Kamala’s shoes, Tim’s eyelids and the red ties that unite Trump and Vance: What’s behind each candidate’s fashion choices

As Election Day approaches, candidates are wooing voters with everything they have at their disposal: targeted ads, text messages, provocations and political speeches.

As a fashion historian, I think one overlooked aspect of the campaign trail is clothing, which is a quiet and powerful way for candidates to tell the American public who they are.

It is an act as old as power itself.

“Clothes, from the king’s mantle down, are emblematic,” wrote Scottish philosopher Thomas Carlyle in “Sartor Resartus,” a founding text in fashion studies.

Tim Walz, Kamala Harris, JD Vance and Donald Trump have all drawn inspiration from the 1834 publication. Each brandishes an emblem in an effort to appeal to voters — and hint at how they will lead the country.

The People’s Crown

What’s more American than a baseball cap?

When Democratic vice presidential candidate Tim Walz wears one on the campaign trail, it does more than just cover up a thinning head of hair.

Much to the chagrin of many churchgoers and office bosses, baseball caps have moved beyond the baseball stage to become a ubiquitous symbol of the American man.

“It’s completely egalitarian,” said a brand guru at New Era, the official baseball cap supplier of Major League Baseball. “It’s the people’s crown.”

The baseball cap was born out of a desire for functionality. Shaded eyes see better. In the 1880s, baseball players chose styles ranging from wide-brimmed pillboxes inspired by bellhops to the styles worn by newsboys. Consumer choices led manufacturers like Spalding to the domed style used today.

I think Walz wears these hats to say to voters, “Hey, I’m just like you.”

He has a hat for every occasion. The former high school coach wears a mesh-side trucker cap to a fishing competition. He wears a camouflage number when he talks to his fellow hunters. He dons an NFL version of the Minnesota Vikings when he eats corn dogs with reporters, and another featuring Goldy Gopher — the University of Minnesota mascot — when he kisses piglets at the state fair.

Fluid movements

Whether she’s dancing to the beat of a drum kit or flipping burgers, presidential candidate Kamala Harris can usually be found wearing a classic pair of Chuck Taylor All-Stars.

Marquis Mills Converse designed the sneaker in 1917 at his Massachusetts-based rubber shoe company, with the goal of appealing to athletes playing basketball, a relatively new sport that was growing in popularity. The shoe’s diagonally cleated soles kept players from slipping on the basketball courts that were popping up on college campuses and in cities across the country.

Today, the cultural influence of the Chuck Taylor All-Stars cannot be overstated.

Fashion historians say the shoe’s democratic origins—at one point, it dominated more than 70 percent of the basketball shoe market—partly explain its continued appeal. The company’s archivist attributes its success to its utilitarian simplicity.

But in the 1970s, the lighter Adidas Superstar, which featured a protective toe cap, became a favorite among basketball players.

No matter. California skaters fell in love with the All-Star’s soles, which provided better grip on their boards. So it makes perfect sense that a California politician would make the shoe a part of her style.

The low-cut style Harris wears was introduced for a non-athletic market in the 1950s, and she’s delighted with its practicality and versatility.

“I run through airports in my Converse sneakers,” she told The Cut, an online fashion publication, in 2017. “I have a whole collection… a black leather pair, a white pair, I have the ones that don’t lace up, the ones that lace up.”

She wore the shoes on the cover of Vogue magazine in 2021, and they’ve been a constant presence as she runs for the top job.

Beyond the comfort the sneakers provide for a candidate who is often on her feet, I think they send a more subtle message that harks back to her origins: ready to move, ready to pivot, ready to win.

Imitation is flattery

The red tie is nothing new. For centuries, military leaders and their armies have used red ties to project power and aggression. Chinese imperial warriors wore red bandanas. To match the color of Emperor Trajan’s cape, Roman soldiers wore red scarves.

Former President Trump has worn a red tie since the early 1980s, when he was best known as a ruthless real estate mogul. As president, he has redoubled his efforts to brand himself as a “red Republican.”

Although long associated with dominance and fervor, red only became the GOP’s color in recent decades, after television networks assigned the party that color to broadcast state-by-state election results.

As Oscar Wilde wrote, “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” and Trump supporters have copied his style of dress.

Vance can be counted among them. The Republican vice presidential nominee’s adoption of the red tie is the cherry on top of his transformation from tech fanatic to MAGA acolyte.

As menswear pundit Derek Guy wrote, Vance underwent a makeover before becoming vice presidential candidate. Gone are the standard gray suit jackets paired with open-collar, button-down shirts and nice jeans.

In their place, his new boss’s uniform: navy suits, worn with more formal flared collars – and yes, shiny red ties.

Guy sees Vance’s transformation as “a clothing transformation” mea culpaa way for him to backtrack on his previous criticisms and prove his loyalty to Trump.

Vance’s suits are more tailored than Trump’s, and his ties are a bit looser. But the message remains the same as it has been for millennia: “I am the man in the room who leads this army.”

Well, as long as Trump isn’t here.

Crushed orange

Trump attributes his skin’s orange hue to energy-efficient light bulbs, but there’s more to it than that.

Compared by the New York Times to “Warhol’s white hair or Big Bird’s scarlet plumage,” Trump’s fake tan is “a cultural representation of him long before he entered politics.” His look has been decried by beauty editors, questioned by cartoonists and relentlessly ridiculed by his detractors.

And yet it continues to shine. Why?

Although sun worship has been around since time immemorial, tanned skin is a cultural phenomenon of the 20th century. The trend is often attributed to French fashion designer Coco Chanel, who told Vogue in 1929, “A golden tan is the sign of chic.” It’s more likely that tanned skin was popularized by the rise of outdoor leisure activities like sailing, tennis, and golf, which became the preserve of the rich and famous.

Trump’s tan reinforces his public image as a wealthy businessman. Sociologists who study why people are motivated to use indoor tanning have found that “tanned white skin may indicate that its owner is healthy, relatively affluent, sociable, physically fit, and attractive.”

To achieve this, tanning enthusiasts turned to science. The first tanning salon opened in 1978. By 2004, there were 50,000 establishments serving 28 million customers.

Self-tanners, which are widely believed to be the reason for Donald Trump’s skin color, have been around since the days of Chanel. They started out as a form of makeup. But by the 1970s, every major beauty brand was offering chemical versions that colored the skin. Soon, magazine editors were scrambling to provide instructions on how to prep the skin and apply the product for an even application, a problem that has sometimes plagued Donald Trump.
For Trump, self-tanner’s ability to convey youth and vigor has become even more important than in the past, as the former president’s age has become a subject of criticism.

Public historian Kate Barilla contributed to this article.