9 Clothing Rules White People Invented to Benefit White People

There are plenty of style rules that always deserve recognition: Personal expression is paramount. Fit above all. When in doubt, all-black-everything is always stylish. Well-thought out style guidelines are both timeless and will never lead you astray when you assemble an outfit for any occasion.

One commonly followed rule is that you shouldn't wear white after Labor Day. At this point, it's a nearly universally acknowledged idea that's set in stone. But do the research, and you'll realize that this statute was invented by a very specific group of people for a very specific reason. Like other types of rules, the sartorial regulations that are supposedly iron-clad were created by those in power to do so. Using the outward-facing medium of clothing and appearance, the ruling group of people have always used fashion as a means to demarcate what is "acceptable" and "normal," and whoever runs afoul of these rules is outside of the standard. It's something those in a position of power have been doing for millennia.

And guess who's been in that position, since, like 1492. From the old sayings to Ivy League establishments of style, these are 9 Clothing Rules White People Invented to Benefit White People.

Red pants (or rather, trousers) are a bit of a in-the-know joke in England. Always the standout item, they used to be an encoded message worn by the upper crust that silently informs others of the wearer's raffish privilege and old-fashioned British sophistication. In America, crimson pants also have connotations of New England aristocracy, which were originally meant to convey a "go to Hell" attitude that only the super-rich could afford to carry.

Of course, like many other things, a trickle-down effect from the ruling class has seen red pants make a mass-market push, but despite the Solo cup chugging bros who are just as likely to look like lobsters every summer, the pants and their societal codes were born in garden parties and sprawling lawns.

The ultimate workwear fabric, denim has always been an American wardrobe staple for at least the last 80 years. While the fabric has become perfectly fine to wear from the workweek to the weekend, vestiges of class-based dressing strongly forbid the fabric on the grounds that it is far too casual. Exclusive (read: white) country clubs, the Ivy League men's clubs, and upscale restaurants are generally the last locations to uphold the “no-denim” rules—and many of these have shrugged off the archaic denim restrictions in favor of either increasing membership or accommodating contemporary sensibilities.

If you want an example of how denim was barred from entering the establishment, get familiar with the tale of working-class hero Bing Crosby's rocking a denim tuxedo. Originally conceived by Levi's after news spread about Crosby being rejected from a hotel for wearing denim, the label produced a full-look tuxedo, complete with red tab corsage with custom rivets. Crosby was eventually seen wearing the denim tux in a few public appearances, and while a denim tux is a novelty that only Bing Crosby could pull off, it was the celebrity endorsement that proved the rule was on its way out.

The last thing a club owner wants is trouble behind the velvet rope, which is a completely understandable sensibility. However, when "trouble" is assumed to be associated with certain groups of minorities, and measure are taken to deter particular demographics, that's when things get real problematic.

Plenty of clubs have instituted dress codes that target a certain style of dress that is popular in certain cultures and among specific racial and socio-economic populations. Sure, sometimes it's a means of upping a more formal means of dressing, but a lot of these codes prohibit staples of urban fashion, which is most prolific among racial minorities. History has shown us that certain businesses have embraced explicit segregation to please a certain (despicable) mindset and clientele. Enforcing dress codes that purport to do one thing but in reality do another is just another means to continue an ingrained perspective that equates adverse behavior with minorities. By saying that urban fashion is unacceptable, these codes also send the message that urban culture is unacceptable.

One of the most despised actions of David Stern's tenure as NBA commissioner was the NBA dress code, which went into affect at the start of the 2005-06 season and was Stern's answer to the “hip-hop” and “hooligan” image of the NBA and its players. Naturally this affected African-American players more than any others, and items like jerseys, jeans, wave caps, headphones around the neck, and even Timberlands were banned at interviews, games, charity events, or any other function associated or affiliated with the NBA. Making it even more audacious is the fact that this was the first dress code imposed by a major professional sports league in the USA. In an era of the NBA that was filled with players with big personalities (cough-Allen Iverson, Rasheed Wallace, Paul Pierce, etc.), the dress code was openly understood as a way to attempt and control those personalities and align them with that of the vanilla NBA executives.

Some believe that the “Malice at the Palace” was the final straw in the progression to a dress code, but with several teams already having their own loose variations on a dress code, this was probably more of an inevitability than an all-out attack. The dress code is in effect to this day, but is often challenged by players who must compete with code while honoring sponsorship agreements from brands like Nike, Adidas, and even Beats By Dre.

Simply put, the idea behind this custom is that you never wear the crest, logo, or combined colors of another school. Something that is more a hallmark of the “Ivy League” era of education, it would be significantly frowned upon if you were, for example, a Harvard student, and you were caught with a Yale sweater on.

This ideology lends itself to isolating the other, and embracing those who fit into your grouping. As Ivy League schools and other prestigious institutions of higher learning have historically remained racially isolated and built up figurative and literal walls with the aim of keeping diversity at bay, wearing one's school crest was not only displaying pride in the college, but also a reminder that one was wealthy, well-educated, and "belonged," whereas someone who was crestless was outside of this grouping.

Today, that kind of thinking really only applies to wearing rival school colors on a major game day. If you've applied to college in the last 20 years, you can recall picking up a T-shirt or two at the bookstores of the various schools you were considering as you went through the application process. In the early 20th century, when guys were known as “Harvard Men,” directly associated with their university, that policy of university exclusivity made more sense. Today, curating your wardrobe based on the colors of your university and its rivals seems not only excessive, but ridiculous.

Monograms date back to Ancient Greece as a way to denote where currency was produced. The practice of monogramming eventually fell into the royal ruling classes of Europe, as they monogrammed everything from personal items to coins pressed while under their rule. Today, monograms are used to denote personal property and often used in wedding gifts. When a couple gets married, monogrammed gear is way to personalize a gift meant for the couple. Aside from towels and bathrobes, guys have been placing their initials on shirt pockets, collars, and even wrist cuffs. Rules for monogramming extend to where and how to arrange the initials, what initials should be used, what kind of script should be employed, etc.

As the royal rulers of Western civilization have historically been white, this practice's long and rich history reminds us that this wasn't just a practice of adding personalized touches, but used as a way to remind others of a person's position and power—literally worn on their sleeves.

Generally speaking, monogramming things as a gift is pretty risky (in the event that they don't like it) and having it done to your own gear looks more pompous than personalized.

It is a common joke (based in reality) that ignorant white people always approach African Americans to ask if they "can touch their hair." While this is not only uncomfortable and inappropriate, even more frustrating is when black hairstyles are straight-up banned or severely restricted.

For black women in the Army, recent restrictions barred certain types of braids, including twists and multiple braids. For guys at Hampton University, dean of the university's business school Sid Credle banned braids, cornrows, dreads. While Hampton is historically a black university, even that history doesn't make it exempt from these rules.

The problem with rules on hair is that these typically enforce restrictions and guidelines based on what works for white people, and not how certain races may have been treating and wearing their hair for centuries. This equates whitness with what's "normal," positioning other races outside of what's accepted as the standard, a common thread through all these rules.

A controversial practice for years, sagging your pants has been a part of street culture for decades. While the trend is believed to have started in prisons, the trend today is far beyond its earlier associations, and is just a part of wearing baggy pants.

In states across the country, from Florida, to New Jersey, to Tennessee, guys are facing anywhere from fines to jail time—purely for wearing their pants low. It's easy to see how this targets those in the hip-hop culture, as baggy clothing has been a style in the music scene for over two decades. While people of all background, including President Obama, have spoken out against "sagging" considering hip-hop's close relationship to African American and Latino culture, these laws certainly have a basis in controlling how other people dress (and represent that particular culture) more than preventing "plumber's crack."

You've slaved all week at your terrible office job; you've come in early, went to the meeting, impressed the client, and worn your uncomfortable suit all week—just to get pay the bills. But wait, your struggle has not gone unnoticed, your boss has given you relief from the rat race...in the form of casual Friday.

Started as marketing ploy in the '60s to sell Aloha-print shirts, the idea of casual Friday gradually spread as a cheap, no-cost way for employers to appease their employees. When the '90s rolled around, older baby boomers weren't buying denim in the quantities that they had earlier. An alarmed Levi's combated the trend and utilized its new acquisition, Docers, to pioneer the idea of "business casual." Levi's was so invested in the initiative that it even a brochure in 1992 titled "A Guide to Casual Businesswear" and sent it across the country. Eventually the concept of business casual spread to offices all over the U.S. into the idea that we know of today.

The concept was never really about making employees hate the workweek a little less, but more about selling cheap khakis to baby boomers and those in 9-to-5 office jobs. Casual Fridays isolate casual dress into just one day of the week, and force those not to express themselves, but rather conform to the white-collar standards of dressing—white being the key word here.

Today, while most offices have relaxed their dress codes to permit wearing "business casual" beyond just Fridays. It's hard not to notice how this is less of an accommodation for those in the struggle, and more a modernization of the classic white collar uniform policy.