Clothing is far more than the fabric it is made from. Clothing carries meaning, memory and identity. Every thread weaves complex histories tied to race and class into the garment. 

Discussions about cultural appropriation and hairstyles traditionally tied to a particular race or ethnic group have commonly popped up in discourse online. I feel like there’s a lack of conversations about class appropriation.

Fashion is undeniably cyclical. Pants like Dickies or Levi’s 501 denim jeans are typically — and fairly — considered “work clothes” due to their practicality and style. Unfortunately, there is a double standard when a brand like Hollister or Urban Outfitters take working-class items and repackages them as something trendy or “vintage chic” to be spread on TikTok.

I recall walking into Urban Outfitters one day and noticing the sudden spike in the stock of their Dickies brand clothes. I immediately got upset. Growing up in the San Fernando Valley, I always wanted a pair of Dickies pants,but I was never allowed to have them because my parents did not want me to be perceived as a gang member. 

My high school dress code even had a vague dress code that prohibited “gang-related attire,” which limited the personal expression of my classmates and me. It is incredibly sad for me to see influencers on TikTok wearing the clothes I was not allowed to wear growing up, because the products have been repackaged by a fashion marketing team to be more palatable.

What I was previously taught to fear, things that would lead to me being racially profiled have now become a trend.

Not long ago, I walked into Hollister and was perplexed by the number of products the store carried with paint marks on them. And I don’t mean a retro splatter — I mean paint splattered very clearly to emulate a used shirt found in a thrift store. This style was available on everything from a simple t-shirt to black jeans to a hoodie.

Those items immediately reminded me of the times I would visit my uncle after he worked a day as a painter. But this was different — these shirts did not carry a story of labor and sacrifice. Instead, they carried a story carefully curated by a marketing team, pushing a trend that, once again, appropriated the hard work of the working class.

Now, these items have been entirely removed from Hollister’s website and stores, thrown away as just another failed trend. These items tell such distinct tales based on who is wearing them.

When a white teen boy wears a Hollister paint-splatter tee, he’s edgy and trendy for a few weeks before he throws the tee out. The same teen boy might pay $70 at Urban Outfitters for Dickies pleated work pants to skate in, yet when a Latino boy wears the same pair to look stylish, he risks being racially profiled.

I write this not to discourage you from shopping at Hollister or Urban Outfitters. I still shop at both stores. But being a conscious consumer is vital when buying into these tone-deaf trends. Wear what you wish, but acknowledge there is far more history in what you are wearing, and it’s more than simply being stylish.

The stereotypes I faced around Dickies pants as a child were not because the clothing is inherently gang attire. It was because of my brown skin. The same goes for a paint-splattered shirt. If a person saw a Latino man wearing a paint-splattered shirt, they would likely assume they are a day laborer, not that they bought the shirt from Hollister’s newest drop.

This is one of so many reasons to check your biases when engaging with the community around and beyond USC. It has become so common to hear fellow USC students profile the community, simply based on what they wear and how they look, entirely ignoring their story. 

Meanwhile, wealthier and paler students on our campus wear the same clothing that local community members get profiled and judged for. 

Now, as an adult, I have taken to reclaiming my Chicano identity and have finally bought the Dickies work pants and jacket I have always wanted but was never allowed to have. I wear them proudly to campus, but I can’t help but wonder for myself and other students of color on campus: If we weren’t carrying our backpack with AirPods in and an iPhone in hand, would the looks of confusion as to why we are here be intensified?

Fashion tells stories, and it falls on everyone to listen. So, check your biases. Give a simple “hi” to the service workers around campus who set up for game days, serve you lunch or take out your trash. Look beyond how they present, racially or stylistically, and acknowledge the story and humanity in them. The least you can do is honor the history of the clothes you wear.