From Tunics to Tan Suits: Fashion and Democracy Through the Ages

This essay is part of a limited series featuring Santa Clara thought leaders leading up to the U.S. Election on November 5, 2024.

The importance of appearance in politics is frequently lamented as a modern innovation. Recent articles about Kamala Harris’ sneakers or JD Vance’s haircut are blamed on algorithm-driven social media. The furor over Obama’s tan suit is seen as a product of our 24-hour news cycle. Even Kennedy’s defeat of the less handsome Nixon is sometimes attributed to the rise of television. It is thought that in a prior, more sober, age, candidates were judged on the merits of their positions rather than the contents of their wardrobes. Nothing could be further from the truth.

More than two thousand years ago, the citizens of ancient Greek democracies also measured their politicians by how they looked. The outfit, of course, differed: ancient Greek politicians wore a tunic underneath a wrap-around robe that looked something like a toga (pants were worn only by barbarians). Much like our modern suit, this outfit was both more expensive than everyday wear and took some practice to wear well. For example, the Athenian politician, Demosthenes, once mocked his rival, Aeschines, for wearing his robe so low that it drooped on the ground. Aeschines had come from a working-class family and presumably had less experience wearing the outfit of the wealthy and powerful than Demosthenes (whose father had been a prosperous landowner).

It was also possible to look too fashionable. Many ancient Greeks looked with suspicion on politicians who wore brightly colored fabrics or ostentatious jewelry. Such fashion choices were thought to reveal a lack of restraint, a character flaw that would no doubt later lead to embezzlement, perjury, or sexual scandal should the dandified politician be trusted with power (if you turn on C-SPAN and take a look at the House floor, you will see that we also expect our politicians to adhere to a staid and limited color palette). In ancient Greece, men who wore purple were particularly dangerous. Purple was a color associated with both luxury and kingship and thus, a potential warning sign that its wearer harbored tyrannical ambitions. We see the backlash against such luxurious wear in ancient Athens when, in one speech, Aeshines made fun of Demosthenes’ soft tunics and derided his fashionably short robe as a “cloaklet.”

The insults traded between Aeschines and Demosthenes and the larger interest in political fashion that they reveal are relevant today for two reasons. First, they abolish the notion that interest in the appearance of politicians is something new and in the process undercutting the argument that such an interest is a sign of political, social, or moral decline. Second, they can help us better examine the conclusions we draw about candidates based on their appearance. Ancient Athenians wanted their politicians to dress in a more expensive style than the average Athenian. At the same time, they did not appreciate the unmoderated display of wealth. Aeschines needed to prove he belonged in the upper echelon of society, while Demosthenes needed to avoid looking like an out-of-touch elite.

Do the clothing choices of this year’s presidential candidates demonstrate an analogous concern about class and identity in modern politics? I think they do, and the study of similar trends in ancient democracy provides us with new questions about our current system and subconscious beliefs. Clothing is a form of social signaling whose rules we know but rarely think about. But if we do think about them, and we begin to ask questions like “Why does Trump dress in a slightly frumpled fashion that doesn’t match his net worth?” or  “What would be the media response if Harris dressed in a similar manner?” then we not only get a better sense of how those politicians are presenting themselves, but also find a starting point for a deeper conversation about gender, race, and status in American society. Clothes may not make the politician, but thinking about them may make us better voters.

Nicholas Lindberg is an assistant professor of classics. His research interests include Greek democracy, ancient environmental history, and Hellenistic history.