his trusty gray T-shirts… the days when it symbolized daring and innovation are over.” Further pointing out that, “Zuckerberg is one of the suits now.”
Disillusionment with the 90s enthusiasm for comfort dressing combined with the unreliability of present working environments could point towards the varied 80s influences for fall.
Raul Lopez of Luar reformulated power-dressing staples with a street-smart edge as an ode to “boss ass bitches that could walk into a room and command all eyes on them.” In particular, the button-down shirt got revamped with cut-out details at the collar, billowing parachute dimensions, or an extended length that saw a hemline peak from underneath a ruched pencil skirt. Also noteworthy were his outerwear offerings (some of the season's bests): tri-colored jackets, dense fur bombers, and heavy overcoats that dragged with enough swagger to stomp an evening gown.
At Saint Laurent, Anthony Vaccarello gave the classic YSL skirt suit new angular dramatism by meticulously engineering an elongated shoulder line that could stand erect at a width of 52 centimeters. The hulking silhouette framed a series of plunging tank tops, sometimes in leather and silk, cut almost as low as the navel. Other times, it served as a foundation for thick shawls to drape over or from which diaphanous bows trailed after. Backstage, Vaccarello cited the 1988 R-rated dramedy Working Girl as a point of reference and one could feel it in the humorous devilishness enhancing the glamour.
Meanwhile, Christopher Kane summoned inspiration from childhood memories of the day-to-night outfits worn by his mother, aunts, and the women around him in the 80s. Housewives, cleaners, and barmaids became muses for modest silhouettes in humble fabrics, refined at first with floral embroideries, lace appliques, and ruffled detailing. Then, in sporadic moments of exaltation, they appeared in dazzling sequins, shining vinyl or completely morphed into glorious party dresses. His show notes described it best as a “celebration of the complexities of growing up in a working-class environment.”
For a nostalgic younger generation, the 80s workplace and its sartorial attire symbolize an idyllic labor venue of structured confidence and perseverance. Fashion caters to our fantasies, regardless of how realistic they may seem to us. Perhaps it’s no less aspirational to covet a look that evokes employed reassurance than high glamour given the volatility of unemployment rates (currently risen in the U.S.) along with ongoing national strikes over pension reforms in France and pay cuts in the U.K.
Apart from their 80s association, office dress codes also offer a guideline to achieve an occupational uniform. They assert one’s belonging to a larger labor ecosystem more tangibly than possible through the digital realm of long-distance calls and email handles. It could be that this desire to form part of a group indicates that we’re turning around on the hyper-individualism of our modern lifestyles, which has frayed our social interactions, enabled medicated numbness, and sustained a loneliness epidemic.
This sentiment was reflected at Prada, where service uniforms were reconceptualized for daily life. The ecclesiastic modesty of nurse’s garbs got streamlined into long shirt dresses of cotton twill while military shirts, removed from all ornamentation, merged into single units featuring blooming neckties and leafing epaulets tucked into high-waisted pants. According to a statement by Raf Simons, the collection was based on “the idea of taking care, and the uniforms associated with that.” Nonetheless, a severity could be perceived in the high pockets of cropped army parkas that begat a Nosferatu posture or in the patent leather stilettos whose sinister pointed toe I can only describe as cunty.
Granted, the fixed lexicon of uniformity creates connection just as much as it engenders division; for it must separate in order to unite. However, it’s these arbitrary restrictions that encourage imagination and develop personality. Likewise, being limited to a reduced set of codes separates the wheat from the chaff when it comes to design.
Balenciaga’s effort to go unnoticed took them six feet under with a contrived collection that felt disappointedly funeral. Matthew Williams stumbled once again with an incomprehensible jumble for Givenchy that was neither hip nor elegant, but a pitiful attempt at both. Lastly, both Sandy Liang and Lanvin missed the beat with collections that were too by-the-numbers trendy and offered nothing substantial. Buyer beware.
Still, some succeeded at translating dress code staples into a contemporary dressing language, hence a reemergence of the concept of “city dressing;” a term descriptive of a metropolitan approach to getting ready that emphasizes preparedness, separates, and utility. Clothes that guarantee presentability while running errands, going to work, or bumping into an acquaintance on the street. Lovely seeing you! Gotta go!
Commission designers Dylan Cao and Jin Kay provided an outstanding 10th collection with uncompromisingly beautiful pieces perfectly equipped for city life. Professional pencil skirts, cut below the knee, unfolded to bear a faux lining or exposed a hidden silk slip detail behind sharp slits. Similarly, knit sweaters came with cutouts to reveal glimpses of the garment below. This layering style (a staple of the brand) makes for intelligent, docile clothes that disperse focus towards an entire ensemble instead of hoarding it on a single item.
At Courregès, the city girl confronted her image and cellphone hyper fixation in the hunched posture that catalyzed Nicolas Di Felice’s inspiration. Jackets, overcoats, and hoodies featured side slits for easier access to the front pockets and were cut on a curve to produce a cocoon silhouette that contrasted the sleek lines of their sportier tailoring. Many looks included silver plates that hung at the chest and solar plexus, forcing the disengaged mind to reflect and see itself in others.
Chitose Abe of Sacai dissected and reassembled the usual elements associated with formality, turning them on their axis and merging contrasting fabrics, volumes, and opacities. Deconstructed layering gave blouses a delicate rippling movement and tricked the eye with false hemlines in jackets and wide-legged trousers. As an exciting proposition of fashion-forward utilitarianism, dresses and skirts came integrated with a pulley system that could turn spacious pockets into hybridized shoulder bags.
But the working woman-on-the-go needn’t look further than Miuccia Prada’s magistral showing for Miu Miu, where a combination of elegance and wit provided the defining collection of the season. At first glance, the knit twinsets, grey hoodies, and tweed skirt suits seemed like textbook reverberations of pink-collar workwear. Except their meekness was deceitful. Upon further inspection, one noticed the translucency of pencil skirts walking down the platform or how those unassuming sportswear sweaters were heat-molded and sometimes made from leather.
Even those prim cardigans were off-kilter, paired with nothing save a matching knitted panty and tucked into high-waisted hosiery; a styling trick courtesy of Lotta Volkova that emphasized what the show notes called the “process of looking,” through which “an act of observation can… transform the object of its focus.”
Show seasons are chock-full of buyers asking for what will sell, writers quipping on what will trend and influencers hawking whatever PR jargon they’ve been fed. So much white noise tears at our ability to regard and contemplate fashion at an intellectual level. After the Paris show, Mrs. Prada declared that “we have to dress for thinking.” Could it be her polite way of telling us to shut up once in a while? I’ll take her cue.
Whether it’s a result of 80s nostalgia for stable employment, a yearning to be part of something bigger than ourselves, or a desire for a functional wardrobe that embellishes our mundane day-to-day life, one thing is true: For fall it seems that everybody wants to work.
Thank you for reading! You may follow New Atlas on Instagram where I occasionally catalog fashion images or my personal account where I’m constantly musing on fashion, if so inclined.