Why Menswear Won't Kick Its Workwear Habit

In 2026, workwear has been fully absorbed by fashion, showing its influence on both luxury labels and run-of-the-mill retailers. Chore coats, blue jeans, utility vests, and carpenter pants show up on runways at maisons like Louis Vuitton and minimalist labels like Lemaire, as well as on the racks at Stüssy and UNIQLO. However, the topic of workwear — and chore coats, in particular — has entered somewhat contentious territory in recent years. Some critics declared peak chore coat as far back as 2024, writing it off as an overexposed menswear uniform, yet Gen Z seems to have only just caught on. The various discourse surrounding workwear raises a larger question about why the category is attracting so much attention in the 2020s — a decade defined by strides in automation and digitalization.

Publisher Gestalten’s new title Blue-Collar Modernism: The Visual Culture of Workwear, edited by David Hellqvist and François-Luc Giraldeau, traces how workwear graduated from factory floors to fashion shows, adding some historical perspective to an ongoing argument among fashion observers. In an interview with Hypebeast, Hellqvist — a long-time fashion editor, creative director, and stylist — described an ongoing movement driven by designers that “borrow the DNA of workwear and appropriate it for a 21st-century lifestyle.” Explaining his approach to the book, he shared, “It became really important to focus more on the modernism aspect than just the blue-collar.” Rather than settle on a fixed definition, Hellqvist wanted the book to widen what counts as workwear, with as much attention on the present as the past.

As it relates to clothing, it could be said that the present has largely been defined by the growth of fast fashion: the incessant churn of trendy garments, on demand, at exceedingly low prices. Yet these developments have grown alongside a countermovement that honors the durability and functional design essential to workwear, including early workwear modernists like 1971-born Italian label C.P. Company and more recent makers like 2020-born chef-wear label Service Works. The roughly 250-page, hardbound book documents that tradition across more than 40 sections dedicated to influential brands and individuals, interspersed with chapters on four significant regions: America, France, England, and Japan.

Though many legacy brands have expanded from their workwear roots to serve general consumers, the book’s regional chapters serve as a crash course in the practical origins of workwear pioneers. Global efforts to industrialize societies beginning in the 19th century necessitated garment makers in each region dedicated to the needs of the quickly advancing labor force. Levi’s was founded in 1853, originally making jeans for miners during the California Gold Rush. In Britain, Barbour was founded in 1894, creating water-resistant outerwear for fishermen and sailors. Originating in 19th-century France, the distinct blue, patch-pocket work jacket, known as “Bleu de Travail,” became so widespread that it eventually evolved into what we now call the chore coat. This iconic garment also helped to inspire the term blue-collar as a descriptor for working-class occupations. Every pocket, fabric, and cut had a reason behind it, and that sense of purpose is what keeps drawing designers back more than a century later.

For a new generation, a piece like the Carhartt WIP Detroit Jacket (the brand’s take on the chore coat) signals taste more than trade, offering the durability and authenticity of clothes built for hard work, even if the wearer never sets foot on a job site. The book leans into that idea, pairing legacy labels with 21st-century brands and people who wear workwear well outside its original context. The legacy labels “form the foundation, but the more interesting bit is the modern, contemporary brands sprinkled throughout, combined with profiles on people I deemed relevant to workwear,” Hellqvist said. These brands “aren’t what you’d typically perceive as workwear” — ones like Danish label Mfpen or Japan’s nanamica. And the profiles deviate from what would be considered traditional blue-collar roles, including figures like Fergus Henderson, the chef of head-to-tail London restaurant St. JOHN, painter Danny Fox, and fashion designer Aaron Levine.

Hellqvist explained that it wasn’t a single brand or person that revolutionized how we wear workwear, but a broader societal shift. “When society became more casual, men realized they didn’t have to wear a suit every day. So they started looking at the clothes they were used to working in.” By the late 1950s, the connotation of many workwear garments had begun to transcend labor into subculture and fashion. The obvious example is blue jeans, which began to be geared toward lifestyle over labor not only by Levi’s but also by designer denim labels like Calvin Klein in the ‘70s.

If he had to name a defining figure who helped to advance the shift, Hellqvist gives his flowers to the late Massimo Osti, founder of C.P. Company (1971), as well as Stone Island (1982). “I don’t think there’s any better example than Massimo Osti… Since the main message of the book is the modernism of workwear, he is the ultimate example of modernizing the genre and developing fabric innovations.” Another notable name is Lybro founder and tactical gear expert Nigel Cabourn, who passed away this year. The expertise of Cabourn and other famous workwear collectors like Doug Gunn and Roy Luckett of The Vintage Showroom has been integral to keeping the original legacy of workwear alive for new generations.

The author believes that two major currents are driving the future of workwear: democratization and technological innovation. He explained that today “the ethos of workwear is present in most collections now, including womenswear,” and that “functionality is drastically improving” with new technology. Geographically, Hellqvist sees a lot of workwear innovation coming from Japan, where the approach to design is distinct from the Western tradition. “There’s an almost academic reasoning behind Japanese workwear,” he said. “In a technical sense, Japanese brands like Descente Allterrain, and Wander, and Goldwin are doing incredible things.”

Placing hard boundaries on what workwear is, how it should be worn, or who should wear it isn’t of any interest to Hellqvist. Far from being a workwear purist, his idea of workwear is flexible and ever-evolving, but firmly rooted in “details, functionality, and purpose.” The author concluded by naming Copenhagen’s Mfpen and English label Service Works as brands that encapsulate the book’s intent: “Broadening the term and examining how modern society uses workwear for completely new lifestyles, like going to an office.”

In an interview with Hypebeast, Hellqvist explains why he considers army uniforms the ultimate workwear, how Britain’s wind and rain shaped an entire wardrobe, and why workwear will keep evolving long after the chore coat debate dies down.

Do you have a strong relationship to workwear that you were able to indulge for this book, or did you have to immerse yourself in it?

David Hellqvist: I wouldn’t say I was a massive workwear head. I had a general interest in it as a consumer and as a menswear editor, but I wouldn’t call my personal style strictly workwear. I wear elements of it, and I wear brands inspired by it. If you look at the brands in the book, it’s workwear, but it’s not workwear. A lot of the brands included aren’t what you’d typically perceive as workwear brands. Carhartt and Levi’s are in there, and while they are lifestyle workwear brands today, they were founded with a very specific purpose.

When we started refining the concept for Blue Collar Modernism, it became really important to focus more on the modernism than just the blue-collar. We identified legacy brands like Levi’s, Red Wing, and Barbour — the brands that immediately pop into your head. But what could I tell you about Levi’s that you don’t already know? They formed the foundation, but the more interesting parts are the contemporary brands sprinkled throughout, combined with profiles on people I deemed relevant to workwear. We included tiny new brands alongside the giants. It’s educational in that sense. It stems from my magazine background; you want to mix the old with the new, recognizing the familiar while discovering something beautiful.

What kind of research went into this process? Were there any impressive archives or artifacts you encountered?

Funnily enough, I didn’t set out to unearth any artifacts per se. There are people in the book, like The Vintage Showroom, whose entire specialty is finding, archiving, and selling historical workwear and denim. I let them be the ones to unearth those objects because that’s their expertise.

For the profiles, I was allowed to be quite selfish. I chose people I found relevant. It’s not the definitive version of workwear; it’s literally mine. There are people who work for brands, like Lorenzo Osti from C.P. Company, Carlo Ravetti from Stone Island, and Aaron Levine, but some interesting inclusions are people like Fergus Henderson, who is a chef. If you work in a kitchen, your uniform is workwear. He’s taken that uniform and worn it in everyday life, making it his signature.

There are painters in the book like Danny Fox and Humphrey Ocean. The way they wear their clothes, like a workwear uniform in the studio while painting, is fascinating. I’m very interested in the extension of workwear as a personal uniform. Look at the famous street photographer Bill Cunningham, riding around New York in his French blue chore jackets. That is workwear that became his absolute signature.

Was defining workwear something you tried to do while writing the book? And how is modern workwear different?

I wasn’t interested in defining the term; I was interested in broadening it. Carhartt is in the essay on American workwear, but it felt a bit too obvious to focus heavily on them. I was more interested in brands like Mfpen. They make suits out of surplus fabrics, and that suit acts as workwear for the modern office. I wanted to pull the attention away from construction sites in New York and instead to an office in Copenhagen.

Another example is Service Works, a lifestyle brand founded by a chef. It’s entirely based on what a chef wears in the kitchen, taking workwear out of the kitchen and putting it onto the street. That is modernism for me; brands and designers borrow the DNA of workwear and appropriate it for a 21st-century lifestyle, focused on details, functionality, and purpose. A carpenter needs pockets for his tools, but modern design borrows those details and extends their use to everyday life.

Do you feel there was a specific brand or designer in the last hundred years that kicked off the modern workwear movement?

The legacy brands are 120 to 140 years old, and Levi’s is even older, but I think it’s bigger than just one brand. In the mid-20th century, there was a shift in how men dressed, moving from a formal wardrobe to a casual one. In the early century, men wore suits and hats for everything: work, leisure, mornings, and evenings.

When society became more casual, men realized they didn’t have to wear a suit every day. They started looking at the clothes they were used to working in, or, in the case of soldiers returning from wars, their demobilized uniforms. They borrowed details from uniforms and workwear, kept some tailoring, and then sportswear happened. I think tailoring, sportswear, workwear, and military uniforms are the four foundations of modern menswear. Everything we wear today comes from one or all of those areas. It wasn’t one brand that changed it; it was a shift in society that allowed us to wear specialized garments in everyday life.

How do you see Japanese workwear as different from the American approach?

Out of the four geographic regions in the book — America, France, England, and Japan — America is the youngest country. The others have much longer cultural and sartorial histories to pull from. 

When I wrote the Japan chapter, I got sucked into their traditional construction site uniforms, which look completely different from New York construction sites. They wear these ballooning tobi trousers that attach directly to the footwear, creating a full uniform. There’s an almost academic reasoning behind Japanese workwear. The flip side is the ultra-modern version of Japanese workwear, which is super technical. It perfectly sums up Japan: a combination of the deeply traditional and the highly modern. They have a unique knack for mixing and matching those two extremes.

Could you explain how the original French Bleu de Travail coat became what we now call the chore coat?

France is an ancient society compared to America, so it makes sense that America looked at French workwear, adopted the jacket, changed its name, and evolved it into something that looks different. But that’s clearly where it comes from, and it’s where the term “blue collar” originates: the blue jackets worn in the fields and factories of France.

When you talk about French workwear, there’s really only one place to start: the Bleu de Travail. It’s a universal garment that signifies workwear. It has three pockets on the front and one hidden on the inside, so there’s functionality and purpose behind the design. It’s cut waist-short to enable movement and is usually made from moleskin, a thick, durable, yet soft cotton. It was introduced in the mid-19th century when very little technical clothing existed, so it was top-notch performance wear back then. It’s such an iconic design that most contemporary brands still do their own version of it today.

Could you expand on how weather and geography have shaped British workwear design?

All countries have bad weather, but sometimes we forget that Britain is a relatively small island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. There is a lot of wind and rain. The Industrial Revolution also plays a massive part. Britain industrialized faster and earlier than a lot of other countries. It was an industrious nation filled with factories and docks. The wardrobe was developed to beat the weather and survive the labor. Eventually, as we discussed earlier, society shifted, and those purpose-built garments became the everyday norm.

What perspective did Italian designers like Massimo Osti bring to modern workwear?

Massimo Osti Studio is actually in the book as a contemporary brand, since it’s only a few years old, which gave me a great opportunity to profile Lorenzo. Carlo Ravetti is also in there representing Stone Island. I think Massimo Osti was clearly more inspired by military uniforms than traditional workwear, though both are present in his archives.

Army uniforms are perhaps the ultimate workwear. You can make a chore jacket for a construction site, but when you produce a field uniform for battle, every single detail is a matter of life and death. Massimo identified that. Working in Bologna in the ’70s and ’80s, away from Milan’s glamorous fashion scene, his obsession with functional details really stood out. I think that’s why he considered himself an engineer and an inventor of fabrics rather than a traditional fashion designer.

Who would you say is the most influential figure in modern workwear?

I don’t think there’s any better example than Massimo Osti. He passed away in 2005, which is fairly recent, and started C.P. Company about 50 years ago, so it’s all recent history. Since the main message of the book is the modernism of workwear, he is the ultimate example of modernizing the genre and developing fabric innovations. He was absolutely a pioneer.

What do you see changing about workwear today?

There are a few different answers to that. First, workwear is democratizing. The ethos of workwear is present in most collections now, including womenswear. Second, the actual development of workwear revolves around technology and innovation. The purpose of workwear is to protect you, act as a shell, keep you safe, and enable you to do your job. With new technology, that functionality is drastically improving. 

I talk about this a bit in the Japanese chapter regarding technical brands, which represent the next generation of workwear. I didn’t focus on it too heavily, however, because I’m currently working on my second book, which is about outdoor culture. Technical clothing naturally plays a massive role in that space.

I see you’re wearing South2 West8, so you’re very much in the outdoor mode right now.

I am! A lot of my work outside of writing books is in that world. It’s based on my personal interests, how I grew up in rural Sweden, and what I naturally wear. From that stable of brands, Engineered Garments is featured in the [Blue-Collar Modernism] book, so they really bridge both of these areas beautifully.

As a final question regarding innovation, are there a few brands you view as the innovators of workwear moving forward?

In a technical sense, the Japanese brands I mentioned — Descente Allterrain, and Wander, and Goldwin — are doing incredible things. But if there are brands that truly summarize the message of the book, it’s labels like Mfpen and Service Works. They don’t define the entirety of workwear, but they define the book’s intent: broadening the term and examining how modern society uses workwear for completely new lifestyles, like going to an office.