Academic Style is Political

yes, even today what you wear matters

Everything feels political these days, even what we wear. I’m not talking about elections or national debates. I mean the everyday politics of the workplace. All those power plays, social signals, and silent judgments that affect how we interact. What you wear matters, actually. I’ve seen it (and felt it) in real time. I remember working with an older colleague whose glance could let you know if your outfit made the cut. At the time, it bugged me, but I’ve come to realize we just came from different worlds – generations and social class. I never thought I looked bad, but sometimes I fell short of her idea of “professional.” Now, if I’m honest, I catch myself noticing other people’s choices too. Here’s the thing: our clothes say something, whether we want them to or not. This month, I want to talk honestly about academic style, presence, and why what you wear really does matter.

So let’s talk about how this plays out in academia. Forget the clichés about tweed jackets and elbow patches—if you’ve spent any time in classrooms, conferences, or committee meetings, you know appearance is everything. I might be biased here; I’ve yet to find a blazer with elbow patches that feels right. I’m still on the hunt despite the cliché. It shapes who gets taken seriously, who’s seen as belonging, who’s allowed in the room. We like to tell ourselves that ideas matter more than appearances, that the mind floats free from the body. Let’s be real: the way you dress can absolutely affect how much authority or credibility you’re given. The rules aren’t the same for everyone, either. What counts as “professional” is loaded with codes about race, gender, class, age, and disability. These gatekeepers decide whose presence gets read as “serious” and whose doesn’t. So yes, what you wear isn’t just about style; it’s about how much room you get to take up and how you’re allowed to show up in academic spaces.

Consider the gendered expectations that still permeate academic life. Women who dress with softness or patterns risk being dismissed as unserious; women who dress with severity risk being labeled cold. 10 years ago my wardrobe leaned heavily on black and navy. Even today, most of my dresses are black so I can be taken seriously. It’s been a struggle, but now I own several light-colored patterned pieces. dresses. I’m now less scary. Men, meanwhile, are often granted authority simply by showing up in a button-down shirt. Class markers matter too: the cost of looking academic is not trivial. Blazers, conference attire, travel-ready wardrobes, and grooming all require resources that not all scholars possess (luckily I work full-time in academia and teach on the side). Suits are expensive; blazers – ones that last – are not cheap. Culture, age, and disability add even more layers. Younger scholars may feel pressure to dress older to be taken seriously; older scholars may feel pressure to dress younger to appear “current.” Disabled scholars routinely navigate assumptions about capability or authority based on visible markers that have nothing to do with intellectual rigor. In each case, appearance becomes a site where legitimacy is negotiated.

Scholars learn to read rooms, modulate their style, and anticipate how their bodies will be interpreted before they even speak. They perform aesthetic labor to minimize risk: choosing clothing that will not attract commentary, adjusting hairstyles to avoid coded feedback, softening or sharpening their presence depending on the audience. This labor is exhausting and deeply political. It contributes to burnout and impostor syndrome, especially for those who already face structural barriers in the academy. Yet appearance politics are not only oppressive; they are also a site of resistance. Many scholars intentionally disrupt aesthetic norms (bold fashion, cultural expression, or unapologetic authenticity). Their presence expands the limits of what academic professionalism can look like. Hybrid teaching, online conferences, and social media spaces allow scholars to craft academic presence on their own terms, often with more freedom than traditional institutions permit. When I work from home, I often wear tee shirts/sweatshirts with shorts or casual pants. Usually my hair is thrown up, having been washed the day before. If I have a meeting, a workshop, or class, I have to make a decision. Leave my camera off (when I tell students to leave theirs on) or dress for work.

The politics of appearance in academia reveal a deeper truth: bodies are political, and so is the way we ask them to appear. If the academy wants to be a place where ideas flourish, it must reckon with the aesthetic gatekeeping that shapes who gets to share those ideas in the first place. I struggle with this all the time. I have different looks for different parts of my work week. For events, I typically wear dresses with flats; for meetings I try to dress a bit nicer – more structured, a button-down and pants or long skirt. If I’m training another department, I might wear a university T-shirt with dress pants. Dressing for academia is political, and I’m hyper aware of how I may appear and try to dress for what is on my calendar. We can’t solve this issue in a few posts, but we can recognize what we are doing and try to break down the gates.