What Patti Smith’s uniform says about art, identity and rebellion
A white button-down shirt. Blue denim trousers. A torn graphic T-shirt. A black waistcoat. Well-worn combat boots. These are staples of Patti Smith‘s unmistakable wardrobe, a personal uniform that harnesses androgyny and sustainability as a source of power.
Where musicians are concerned, every great one has a distinctive “look”, given a colour palette, silhouette or some other indicator that who they are on the outside reflects their art, and the person that exists within. Smith curates this perhaps unintentionally. Her clothing never takes precedent over her work, but as her wardrobe displays items that are casual, comfortable and trustworthy, every staple within reveals who she is.
One of Smith’s most charming traits, one which has stayed consistent since she first began to select favourites as a child, is her dedication to her icons: writers, poets, musicians, actors and more who embodied something (whether that be spiritual, physical or otherwise) that she wished to emulate. Where style was concerned, as a young woman, Smith parsed from different influences, primarily masculine – Bob Dylan, French poets, school uniforms – but also feminine, from flipping through old fashion magazines to identify with Audrey Hepburn’s look in Funny Face.
Gender was not a hindrance; seemingly, it did not phase her to see Dylan’s signature jackets, for instance, and consider them unsuited for her. Being a “tomboy” just came naturally. As a piece of clothing acts as powerful armour for anyone, it was one for Smith, too. A trusted clothing item became one of her talismans; she could mirror the power that her heroes possessed, adopting a uniform that would serve to be both reliable and strong.
Smith moved with intentionality from her youth: she chose carefully when thrifting clothing and putting outfits together, reflecting images she’d seen in magazines and films. Moving to New York to become a fully-realised artist, broke and hungry, Smith’s clothing had to sustain, and became prized items among what she owned, proud indicators of becoming the person she was meant to be.
This is not to say that Smith stuck solely to her adopted uniform: take the cover of the Patti Smith Group’s 1979 album Wave, photographed by Robert Mapplethorpe, where Smith wears a delicate white dress. Traditional femininity showed itself in Smith’s wardrobe when she allowed it to, and though her style has always tended to lean towards the opposite end of the spectrum, gendered perceptions of style were not of concern. Authenticity, then, remained paramount.
The concept of possessing a sense of so-called “style” is an interesting one, undeniably subjective and yet, there are certain people who can wear just about anything and make it look desirable. Smith is one of those people. She may not necessarily subscribe to this notion, but from my view, it’s true: she has a way of elevating a simple outfit, easy to replicate, yet difficult to mimic in its energy.
I think that, above all, Smith’s clear reverence for every piece in her wardrobe bolsters her style even further. This is shown in the clearly-loved elements: the tears in a T-shirt or a pair of jeans, the creases in her boots, and marks of repair shown in a stitch or patch. Signs of age become indicators of pride.
With this comes the idea of “timeless” clothing: pieces that can exist within any given decade among trends of the day while remaining as essential as ever. From what we see, Smith’s wardrobe seems to have this concept in mind, consciously or not. This is practical, too: rather than following what is “popular” to wear, Smith chooses comfort and familiarity, a clear indicator of style for anyone.
I’m reminded of Smith’s personal and collaborative relationship with Ann Demeulemeester, a fan-turned-friend. Now, of course, the Flemish designer is one of fashion’s most recognisable names, but before this, Demeulemeester was a passionate fan of Smith’s, who found her life changed when she attended Smith’s concert in Brussels in 1976 as a teenager. She made herself a promise that she would one day design clothes for Smith, and she delivered.
In her newest memoir, Bread of Angels, Smith writes of receiving “a mysterious package from Belgium, a white box tied with a black silk ribbon” in the 1990s. She continues: “Within black tissue were three white shirts, reminiscent of the shirt I had worn on the cover of Horses, fragile yet distinctive. Someone knows me, I thought, a stranger who makes clothes as I might have imagined.”
The friends collaborated on a collection together in Spring/Summer 2000, titled “Woolgathering”, after Smith’s autobiographical novel from 1992. In the clothing, Demeulemeester embroidered lines from the novel into clothing that could easily be found hanging in Smith’s closet: “Did turn to wave as I ran and his open eyes caught mine” is stitched onto a grey dress, “Curious wishes feathered the air” is stitched on a sheer tank top.
Smith’s image and sounds are literally woven into fashion history, art forms coinciding to show the power held in an article of clothing that communicates something beyond its practical purpose. In 2006, for Demeulemeester’s Men’s Fall/Winter 2006 collection, Smith walked the runway in a black trenchcoat, bowler hat, scarf and all-black shirt and trousers – a full-circle moment.
On stage, Smith performs in a rotation of the same clothing items she always has, a uniform that is mirrored in the crowd, along with replicas of the outfit worn on her Horses cover – she transforms simplicity into a reflection of herself: from the young girl who dreamed of becoming an artist, to the woman she did, indeed, become, a multidisciplinary force whose work resonates just as much today as it did some 50 years ago.
Thinking of Smith’s style, there is a clear respect for the act of getting dressed: choosing to wear a distinct piece of clothing that conveys identity with intention. As her music, writings and photography all merge to share her visions, her clothing does, too, and assembling an outfit becomes art in itself.
