The Winter Uniform

Knitted layers hanging on a wooden rail beside dried pampas grass

Every October something in me tries to reinvent the way I dress, and every November I go back to the same nine things. So this year I stopped fighting it and simply wrote them down — a uniform in the plainest sense, chosen once so that a dark Tuesday morning does not have to be a decision.

Folded sage and cream linen garments stacked on a wooden bench

Style Notes

Nine pieces, folded on one shelf

Two knits, two trousers, a shirt, a vest, a long cardigan, a coat and one pair of boots. Everything works with everything, which sounds like a boast and is really just what happens when you buy in a single colour family for three years.

The Nine
  • Lambswool crew in undyed cream — worn roughly four days a week.
  • Heavier ribbed knit in charcoal, for the genuinely cold fortnight.
  • Wool trousers, wide, hemmed short enough to show the boot.
  • Denim, one pair, dark and unfussy.
  • Linen shirt, worn as a layer rather than a shirt from November onward.
  • Long cardigan that doubles as a blanket on trains.
  • Oatmeal wool overcoat, the single most expensive thing I own.
  • Two cotton vests, replaced yearly without ceremony.
  • Brown leather boots, resoled twice, better every year.

On wearing the same thing constantly

There is a quiet worry that a uniform makes you invisible. In practice the opposite happens: people stop noticing the clothes and start noticing whether you slept. Which is either liberating or alarming depending on the week, but it does mean that getting dressed takes under a minute from the first of November to the end of March.

A uniform is not a lack of imagination. It is imagination, spent once, somewhere more interesting.

— Linnea

Mornings, mostly indoors

Winter here is less about the cold and more about the dark — the light never quite arrives and the days run together. The uniform helps with that too, in a way I did not expect. One less thing changing means the small changes, the ones actually worth watching, become much easier to see.

✻ Note from Linnea

Resole the boots before they need it. A good cobbler will get eight years out of a pair that would otherwise last three, and it costs less than one bad replacement.