How my Dad’s smart style shaped mine
‘Dad style’ may not always be a compliment — but sometimes it is
A few months ago, I found a cardboard box in a closet in my dad’s house. In it, I found some old mementos and photographs, including a Father’s Day card I’d made for him 40-some years ago.
I’d used construction paper to create a design that looked like a shirt and tie. The shirt was made of blue paper, and the glued-on tie was pink. Inside, I’d written: “Dear Dad, I like your ties. Happy Father’s Day.”
It’s poignant because it’s true. I really did love my dad’s ties.
Maybe in some circles the phrase “dad style” is not a compliment. But my father, Rob Gordon, was born into a family of clothing retailers in Stratford, Ont. As a young man, he inherited Gordon’s Mens Wear from his father, who had inherited it from his father. So he knew a few things: the difference between merino and alpaca, where a man’s pant should break, and what shoes to wear with that belt.
After he married my mom, Oriana, and they had two kids, Mom opened a couple of stores for women. So, unlike most teens, I looked up to my parents’ style, considering them bona fide wardrobe consultants. If they told me something looked good, I believed them. I didn’t dress exactly like them — they never expected that — but my look has always been shaped by the sartorial examples they set.
I inherited my mom’s appreciation for cashmere, chunky belts and the colour camel. But Dad’s influence has always been more present in my wardrobe. As a kid, I preferred cords and cowboy shirts to skirts and blouses. And my taste for men’s fashion still stands; I’ll choose brogues over ballet slippers any day of the week.
I looked up to my dad’s style because, when I grew up in the ’80s, men’s style looked easier to figure out, and, despite those big shoulder pads that were commonly found in women’s clothes at the time, more empowering.
When I peeked into his closet, there was a comforting uniformity to what was lined up there. I saw rows of shirts, pants and jackets of similar cuts. But at the same time, there was endless variation. If you looked closely, each was made interesting by an attention-getting pattern, a colourful lining, or some sleek piping.
To work, Dad wore almost the same thing every day: trousers, a dress shirt, a tie, a sport coat and a pair of loafers. On special days, he wore a suit. But somehow, he never looked plain or predictable. It’s amazing what a pink tie can do.
As I’ve matured, I’ve adopted his uniform approach to dressing for work. On me, it looks more like: trousers, a sleeveless blouse, a blazer, and a pair of loafers. This way of putting together a work outfit certainly makes getting dressed in the morning stress-free. And it’s amazing what a pink scarf can do.
On weekends, Dad liked to pop a collar. Or two. When I conjure an image of him heading down to the Stratford arena to watch an OHL game, he’s wearing a plaid button down, an Ingo sweater and a leather bomber jacket.
Ingo was a Waterloo-based brand that made durable wool pullovers, and it was perhaps my earliest Canadian fashion fetish. Dad sold the classic sweaters in his shop and wore them frequently. Ingo is still around today, though now it mainly makes sweaters for first responders, which is testament to their functionality.
One year as a Christmas gift, Dad gave me a men’s extrasmall Ingo sweater in deep red. I remember wearing it as a middle layer when I walked to high school on the coldest of Ontario days. And now, when I sit in arenas at my son’s Greater Toronto Hockey League games, I really wish I had that sweater. Ingos were so hard-wearing it’s probably still out there somewhere, keeping someone else warm. And it still doesn’t have any pills. Dad was an outdoorsman. Summers were spent sailing and winters were for skiing. On the mountain, he wore sleek one-piece ski suits topped by Conte of Florence hats. In summer, he wore Ralph Lauren polo shirts under Gant ruggers. And when the weather was foul, he was prepared. He was an early fan of Patagonia and Far West weatherproof gear and loved to put his Synchilla and Gore-Tex — marvellous new textile inventions at the time — to the test.
Heritage outdoor brands are still influential today. I admit to fetishizing Patagonia’s Snap-T pullovers, which haven’t changed much since they were first made in 1985. In a post-fast fashion world, there’s a thrill in buying a piece of clothing that could last 10 years or more.
Dad’s dress clothes were built to last, too. For gala night at the Stratford Festival, Dad would annually don the same classic tuxedo and be ready in 20 minutes. He always looked comfortable when he dressed up, and he never had to worry about having cold ankles.
Not only that, he got to wear the same trusty thing to opening night every year, whereas my mom had to find something new, different and magically appropriate for wildly varying spring weather. For her, cold ankles were a given and sore feet were a distinct possibility.
I didn’t go to many fancy events as a young person, but my dad’s tuxedo ease influenced me in subtle ways. For example, I wore yellow cotton pants to my middle school graduation, boldly refusing the taffeta frocks my friends were attracted to. I stuck out in pictures, but I didn’t mind.
Where there were dresses, there were heels, and to my prepubescent brain, “grown-up” shoes looked like a uniquely sexist form of torture. Forget it!
I still like to work fancy pants and flat shoes at dress up events, eschewing hemlines and high heels in favour of enjoying myself right until the end.
Dad sold his store in 1996, and it has since closed. These days, he’s more relaxed about what he wears. At 80, he doesn’t rock ties or tuxes much anymore, but he still layers it up on the weekend and knows very well how to use a splash of colour.
In 2020, my wardrobe is more influenced by my dad than ever before. The unpretentiousness he modelled is something I aspire to. I don’t need everyone to notice what I’m wearing; I’d rather if they’d listen to what I have to say.
Dad’s wardrobe was practical while also being snappy, which makes perfect sense in these times of homebound living. Fashions for the near future will be less about impressing others and more about feeling good in our bodies.
Dressing ourselves in 2020 will also be about supporting the brands we want to see survive. Shopping for quality was always my father’s way, and he rewarded the brands he believed in — the ones who baked longevity into their designs. It’s an approach built for times of economic uncertainty.
Dad’s use of colour as a source of variety makes perfect sense these days, too. It’s a relief to not have to worry about size or fit when online shopping. Just buy the same pants you bought three years ago, but in a different colour! Shopping this way means every top works with every bottom, so there’s no fuss in the morning.
Perhaps the most useful-fortoday style lesson I learned from my father was to have selfrespect, even in the most casual moments. No soft pants for him! Dad’s home with his dog during the pandemic, but I don’t need a video call to know he’s wearing cotton chinos and a button down as I write this.
Please excuse me while I go get dressed.
I looked up to my dad’s style because, when I grew up in the ’80s, men’s style looked easier to figure out