Our clothes don’t just cover our bodies, they influence how we feel and act, as well as how others will feel about and react to us. And of course, they are meant to keep us dry and in a comfortable temperature range.
And yet, we are typically caught between two parts of our closets.
The Clothing Divide
On the one side, there are our “good” clothes. They are sharp, presentable pieces for work, for urban living, for going out. They make us feel and act more professional, be seen as more professional – but they tend not to protect well.
On the other side are the comfortable and functional pieces that we wear every day, feel good in or get protected by. The uniforms of jeans and T-shirts that everyone wears but supposedly project a sense of our personality. The Gore-Tex that can withstand a downpour.
For years, I hated that divide.
All the more so when sharp pieces of clothing came with high price tags and didn’t even protect against rain, but technical clothing made for jokes about people dressed for ascending Mount Everest when fetching a Starbucks from across the road.
You could either dress for the life you had, often keeping to the kind of clothes your mama had already bought for you when you were a child, dress the style you aspired to or dress for the adventures you wanted. Why not all?
This question started my own microexploration, not of a place, but of my own wardrobe.
From Uniforms to Function
Like many, my early style was a uniform chosen by others. The standard uniform of jeans and T-shirts. The kinds of things my mum dressed me in, my surroundings told me to see as normal.
As I got older and my life became more active, function naturally took priority. I needed gear that enabled exploration, not limited it.
Running ultramarathons meant that I needed running gear that worked, including in mountain thunderstorms.
Traveling for ultramarathons or fastpacking across mountains made me want to carry as little gear as possible, and I sure wanted performance in my everyday life as well.
But I never wanted to look like I’d just stepped off a mountain trail, especially when I was in the city. Flashy logos and primary colors weren’t for me.
I craved clean lines and minimal distractions. This obsession with function-first simplicity went deep—the more I ran, the shorter my hair got, simply because I couldn’t stand the distraction of it bouncing around.
I was consciously editing my life for performance, at the same time that I wanted to feel and look more professional in my daily life and eventually embarked on my teaching career (as well as other parts of it).
Discovering My Armor
This search for a bridge between performance and presentation led me to Arc’teryx Veilance.
Here were classic menswear silhouettes—blazers, field jackets, trousers—reimagined with cutting-edge technical materials.
It was the answer to the problem I’d been wrestling with for years: the ability to wear a timeless, professional style that was also, secretly, technical armor against the elements.
Let’s be clear: Veilance is an investment.
My own journey to a Veilance wardrobe was a microexploration of secondhand sites and outlet sales.
The hunt was worth it because the philosophy resonated so deeply. It proposed that you no longer had to choose between looking capable and being capable.
The Power of a “Boring” Uniform
The minimalist, almost severe, aesthetic of Veilance is what sealed the deal. It’s simple, it’s sharp, and it’s what I’ve come to call “the beauty of boring.”
A well-designed uniform isn’t about being dull; it’s about being so confident in your foundation that you can forget about it and focus on what truly matters.
It removes the daily friction of “what to wear” and replaces it with a reliable system.
Knowing my clothes are comfortable, completely functional, and project the exact image I want gives me a quiet confidence.
Menswear in Microexploration
This is the core of my microexploration into menswear, too:
Our clothing is a primary tool for interacting with the world. It influences how we feel, how we carry ourselves, and how we are perceived.
By curating a wardrobe that acts as my armor, I’m empowered to explore my world more freely, knowing I’m prepared for whatever it throws at me. In this regard, I’ve come to see my clothes as my most important EDC, as you can explore in my post on this topic.
What’s your style story? Is your wardrobe a tool, a form of expression, or something else entirely? Share your thoughts in the comments.