Where Do We GORP From Here?

What's next in trail mix chic

The scent of freshly sharpened pencils on the breeze, 15% less B.O. on the subway, September rolled around full of promise and possibility, the truer new year, ripe with reasons to wear more clothes. My passion. But when the algorithm started dictating What’s In, and it was brown, maroon, barn coats and the J. Crew catalog, I had a personality crisis a little bit. I like J. Crew. I like skim milk and saltine crackers, too. All thin and white and simple. Quick fixes your mom recommends when you feel bad or just need a little something. But it doesn’t excite me. I think because:

1. I’m not sophisticated enough to feel moved by “really good basics.” I believe people when they say they found the Perfect White Button Down, but I don’t feel motivated to click on that Strategist link. It’s as foreign to me as when my chic friends insist “oh, if I could just have a simple baguette and some good Camembert for dinner every night, I would,” I lack the refined palette to get really jazzed about anything with less than four ingredients and at least one sauce for dipping, and I bring the same ethos to getting dressed. I’m not myself when I can’t dip, and I can’t dip in khakis and an oxford shirt. (If you’re chic-er than me, my friend Erika Veurink should be your patron saint. She crafted a catalog model wardrobe in her newsletter Long Live, linked here.)

2. My modern understanding of J. Crew will always be entangled with my first impressions, formed at 9-ish in my hometown’s now defunct Fashion Square Mall. Auntie Anne’s wrappers tumbling past the yawning, fluorescent doorway. Tiny mannequins dressed like they’d want to compare our dads’ salaries. A flutter sleeve polka dot blouse I wore twice weekly. With a training bra, for the chafing. 

3. I wanted to love the catalog. I’ve followed @lostjcrew for years, and I’m completely charmed by the allure of the brand’s early campaigns (I’m talking about that Patrick Dempsey picture). But I'm wary of what feels to me like a jaded advertising scheme, the “Fuller House” of print media, relying on our soft spots for nostalgia and vintage aesthetics to sell new clothes that are largely low quality. The satin top is viscose. The Supersoft™ yarn is mostly polyester. The dresses are itchy. 

So I went in search of inspiration from the opposite. Ivy League aesthetics’ evil twin. Something exactly unlike suede loafers and pintucks that’s been a dominant presence in the fall fashion discourse for nearly a decade. With trail map in hand and headlamp on head. I looked to GORP.

It’s familiar ground to me. My upbringing was full of being carried, dragged, and finally willingly guided up and over and through the Appalachian Trail. Every crush I had in high school owned this jacket. If you’ve been on a first date with me (lucky!!) you’ve heard me wax poetic about how my NOLS trip changed my life and Wyoming and Continental Divide and blah blah blah. And on my first real exploration of hiking gear as something beyond the Smartwool socks my mom puts in my Christmas stocking every year, I think the trend’s at a crossroads, at the end of its second of two phases.

The first phase started in 2015, when Jason Chen coined the term GORPcore in The Cut, and reached its peak with a photo of Frank Ocean wearing an orange Mammut fleece and an Arc’teryx beanie to Paris Fashion Week in 2017. It was thus that outdoor brands saw a familiar revival. In the the same way K*nye gave new meaning to Ralph Lauren and the punks revitalized Burberry, the adoption of recreation wear as fashion statement opened up a completely untapped market. 

That market grew exponentially mid-pandemic, when GORP morphed into phase two. If we wanted to hang out, it had to be outside — the plywood lean-tos of outdoor dining called for Gore-Tex when December came. Manhattan saw a mass exodus for new houses upstate, and those mudrooms’ cubby holes needed to be filled with hiking boots. We saw a universal de-emphasis on work, a desire for an antidote to doom-scrolling in going off the grid, and GORPcore constituted the perfect uniform. The pieces so loudly project that new, idealistic value set. That you’re healthy and active, that you know how to tie a strong knot, that your other car’s a Subaru. Even if you don’t have a car at all and you have to take the Metro North to Cold Springs just like me, head-to-toe technical apparel allows you to spelunk in that fantasy. 

Today, almost ten years after GORP’s founding, outdoor brands seem divided on how to exist. The North Face rappelled deep into the crevasse of streetwear years ago. They released collections with MM6 and Gucci in 2020 and 2021, and just launched their second capsule with Comme des Garçons last week. On my walk to work in SoHo, I passed “Coming Soon” signs for a new Salomon Sportstyle store on Spring Street. Their promotional materials reveal they’ve completely abandoned their original end use, with models dressed like they’re about to do drinks at Clandestino. Not a rock in sight. 

Arc’teryx hasn’t caved yet. I’m not counting their “Veilance” collection, because those clothes are so earnest that the fashion set isn’t wearing them (but I honestly think could be a slay in a my 7th grade math teacher who loved to perform poi on the weekends kind of way). I went to the opening of their new brick and mortar store on Broadway. They had a DJ and free matcha. But they seem otherwise steadfast in their commitment to serious mountaineering. They have a great palette of wool socks, but when perusing with a mind for getting dressed, I was coming up completely empty. 

Patagonia remains the most doggedly anti-appropriation. They’re currently running a campaign with photos of their iconic baggies emblazoned with the word “Unfashionable.”

Through so many exploration missions, I was starting to agree with Patagonia. I couldn’t find footholds in any of GORPcore’s current manifestations. The styling is completely literal, with the exception of Salomons + sundress. Every example I could find featured gear from head to toe, puffer coat to Vibram sole. Less outfit, more costume. 

The environment that birthed GORPcore as we know it has gone to seed — being in basements together is back, thank God — and two days ago, GQ declared GORPcore dead. But I’m more optimistic. I think we’ve graduated past a place of necessity, no longer forced to wear a snow suit for our Saturday reservations, and we have the chance to free GORP from the shackles of practicality. 

My favorite part of getting dressed is finding ways to remove an item from its original context to make it surprising and new. The moment of interest occurs in the reinvention. Carrie Bradshaw’s cowboy hat is not hitting nearly as hard if she’s pairing it with chaps and spurs. Blokecore is not cool if you’re styling that vintage jersey with knee socks and cleats. What could a fishing vest become, when worn with something other than waders? 

For the boy I thought I’d marry in eighth grade, for my brother in Colorado, for me, I’m not ready to give up on GORPcore. I’m pitching my tent firmly on the grounds of its next wave.

Here’s where we GORP next:

Vintage Columbia Fishing Vest, Leset Pointelle Tee, Cecelie Bahnsen Dress, Loeffler Randall Flats

1. Big Fish

The waters of fishing gear are teeming with possibilities. And I know I’m onto something given the promotional materials for genius Conner Ives’s forthcoming Spring/Summer collection, launching next Thursday. I’m putting in at fishing vests first. How sexy is that? Gorgeous cropped little number, perfect for layering and much more my speed than the bustier. I’m filling those pockets with playing cards, cash, and Listerine strips. Hook line and sinker.

Vintage G.T. Hawkins Anorak, Doen Skirt, Repetto Flats, Chocolate Brown Tights

2. More Anoraks

When it comes to outerwear, I think anoraks are a largely virgin landscape (sorry for saying virgin landscape). A cool evolution from the Patagonia fleeces of my adolescent dream boys, with way better potential for interesting styling. (I can’t wear anything with a cinched hem ever again)

Big Rock Candy Mountaineering Pants, Arc’teryx Belt, Mr. Larkin Top, Saint Laurent Heels

3. The Climb

I learned about reinforced climbing pants through Samuel Hardeman’s new brand Big Rock Candy Mountaineering. I love them as an alt to workwear — the same design idea with fun new associations. I’d take it one step further with a climbing belt, and then really girl it up with kitten heels and roses. Belay ON!

Specialized Bike Shoes, Babaà Sweater, Comme Si Socks, Brooke Callahan Skirt, Damernes Magasin Flower Clip

4. Mountain Biking

I have to give my brother Harry credit for this one (oh my God! I just threw up in my mouth i do not like doing that). He texted me one morning, unprompted “mountain biking shoes are untouched GORP.” And dammit, he’s right (ew God ew.) I’m obsessed with these. They do the same things as the Onitsuka Tigers I’ve had in my cart for X months but nobody else has them. And they’re $50 because nobody else has them. And they velcro. I could not get a clean answer from Harry about whether or not I’d be able to walk in them. I don’t care. 

Go forth and GORP, y’all. I’ll see you on the trails.