So a niece of mine sends a link to a magazine I’m highly unlikely to read on my own – Fashionista – since she knows I’ll fall head over heels for the names given to a fairly new style of clothing: “workleisure” (yes, that’s one word) and “power casual” (yes, a synonym for the first).
The obviously in-the-know publication StyleSage sums it up this way: “Workleisure, also referred to as power casual, merges elevated professionalism with relaxed comfort.”
By “elevated professionalism” they appear to imply lots of tedious high-level office meetings conducted remotely via computer screen, and by “relaxed comfort” they seem to mean soft, stretchy, less formal attire that most of us can’t afford.
Naturally, the style has emerged in response to the early days of the pandemic, when career-driven white-collar types, despite being ushered inside their homes to work, still couldn’t help themselves from wanting to look trendy to the people they couldn’t see in person anymore.
But what is it about workleisure and power casual that tickles my fancy? It’s the marriage of opposites, the have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too-ness, the best of both worlds that marketing of all kinds loves to lure us in with.
The fashion industry – a swollen suitcase of portmanteaus – excels at this. Want a coat but also a cardigan? Get a coatigan. Looking for a skirt but a pair of shorts, too? Check out a skort. Shirt and a jacket? Try on a shacket.
And the list goes on. Not only that, you can add to the list.
Consider, e.g., my own custom-curated subcategories of power casual:
Boardroom blasé: A cultivated who-cares semi-formal look that won’t betray its modest origins, namely 20 minutes at the thrift store and the lack of a trip to the cleaners.
Bigwig unbuttoned: Pullover black turtleneck. Pullover black spandex pants. Pull over, my smart phone’s losing WiFi and I have to run another damn meeting.
C-suite sportif: For the wannabe CEO who believes – with some justification – that comfy French sportwear, not to mention catchy French words, automatically means in vogue.
Front-office phys-ed: A monochrome top from the laundry pile, plus oversized old gym shorts with the logo of some school or other, preferably a high school. More preferably your high school. Most preferably shorts you or someone you know actually once wore to a gym class.
Deskbound disheveled: For the entry-level professional still getting used to tuning in on time. Insert your own details.
Ahhh, Fashionista. Can’t get enough of your – yes, I’ll say it – articles.
D.G. Lott's column comes to us on the final Friday of each month.