I am a Black Turtleneck: The Curse of the Self-Made Uniform

My whole life, I wore a school uniform. It was not nearly as cool as TV made it seem. There were no fashion-forward liberties that could be taken without being sent to the office, no designer logos on the district-provided sweatshirts, and certainly none of the cute little plaid skirts we see in movies. Instead, we looked exactly like what we were: 12-year-olds in business casual.

For years, I openly flouted the dress code. I annotated the margins of the packet they sent home at the beginning of the school year, searching for loopholes and extracting exactly what each phrase meant so that I could bend the rules as far as I could without breaking them. There were rules against open-toed shoes but not heels, so I would show up in four-inch stilettos. You could only wear a non-collared shirt if it had a school logo, so I printed one out and made it into a button I could pin on any shirt. Collared shirts also included mock and turtleneck sweaters, but no sleeves. Litigious in nature, I would tell anyone trying to “correct” me to show me where in the regulations it said I couldn’t wear what I had on. I knew the rules better than anyone, and I hated them.

So it fascinates me that some people actually choose to wear the same exact thing every day, down to their sneakers. Why would someone choose to give up their creative liberties and want the same consistency as a cartoon character?

It’s been proposed by many that the number one killer of success is decision fatigue. A phenomenon in which powerful people, like CEOs, can overwhelm themselves with the number of decisions they have to make in a single day. Their solution is to cut down on as many decisions as possible, including what to wear.

Steve Jobs was known for his wire-rim glasses, Issey Miyake black turtleneck, Levis, and New Balance sneakers. In fact, it’s so memorable that every time I wear a black turtleneck and jeans my sister tells me that I look like Jobs.

But Jobs wasn’t born with New Balances on. Instead, on a 1980s trip to Japan, Jobs was inspired by the use of uniforms in Sony’s factories as a way of bonding the workers. In the book Steve Jobs, written by Walter Isaacson, he quotes Jobs by writing "I came back with some samples and told everyone it would be great if we would all wear these vests. Oh man, did I get booed off the stage. Everybody hated the idea." Despite his workers’ apprehension, Jobs commissioned over 100 black turtlenecks from his good friend Issey Miyake to wear daily. He claimed to love the convenience of dressing in the same thing every day, giving him one less thing to worry about.

His clothing expressed to the world a man to be taken seriously. It was as simple as a recipe; glasses to look smart, a turtleneck to look mature, jeans and sneakers to look relatable.

The self-appointed uniform isn’t just limited to men. Elizabeth Holmes also wore a black turtleneck, seemingly in reference to Jobs. She wore the same black blazer and black pants every day. When asked by Glamour about her style, Holmes said “my mom had me in black turtlenecks when I was, like eight. I probably have 150 of these. [It’s] my uniform. It makes it easy because every day you put on the same thing and don’t have to think about it — one less thing in your life. All my focus is on the work. I take it so seriously; I’m sure that translates into how I dress.”

However, those around Holmes said that her uniform was only to mimic the appearance of someone without time for the frivolities of shopping and that until she founded the now-defunct Theranos, a black turtleneck was never in her repertoire. Regardless, the effect of the uniform was that no one knew who Elizabeth truly was.

Even outside of the business world, people wear iterations of the same thing every day. We’ve all heard the jokes about a group of teenage girls wearing the same black crop top, light-wash jeans, and dirty Air Force Ones. Perhaps they’re not thinking of all of the decisions they make on a given day, but there is something so clearly comforting about a solid outfit that you know works. But what does it say about you?

Now, I am not arguing the ease of which a uniform gives a morning routine. When I wake up in the mornings, the absolute last thing I want to do is make any decisions. It would be so much easier to find one outfit I like and buy five of them. But I have to wonder if that kind of anti-decision rhetoric stifles our creativity. When you get dressed, you are telling the world who you are. Deciding what to wear is an introspection of your very core, a reflection of who you are and how you feel on that specific day. Not choosing what to wear gives you no insight and chokes out any real expression you may have.

When I was in middle school, a teacher told me about a boy who graduated from our local high school. Since he was 5 years old, he wore a uniform, and because his parents shopped for him, he essentially wore the same thing every day: a white polo shirt and khakis. By the time he got to college, he had no idea what to wear. He had called this teacher for advice, claiming he’d never had to choose his own clothes before and didn’t know what to do. It seems so small, but to be unable to tell the world who you are and not even know who you are is something very important.

I think about that boy often, and I hope that 10 years later he’s discovered the joy of dressing. Jobs, Holmes, and many others have shown what it looks like to begin eliminating choice from your life. Perhaps that worked well for them in their roles as CEOs.

For the rest of us, monotony is boring. Whether we’re aware of it or not, our clothes tell others a piece of our story. Instead of the armor of anonymity, wearing something that makes you feel like yourself doesn’t have to be the same every day. Who you are today isn’t who you’ll be tomorrow. To take a risk, to show the world a fraction of yourself through what you put on your back, is what getting dressed is all about.