I have never really left Catholic schools. Not for any
meaningful stretch of time. Which means I have lived most of my life in a world
of uniforms.
Uniforms are countercultural now. They whisper discipline in a culture that screams expression. They suggest order in a world that celebrates stretch. Trust me, middle schoolers attempt to stretch every conceivable line of that dress code. Hemlines. Sleeve lengths. Sock colors. The theological limits of what “solid navy” actually means. But we have uniforms. And teachers? We are supposed to model professionalism.
Ninety percent of my days look like this: khaki chinos,
button-down shirt, tie (novelty on most days), fun socks, and tennis shoes
about half the time because recess duty is cardio.
On Mondays, I let teachers wear jeans for a cause. Two dollars
toward a charity or a scholarship fund. Mercy, but make it denim.
Then came a funeral. Most of the gentlemen wore suit jackets
or blazers. Ties were optional. A friend from Houston leaned over and said, “I
thought ties were a thing of the past?” A friend from California stopped by
Goodwill to piece together a suit. For him, a tie was not optional. It was
respect.
For me? If it is a day that begins with M, T, W, TH, or F, I
am wearing a tie. Neck, bolo, or bow. Cartoon or classic. For the funeral, the
Minions stayed home. I wore a grown-up tie.
This Saturday, I spent the day at the Robotics Jamboree at a local Jesuit high school; the mentors and teachers were in jeans, robotics shirts, and quarter-zips with the school crest. Relaxed. Productive. Engaged.
Except for the religious sisters, bless their hearts, who looked like they stepped
out of The Flying Nun.
The room buzzed with learning. Nobody looked underdressed.
Nobody looked sloppy. They looked competent and comfortable.
I used to ask student ambassadors to wear their “Sunday
best” at school events. I’ve softened on that. Have you seen what families wear
to Mass now? Some students show up in sports uniforms because they’re heading
straight to tournaments. At least they went to Mass. There is something
admirable in that.
Which leads me to the question I’ve been quietly wrestling: Do
clothes shape the culture, or does the culture shape the clothes?
Music has opinions. (ZZ Top) Sharp Dressed Man tells us
every girl is crazy about one.
(Justin Timberlake) Suit & Tie insists confidence lives in the lapels. (The
Kinks) Dedicated Follower of Fashion mocks obsession with trends. (Bowie) Fashion
turns style into performance art. (Elvis) Blue Suede Shoes made footwear
sacred.
And then there’s the old proverb: “Clothes make the man.” Even Oscar Wilde once quipped that a well-tied tie is a serious step in life.
Is it or is it fabric stitched to habit? Here is what I’m starting to suspect. Clothing
does communicate. It always has. It signals respect. Intent. Occasion. Effort.
However, clothing does not create virtue. A wolf can borrow a blazer. “A wolf in
sheep’s clothing” still prowls.
Yet I cannot fully dismiss the discipline of dressing up.
There is something about putting on a tie that tells my brain, “Today matters.”
There is something about polished shoes that reminds me I am a professional,
even when I’m limping across a playground.
Watching those robotics mentors in jeans, focused, joyful,
effective, made me wonder if we have confused polish with purpose. Maybe
professionalism is less about starch and more about posture. Less about lapels
and more about leadership.
Maybe the real uniform is consistency. Presence. Competence.
Care. Maybe “Sunday best” isn’t about the fabric at all, it’s about the
intention. Maybe the deeper Catholic instinct behind uniforms was never about
suppressing individuality. Maybe it was about leveling the field.
Khakis or quarter-zips. Cartoon tie or conservative silk. Goodwill
suit or no tie at all. The question isn’t whether ties are passé. The question might
be: “What are we trying to say?” Are we saying it with integrity?
Maybe I’ll keep wearing my ties, but I won’t require them of
everyone else. I’ve seen men in Goodwill suits honor a friend beautifully. I’ve
seen teachers in jeans shape minds with excellence. I’ve seen middle schoolers
test the theological boundaries of “solid navy.”
If I can break up a kickball dispute in khakis and a bow
tie, and a robotics mentor can inspire future engineers in a quarter-zip and
sneakers, perhaps professionalism isn’t stitched into the fabric after all.
“Clothes make the man,” they say. Maybe clothes introduce
you. Character keeps you relevant. If every girl is crazy ’bout a
sharp-dressed man, as ZZ Top once reminded us… Well, I suppose I’ll keep a few
sharp ties in rotation. Just in case.
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