A button-down shirt, a pair of slacks, and a fleece vest. The outfit, christened the "Midtown Uniform" by a popular Instagram account of the same name, appears to be standard issue for men in their twenties and thirties working in the financial-services industry. The look is huge, of course, in New York City. But you're just as likely to find it in the many analogs to Midtown Manhattan scattered across the country: Chicago's Loop, Washington's K Street, the central business districts of Boston, San Francisco, Dallas, et al.

The Midtown Uniform account provides a prolific stream of visual case studies: Chipper young dudes, generally of Anglo-Saxon extraction, proudly sporting the aforementioned three-part combo. There's the crisp oxford shirt: almost always white or blue, though sometimes pink, with the occasional gingham sighting. The slacks are invariably navy or khaki (and more often than not J.Crew 770 straight-fit chinos, unless my eyes deceive me).

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And, of course, it’s all topped off with the vest. Though a few other brands make a showing from time to time, it’s usually a classic Patagonia Synchilla offering in "nickel" gray, though black and navy will do in a pinch. (I can only assume the Synchilla is come kind of rare South American rodent, valued for its durable, sensibly hued, machine-washable pelt.)

"I’m currently wearing a black Patagonia vest, and I'm writing this from my desk in Midtown."

To call it a uniform is no exaggeration. "As chance would have it, I'm currently wearing a black Patagonia vest," my friend Alex, who works in financial research, wrote in an email about this story. "And I'm writing this from my desk in Midtown."

Another guy I talked to, who formerly worked as an analyst at J.P. Morgan, first began seeing the uniform around the office in 2014, and agrees it has become pretty much ubiquitous across the financial sector since. "If you're client-facing, it's usually a shirt and tie," he explained, "but if you don’t have a meeting that day, that's the outfit you go to."

The creator of @MidtownUniform, who prefers to remain anonymous, first noticed the trend when he moved to Manhattan's Murray Hill neighborhood from Los Angeles. Murray Hill is known for its exceptionally high rate of so-called "finance bros" per city block—no doubt attributable to its walking distance proximity to Midtown.

It’s not just the young guns who embrace the Midtown Uniform. Their bosses wear it, too. Getty Images

"On my way to work each day, I noticed dozens of guys rocking the uniform," he told me. "Frankly, I was a little shocked. I didn't realize it was such a thing." And so he started documenting it—surreptitiously photographing particularly doctrinaire specimens, adding humorous captions, and uploading it all.

Soon, he had a bona fide viral hit on his hands, gaining thousands of followers and a write-up in The New York Post. And funnily enough, the feed is now quite popular with the very men it was created to lampoon. Most photos he posts these days are submitted by the subjects themselves.

What struck me as most fascinating about the advent of the Midtown Uniform was not just its ubiquity, but its near-universal appeal to a professional class known for two traits: hypermasculinity and piles of disposable income. The first dismisses fashion trends as unmanly. The second allows access to all manner of sartorial offerings. And yet my friend Alex estimates that roughly 80 percent of his male colleagues wear this relatively simple and economical ensemble.

"Such a boring cage," remarked Sarah Milner-Barry, one of the facilitators of a monthly discussion forum on modern masculinities that meets in New York.

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A cage indeed. My first theory on the uniform's popularity is based in the inflexibility of dress codes in place at well-known financial institutions. They apparently go a lot further than gentle reminders to match shoes with belts. "The colors I was told to wear when starting out were pastels," the former J.P. Morgan analyst told me. "White, light blue, sometimes light purple. The understanding is that you wear lighter-colored shirts and ties when you’re an analyst or associate."

I was already starting to think that corporate finance in America was sounding slightly Handmaid's Tale-esque when he went full Republic of Gilead on me: "Red is not a color that I was allowed to wear until I hit management level," he said. "I guess it's considered a power color. You earn your way up to the red tie."

"Red is not a color that I was allowed to wear until I hit management level."

Under this draconian color-coding regime, can the finance bro really be blamed for seeking uniformity (and safety) in his casual dress? If I had to navigate such an abstruse system of style mandates as part of an already high-stress job, you can bet I'd be happily wearing company-approved underwear by the end of my first quarter.

Alex is more matter-of-fact in his assessment of the phenomenon. "It's never a bad idea to dress like your boss," he said, adding that when he made the decision to purchase his first vest, his chief motivation was to deflect unwelcome attention: How will I blend in better so no one asks me questions at work? And therein lies my secondary theory of the Midtown Uniform's evolution—camouflage, one of the most effective devices in the Darwinian toolkit.

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While Hollywood's version of the tycoon favors bold Zegna ties and flashy Rolexes, the businessman in his natural habitat is more understated in his plumage. He is apparently allergic to any attention that doesn't come from filing a good number of billable hours, or securing a coveted deal. Clothes should be the last thing to raise eyebrows, and so he goes native.

Frank, an associate at a top international law firm in Manhattan, recounted to me what he wore to his first day on the job: a gray suit, but not an "outrageous gray suit—it wasn't pinstriped or patterned in any way." I have to laugh out loud at this, as my idea of an "outrageous" suit probably involves a banana-leaf pattern, or some amount of gold lamé damask. “Gray” would not be part of the equation.

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He recalled all of the new hires being corralled into a conference room, where they proceeded to size each other up. Immediately, he noticed that every one of his colleagues was wearing a navy suit. "Even the women," he said. "After work, I went straight to Suitsupply and bought a navy suit. I could not be the only guy wearing a gray suit."

"The funny thing is," he added, "the very next day, like four people wore gray suits."

But for the mysterious street anthropologist behind @MidtownUniform, zipping into a Patagonia vest is less about blending in, and more about signaling one's belonging to an elite, rainmaking trade. "I would say it's aspirational," he commented. "People want to be like Dollar Bill Stearn"— a vest-wearing fan-favorite from Showtime's Billions, who traded a working-class Philadelphia upbringing for the high-rolling Manhattan hedge-fund life.

In effect, the Patagonia vest, once the preferred outer garment of granola-crunching, Subaru-driving, NPR-listening types, has become a symbol of something entirely different: the Montauk-haunting, flat white-sipping, UBS tote-wielding post-fraternity bro.

Courtesy

SHOP Classic Synchilla fleece vest ($79) by Patagonia, patagonia.com

It's a symbolism some companies are all too ready to capitalize on. A number of top-ranked law firms now issue branded Patagonia vests as part of the swag packages that typically accompany job offers.

And it's not a decision entirely based in trend awareness. Patagonia is a company well-regarded for its environmentalist ethos. It was co-founded by the acclaimed rock-climber Yvon Chouinard, and as of October 2017, commits 10 percent of its profits to environmental causes. "The firm gets brownie points for that. They can say, 'Look, we selected a company that has CSR on its mind,'" Frank said, referring to the HR-speak acronym for corporate social responsibility.

But when I contacted Patagonia to inquire as to their marketing relationship with the financial sector, the response I received was less than enthusiastic. In a rather terse email from the communications team, I was told they have "no idea" how or why the vests became so popular with the young corporate set—they build their products specifically for "environmentalists and laborers who work in the elements."

My questions regarding the biology of the elusive Synchilla went unanswered.

Jake Flanagin Jake Flanagin is a recovering political reporter turned freelance writer.

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