DECODING THE DRESS CODE: FROM SILICON VALLEY TO SEOUL

Over a classic Calvin & Hobbes breakfast, Calvin's mom laments, "Nobody dresses up for anything anymore. People look like slobs everywhere they go."

- RICARDO T. PAMINTUAN

In the final panel, Calvin, decked out like Gatsby, sighs, "Why do I have to change the world?"

That social commentary, which first appeared in April 1995, recently made a comeback. Perhaps Calvin's mom had a point—long before Twitter threads and TikTok "hot takes" tried to claim the same argument. Somewhere between normcore, athleisure, and I-woke-up-like-this aesthetic, we lost something essential: the subtle, civil power of dressing properly, not just to impress, but to express respect.

Fashion, once the mark of ceremony and social hierarchy, has been overthrown. Or at least, it's been recoded. We live in a world where the power suit has quietly stepped aside to make room for a more ambiguous, algorithmic aesthetic. Nowhere is this shift more dramatically illustrated than in the parallel style universes of Silicon Valley and Seoul.

When Steve Jobs strutted to the stage on June 29, 2007, to launch the iPhone, the world half expected him to walk in like Darth Vader about to arrest Princess Leia. Instead, we were treated to this geek in black turtleneck, blue jeans, and dad sneakers that became his fashion trademark. For him, what a man wore was significantly, well, less significant than what was between his ears. His unpretentious attire, almost a uniform, seemed to say, "Don't look at me. Look at what I've built." Long after he left us, the world hasn't stopped looking. Or admiring.

Steve Jobs wasn't alone, or probably he set the trend. Fellow tech innovator Mark Zuckerberg followed suit—well, unsuit, selecting a drab wardrobe of identical gray t-shirts, perhaps, so that his brain wouldn't waste precious RAM on outfit selection. It became a power move: dressing down to stand out. An act of strategic neutrality for a man with more money and influence than most snappy dressers.