In the West, we are just now escaping the chokehold of the Silicon Valley “Scaling Era”—a time defined by the infamous stained “hoodie and fuck you flip-flops”1 combo. Critics are quick to decry this kind of ultra-casual, bedroom-to-boardroom behavior as wanton anarchy: a kind of all-too-visible antisocialness that will spike crime rates like broken windows. I say they’re missing the point.
Have we not fully grasped the significance of a society where everyone shrouds themselves? It feels notable that the bourgeois suit was defeated2 not by the return of aristocratic flamboyance, but by an ancient silhouette that spreads through society as if contagious. Saying “Hoodies will be in next year!” feels so obvious, so guaranteed, that the statement feels like a truism. Why are we so sure? What quality of the hoodie feels so integral to, so cemented in, our culture? I say, the answer is medieval.
It doesn’t take much to be considered a cloak. As one of the oldest known articles of clothing, cloaks include just about any loose cover that hangs from the shoulder. In their most iconic iteration, these long billowing garments drape all the way down to the midcalf, sometimes even further: a durable, sleeveless thing that could be made without as much as a single stitch. For centuries in medieval Europe, this reliability (and lack of alternatives) placed cloaks on the shoulders of both rulers and the ruled. In an unsung stroke of genius—the ultimate rebuttal of the term “dark ages”—Europe saw a holy union between the robe and cowl. Unlike the Roman pallium, the medieval cloak would shroud the head as well.
Just as monasteries became universities, the long march of time brought cowls continually closer to the beloved hoodie. One particularly strange step on this path was during the early Middle Ages, with the Gugel. The Gugel is a cowl-like head covering that drapes over neck and shoulders, and whose hood is adorned with a long tail called a liripipe. Though jarring to our modern sensibilities, this piece has all the intangibles necessary to be the next big thing in fashion. By tracing the hoodie’s lineage, by steeping the self into its natural symbolism, one can realize we are primed with a secret appetite for long-tailed standalone hoods. This treatise identifies a powerful social force that courses through the collective unconscious and definitively proves without a shadow of a doubt that the Gugel is 1500 years coming.
Analysis of the hood’s symbolism:
Medieval monks once had to earn their hoods. A novice3 was only bestowed a cowl after making his solemn vows, lifelong spiritual commitments to the cloth. Even for those not yet fully dedicated to prayer, it was abundantly clear how meaningful it was to cloak oneself. For starters, it wasn’t lost on anyone in or out of the order who else in society wore brown russet4 hoods. Resembling the peasants who tilled through the summer mud, these proto-hoodies were how believers left themselves truly humble under God. For both the laborer and the holy man, the cloth walls of the hood acted like modesty-encouraging horse blinders, funneling and focusing them towards their oft unpleasant duty.
And yet, contemporary hoodies have a much more complicated relationship with modesty. Returning to their Silicon Valley sense, a zip-up over a Star Wars tee once read as similarly virtuous. As ceremonial hackathon attire, these hoods once announced a certain aloof genius, the complete prioritization of coding over worldly delights like golf trips or showers. Of course, once the “dialed in” chief engineer became the white whale of angel investors everywhere, this image devolved quickly into a parody of itself. Anointed miracle men of the time like Mark Zuckerberg were commended for their uniform grey wardrobe that allowed for an almost Zen “focus on… innovation”—even though said outfits were entirely Brunello Cucinelli (“The King of Cashmere”).
Although the cowl has retained many of its historic connotations, its reemergence in a post-industrial world has inevitably altered them. Walking a similar balance as the “austere” images above, hoods are as much about calling attention from the world as they are retreating from it. Nothing quite captures the silhouette as a medium for both exclusive luxury and accessible comfort like the recent phenomenon of the Essentials Hoodie: a modern streetwear staple uncannily intertwined with the monk robes of old. As the affordable alternative to the premium FEAR OF GOD mainline, “Essentials” hoodies feature a baggy fit, a beige or grey color scheme, and prominent display of their minimalist religious branding. This is a product for the “aspirational”5 luxury consumer designed like the outfit for the vow of poverty. The immense success of the design suggests that even when serfs get a little money, something deeper than convenience pulls them toward the form.
The contemporary hoodie at its most iconic is oversized, cozy, and imbued with the scent of a loved one—its all-consuming embrace like a shelter emblazoned with a parent’s alma mater. Pinning down what exactly this coziness entails remains allusive; but what is for certain is that it’s more than merely the spillover of a Haywire endocrine system mistaking clothes for oxytocin-worthy hugs. The hoodie is more than the sum of its warm embraces; there’s some quality to this way of bundling up that far surpasses a sweatshirt and hat.
When one pulls a hoodie’s draw strings tight, they conjure the penultimate moment of birth. At the apex of born and unborn, the wearer’s coziness comes from fitting snug against the inner lining: head at the gate of a dilating elastic cervix. From an “early contractions” pucker to “successful birth” open, these drawstrings allow the user to bask in the amniotic fluid once more. What feels like 97% of the population is drawn to the hoodie because 97% breached headfirst into the world6. The timeless quality of the hoodie is the hood itself because we long to rewind our final unborn moments with different diameters. The truth is that this bundling is a momentary return to the womb.
Signs of Implicit Gugel Demand:
Even without this deeply embedded allure, it’s not like hoods have much competition in the barren world of men’s headwear. For a male accessory to survive as acceptable dress in this social climate, it is a real achievement that warrants attention. Hats are in a dismal state: the domain of respectable options has regressed so much that at best they feel costume-y (cowboy) and, at worst, remind people of Columbine (the fedora and its ilk). There’s no awkward Prom picture of your dad in a Gugel7, no fall from fashion grace to hinder its comeback. What the hat scene needs is a fresh start: and what better option than something that has rested dormant for centuries.
The place of scarves presents an interesting case study. Despite their abundant utility and classical elegance, they’re all too often abandoned in lost-and-founds as some kind of deviant collar. And yet, let that same cloth wrap the head as well, and you’ve got one of western fashion’s hottest phenomena: the Rave Pashmina. Inexplicably, these scarves have become a staple of the mosh pit, icons of the basement venue. Unless we are all overlooking the throughline between Babushkas and raving on Molly, the scarf to headscarf allure upgrade should pose real questions. Again, the answer can be found through the cloak. Like the Hoodie, Gugel, or Cowl, a cloak-like silhouette conjures embryonic sentiments. In a setting like a rave, as bodies tangle and sway, the environment is sufficiently warm and wet enough to create that specific nostalgia. When one wears a headscarf, or other cloak-like silhouette, a peaking partygoer can return to the precipice of born and unborn: creating a truly subversive kind of cozy.
One common sentiment about men’s fashion is that for an accessory to even be remotely acceptable, it must have some utility to justify its existence. I wholly reject this. All this platitude has led to is The Bald and other hat-prone demographics wearing baseball caps for “the sun” at an Italian date night. Worst of all is the case of the watch. In a world of digital clocks, it becomes increasingly difficult to call these bracelets “tools” any longer. This is the illusion of utility; it is a self-conscious justification for dandyism that can be done about all together with a little confidence. Still, its power can’t be denied. One trending example is camo print. Once reserved for hicks and hunting trips, these beautiful nature patterns now adorn countless city boys who hope to blend in with the urban jungle. You would not believe what was once all the rage with 14th-century Jägergruppen (hunting groups). That’s right: the long tails of the Gugel once read as rugged as the ghillie suit. Even in a men’s fashion climate that worships utility, the Gugel still passes with flying colors.
It must be said that the idea that men are shunned entirely from the joys of accessories is clearly wrong in regards to formal wear. Strict suiting standards have cultivated a tradition where the tie and pocket square are the main domains for self-expression. In fact, these accessories are unabashedly for expressing how well one can dress. With the tie especially, great elaborate knots recall the aristocratic Cravats of old. Medieval elites similarly would knot the liripipes of their Gugels into a headdress—a style they called the chaperon.
Interestingly, ties and tailed hoods have another surprising connection. There’s a funny visual trope for drunkenness in the media of the recent past. In stories about suited Bourgeois businessmen, the cliché way to convey a character’s letting loose is with a tie around the forehead. Though its origins are still up for debate, the leading hypothesis for the trope is that of the 3-martini lunch- an attempt to escape the tie but being too drunk to undo the knot. This image is particularly striking because, unlike undone cuffs or unbuckled pants, this visual trope doesn’t feel like undressing at all. Though definitely spontaneous and silly, the forehead tie feels like a new accessory all together. With its long liripipe-like tail, this wardrobe malfunction evokes the joy of a game of pretend. It is the bandana of a commando. The Ferronnière of a princess. Something to catch the sweat of the ensuing party. Carnival was a medieval holiday defined by this kind of humor. All walks of feudal life would gather for feasts and festivities centered on the idea of inversion. In the Carnival, up becomes down, nobles become peasants, and peasants become nobles. Handstands, profuse swearing, the spilling of a body’s excesses all become the landscape of this temporary release from serfdom. This is the inherent humour of a head with a tail, the inversion of front and back, the switching of both kinds of lips. As the attire of both sterile formality and grotesque celebration, Gugels are intertwined with one of the most popular men’s accessories of today.
This lion’s mane will make the one who wears it. 1500 years coming, there’s not a domain that doesn’t reflect its beauty. By taking this risk, aspiring fashionistas have the rare opportunity to completely define a silhouette’s associations. While steeling oneself to stick out from the crowd is easier said than done, a true trailblazer can’t be afraid of getting a little burnt. We are at the precipice of Gugelmania. Now is your last chance to be an early adopter.
The Nassau Weekly is incredibly indebted to the trend-forecasting Mannix Beall-O’Brien — you can catch us Gugel-ing about town for the foreseeable future.