Fashion is Political: Monochrome
Trying on the orange set, the vintage silhouette jumped out at me in the details: the rounded collar, and bottom hem of the blazer complementing the flared sleeves and skirt. / Photo by Aanika Sawhney
A few days ago, I explored Union Market in the NoMA area of D.C. The bright colors around one storefront’s exterior caught my eye, and naturally, the promise of the clothing inside, by its name “VINTAGE VINTAGE VINTAGE,” kept me around.
I tried on an electric orange blazer and skirt set, complete with a fastening flower button. It was a bold statement, and I wondered where that confidence I felt was derived from. The structure of the suit, of course, imagined me as important, but really it came from the color. Not just that the orange was loud, but that the blazing hue encompassed my outfit entirely.
Speaking to witnesses before the hearing, Sen. Katie Britt (R-Al) stood out in a sea of dark business wear. / Photo by Aanika Sawhney.
Just last week, I attended a Senate Judiciary Committee hearing where Sen. Katie Britt (R-Al) wore a head-to-toe purple skirt and long-sleeve blouse set that resembled mine. In a crowd of her male peers all wearing boring gray and black suits, I wondered if her style served as a form of armor, drawing extra attention to her femininity even when it isn’t always welcomed.
Monochrome wear, dressing in the same color from head to toe, is coordinated. It sends a message, unified across one’s whole body. Undisputably, it's an individual's distilled choice down to one representative color…Or it might just be a lazy “groutfit.”
Alongside gray-on-gray athleisure, another recent trend, denim on denim, particularly dark wash jackets and jeans, resurfaces an important uniform. These outfits, unknowingly, underscore the popularity of the 19th-century French “chore jacket” as it came to America, common for railroad workers.
Work involving trade skills or manual labor lends itself to darker colored clothing that is resistant to stains and suitable for the outdoors. A button-up paired with jeans is a practical dress choice that has since been used to identify a group of people, typically men, based on the nature of their livelihood and surrounding stereotypes. The term “blue-collar” was built on this sort of monochrome style, and most recently has appeared in U.S. legislation in the 119th Congress's House introduction of the “Help America Run Act.”
The use of this word in actual policy holds historical and cultural weight around it. Prestige associated with “white-collar” workers, based on minimizing the value and education level of “blue-collar” workers, was and still is perpetuated through their uniforms. In the “Help America Run Act,” “blue-collar” is written to explain the slim minority of Representatives who have service work in their biographies.
Connotations around these descriptions are ultimately reinforced with small details in lifestyle assumptions — down to perceived time and money spent on dry cleaning bright white shirts without expectations of the same care for “blue-collar” workers, whose outfits were designed with durability at the forefront.
When I think of monochrome outfits, another striking example is in literature. Steeped in red, the handmaids’ identities in Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaid’s Tale” are deeply tied to their monochrome robes. The blood red, standing out against other outfits, becomes an unavoidable reminder to others and themselves of the handmaids’ place in society as sex workers. This monochrome serves as an oppressive tool, creating shame around menstruation and reducing their personhood with the handmaids’ obligation to conceive.
I’m reminded of a viral moment earlier this year when a coalition of women, “Handmaids of Nebraska,” brought the red robes to life in political protest. Just before Rep. Mike Flood’s (R-NE) early August town hall, the group trailed behind him, setting an ominous scene. Rep. Flood received negative backlash in the first moments he stepped on stage as he justified his support for the “Big Beautiful Bill.”
The women were celebrated for their peaceful and non-verbal resistance. Their full red outfits sent a message in support of bodily autonomy, compounded by more healthcare cuts made in the bill.
Monochrome outfits amplify impact, because visually, viewers are directed to a focused color. Colors have long been tied to movements and ideas, but a complete embrace of a singular one is unignorable. Monochrome doesn’t happen by accident; wearers have to choose and recognize each piece as they interact carefully to coordinate them.