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They say that if you don’t like the weather in Maine, wait five minutes because it’s going to change. Our image of ourselves, our style, is just as variable. Are we Summer Islands or Winter Woods? LL Bean or Carhartts? North or south of Augusta? What is the authentic Maine look? Do we have designers who give us new inspiration? Or do we only import trends from away?
In college I realized that what I thought to be the epitome of Maine sensible fashion, others viewed as preppy and chic. The first of many identity crises — my LL Bean boots are elitist? Oh, the embarrassment!
I got over it, but it just shows how defining Mainers is a tricky task, so I’ll start by listing what we are not. We are not urban hipsters, even though hipsters have started dressing like lumberjacks. We are not all mountain men — but don’t we all want to be? — and we are definitely not unfashionable bumpkins.
We are, however, a very rural, poor and aging state — factors defining our fashion, but not in a bad way. The need to make clothing last and function in its primary manner as protection has made certain pieces more valued than others. Witness the flannel — the ultimate in outdoorsy chic, but also the most warm and comforting cloth ever created (fleece doesn’t have a chance).
There is no reason to shun this classic just because you don’t want to look like you forgot the skinny jeans and Ray Bans completing the look. Reclaim the flannel — but, starting a bit of a theme in Maine fashion, your flannel shirt should not be right off the rack.
Flannel is like wine in that it only gets better with age. My favorite shirt is a large, classic red men’s flannel I found at a thrift store in Portland. Not only does it keep me surprisingly warm, but the soft billowing shirt feels like a hug, inviting others to come in close and cuddle. At least that’s what I feel like when I put it on.
A good piece of clothing is loved for the way it makes you feel and for how it protects you from the elements. To me, flannel only gains that quality after years of use by campfires and ocean spray. So, pay no attention to those thin cotton copycats and dig into your dad’s clothes to find the real stuff. As the snow starts falling you won’t regret it, and will always feel authentic.
Although Paul Bunyan types immediately spring to mind with the words “Maine fashion,” even a brief look around the Union or down Congress Street in Portland make it clear that there is a deeper sense of style up North. Stemming from our demographics — poor, old and rural — we’ve created a very deep sense of self, one that people come from all over the country to be a part of.
We also have something that other wooded states like Idaho, Vermont and Oregon don’t have: the Maine coast. Our rough, rocky, nautical roots combined with the sparsely populated independent North woods are what make Maine a unique laboratory for creative fashion.
I am using the word “poor” somewhat provocatively here to describe Maine, because we are extremely proud and don’t necessarily think of ourselves as having any less than those in other states. There are many successful businesses around the state. Obviously our parents must have done something right because we are here getting a college education, but statistically our state is a poor one. That fact permeates our clothing choices.
The classic “Mainah” doesn’t care what he or she looks like, they wear what works for what they need to do and they wear what lasts. Thrift, utility and modesty have always been in fashion here.
For part two on Maine fashion, check back with Vive La Façon after break.
Bangor Daily News