Were You a Victim of the Thanksgiving Outfit™?
And is it Stockholm Syndrome that I'm feeling nostalgic for it...
While flicking through my closet on a recent frosty morning, I plucked a sweater I only seem to reach for in November: my Thanksgiving sweater.
It’s ‘70s vintage, made of an acrylic wool blend in a ribbed texture, with a rainbow-ish array of stripes speeding horizontally across the knit in varying weights. It’s itchy and the mock neck is oddly wide and I felt an instant connection when I spotted it at a thrift store years ago.
I call it my Thanksgiving sweater because it feels very Thanksgiving-y to me: the roasted pumpkin hue, the late autumn level of warmth, and its creation in a decade when pilgrim chic was mainstream.
Thanksgiving isn’t a holiday with a lot of exciting decor — paper turkeys and cornucopias can only go so far — and even its color story is rather drab compared to the more attention-grabbing December holidays. Yet despite this, the Thanksgiving dress code feels curiously intuitive. There was no better case-in-point than 2016, the year of The Thanksgiving Outfit™.
There’s a good chance you already knew what outfit I was referring to when you clicked on the headline.
You may have even had a flashback or two…
Spending fifteen minutes buttoning up your faux suede skirt
Immediately getting a run in your Topshop black tights
Lacquering on layers of Kylie Cosmetics lip kit only to end up ingesting it an hour later when oily gravy and mashed potatoes wear through the crinkly matte exterior
How did this become the Thanksgiving uniform of the late 2010s? And why do I feel kinda nostalgic for it?
For paid readers: an analysis on sartorial nostalgia, teen uniforms, and a reflection on Thanksgiving that went much deeper than I expected when I started writing it lol.