When the men of the 2016 presidential campaign are not in the traditional power uniform of dark suit and red or blue tie, they are pulling on zip-collar sweaters. They are not all wearing the exact same sweater — but they might as well be. They are stuck in sartorial sameness.
The outlier is Donald Trump. But then, you probably already knew that.
But first, to the wool and fleece. The candidates choose this particular costuming when they commune with voters in an intimate, down-home setting such as a New Hampshire diner or an Iowa rec center. And although their suit jackets seem to come with an American flag pin permanently affixed to the lapel, these sweaters are flag-free. Is there something inherently all-American about them? A presumed authenticity and earnestness such that they do not require patriotic embellishment?
Jeb Bush has shown off the most varied selection of this menswear staple, turning up in versions that are cadet blue, bark brown, dove gray and even one that is a fashion-y patchwork of mossy hues. John Kasich has a lapis-blue version with ribbing at the shoulders — a bit like trompe l’oeil epaulettes. Ted Cruz also goes with blue. Kasich looks ready to shovel snow; Cruz looks ready for apres-ski cocoa.
Marco Rubio has worn a charcoal-gray pullover with his name embroidered on it. It also has a snazzy contrasting lining, which matches his black leather ankle boots.
Rand Paul, libertarian and contrarian, wears a zip-front vest. And Bernie Sanders — Democratic socialist, no-muss no-fuss dresser — opts for a simple V-neck, because who needs all the extravagance of a zipper?
Dressed the same
The men end up looking like they all dressed from the same L.L. Bean catalogue because, despite their policy and party differences, they are all attempting to say essentially the same thing: I hear you; I understand you; I am like you. I would chop down trees for you.
As with anything, there are a few exceptions to this woodsman style. Martin O’Malley is not particularly keen on sweaters, even if he is delivering the same message. Instead, he shows his business-casual empathy by shedding his suit jacket so he can roll up his sleeves and get to work. That’s exactly what he did during Monday’s Democratic town-hall debate on CNN. As soon as host Chris Cuomo opened the floor to audience questions, O’Malley leapt from his seat and ripped off his coat like Superman bursting out of the phone booth.
Ben Carson prefers to stick to suits, although he wore a short-sleeved shirt with casual trousers when he made his perfunctory slog through the Iowa State Fair in August. Wearing a suit in that setting would have been a far more politically damning image than being seen in that iffy cadet shirt.
It was one of the rare occasions that Carson was photographed in something other than a business suit. At 64, he is of a generation of black men who are loath to dress too casually. A suit for them is armor; it’s akin to being draped in one’s distinguished r?sum?, in a curriculum vitae, in an impressive bank statement. A black man is more likely to be seen — seen clearly and truly — in a suit, rather than something informal and boyish. Carson’s message: I understand you; I am like you. I am distinguished, and I am safe.
Trump’s a suit guy
Trump favors suits as well. He is not the sort of candidate having beers with voters at the neighborhood watering hole, and so he has little use for warm fuzzy sportswear, unless it is golf gear and he is promoting one of his golf courses.
Most often, Trump is on a stage behind a lectern facing a hall of screaming supporters. And he is wearing a suit, which underscores his message: I understand you. But I’m also richer and more powerful than everyone else.
There have been moments when he opted for a sport jacket and open-collar shirt, such as when he visited a Christmas tree farm and when he ate a pork-chop-on-a-stick at the Iowa State Fair. He accessorized both ensembles with his signature “Make America Great Again” ball cap.
But Trump has studiously avoided fuzzy, cutesy and endearing. He’s not prone to rolling his French cuffs up over his forearms. Even his campaign baseball cap is no longer in regular rotation.
Trump defies the fashion rules of politics. Indeed, the rules are disintegrating. A candidate in a starched dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up doesn’t look like he’s ready to get to work any more than those elected officials already in Washington. Aren’t they the problem?
And a cuddly fleece is supposed to make you look more engaging and approachable than a business suit. But, in the Trump vernacular, that just makes you look like a wuss.
