My biggest fashion regret isn’t wearing those awful bootcut jeans in 2003 (although trust me, that was bad). Nor is it that time, many years ago, when I inexplicably wore waistcoats as everyday attire. No, my unforgivable style crime was wearing a heavyweight wool rollneck on the Central line.
In January. During peak hour. If you’re unfamiliar with this grim ballet, allow me to explain.
Outside it’s freezing. In the carriage it’s basically Mercury.
You’re standing so close to strangers you can identify their cologne from behind three weeks later.
You descend into the underground, the train doors slide shut, and you have been sentenced – without the possibility of parole – to riding on a scalding-hot tin can where your only choices are gently bake or learn to strip-tease while standing absolutely still so as not to poke the absolute stranger next to you in the eye. I lasted three stops. Three sweating, pathetic stops before I actually felt like I might pass out.
I was at Oxford Circus before I started grossly sweating. Liverpool Street before my merino rollneck was ruined and my pride was forever destroyed. I’ve been commuting for fifteen years, and London’s five train lines have taught me a lot about style.
Mostly, they’ve taught me that dressing for the daily commute – especially if you’re in London – is an exercise in temperature extremes. Outside: Freezing. Underground: Sweltering.
Office: Kinda hot, kinda cold, nobody likes it. It doesn’t matter how tonelessly average the weather is in London – they can’t do it. There is no winning.
You either freeze on the platform, melt on the train, or arrive at your office looking like a raccoon nightmare. I’ve dubbed my survival technique my “Tube Dressing Doctrine.” It’s prevented me from dying of both heatstroke and frostbite on numerous occasions and, more importantly, allowed me to arrive at work not wearing a full-on sheet as lunch. There are four major variables at play here: Fabric, layers, fit, and accessories.
All of these need to work in perfect harmony or you’re doomed to repeat my jumper-related humiliation on the Central line. The key to clothing yourself for these rapid-fire temperature fluctuations is versatile, removable layers. Start with your base layer.
Your underwear is obviously non-negotiable, but the layer on top of that should be something you don’t mind being seen wearing by itself. Ideally, breatheable natural fabrics. Merino wool in the winter, cotton or linen in the summer.
Thicker in winter, lighter in summer. Merino wool is actually my uniform during the winter months – not only does it wick away moisture, it doesn’t hold odors like synthetics can. I stick to lighter shirts than you might think, too.
A mid-weight Oxford cloth instead of heavyweight drill. Thin merino knit rather than bulky lambswool. They still feel hearty enough to wear to the office, but won’t immediately asphyxiate you on the train.
This is your middle layer. The shirt you’ll be liberating yourself from approximately 27 seconds after you sit down and the carriage temperature begins to rise from uncomfortable tofuckinthedirt hot. This should also be something relatively easy to remove in a small space, doesn’t wrinkle when shoved into your bag, and hopefully doesn’t look like too much when worn alone.
Think unstructured blazers in wool-blend knits, light cardigans, quarter-zip fine gauge jumpers. This is basically Where I Live Jacket territory, too. I’ve found technical fabrics come in handy for your middle layer as well.
Knitted blazers abound these days that are cut from Italian wool blends that resist wrinkling and retain a lot of the breathability you’d find in natural fibres. My favourite I’ve found so far is this Italian wool-blend number from Anglo-Italian that resembles a jacket but wears more like a cardigan. It also helps that it doesn’t look totally ridiculous wearing hoodie fabric to the office.
Your outer layer should also be something you can live without if it gets too hot, but will protect you from the elements when you need it. The big mistake here is bulky outerwear. Big puffer coats are a nightmare on the tube.
You can’t easily remove them, hold them while standing up, or shove them into your bag without wanting to buy a second bag just to hold your coat. I’ve found just opting for lighter layers works best. An unlined wool overcoat in the winter will surprise you how warm it is but not stuffy.
A lightweight technical raincoat with little to no insulation will work in the spring/ autumn, or in the depths of winter, hell itself an ultralight down jacket. I have one that’s essentially nonexistent when packed but adds an entirely new layer of warm in the winter. They pack down into little stuff sacks that live in my bag permanently.
Speaking of bags, layering requires you take special consideration when choosing a bag for your commute as well. After several winters of shoving my larg es and growing mid-layers into an oddly-shaped leather portfolio that was basically designed to strangle any coat it came into contact with, I learned the error of my ways. First of all, avoid anything with zero stretch.
You’ll need the extra give when you start stuffing your bag full of random layers you’ll be shedding within minutes of entering the tube. Mine of choice now are bags with flexible sides that can expand as needed or ones with enough structure that they won’t completely deflate when you shove your winter coat into them at lunch. Look for bags that also have dedicated spaces/pockets for the layers you know you’ll be stuffing in there at some point.
Laptop compartments that are big enough to double as flat storage for a folded jacket or blazer, external straps that will hold a scarf or jumper, shoe compartments if you wear boots on rainy days but have to take them off when you get to the office. Shoes matter here too. There’s nothing worse than finally finding the outfit that cheques all the layering boxes only to have it be totally defeated by your footwear.
Feet that are either freezing cold or sweating bullets can instantly derail your temperature game. I tend to stick to lightweight weatherproof boots on the worst days (emphasis on lightweight – they get heavy fast) or waterproof leather shoes I can trust to keep my feet dry during puddle season. Brands like Crockett & Jones, Tricker’s, and higher-end Clarks make leather shoes with Dainite rubber soles and fully waterproof leather that feel worlds better than your average “weatherproof” shoe.
Now comes the fun part: Strip club logistics. Jeez, imagine if that was actually the thing we had to think about during our daily commute. Removing layers on public transport is an art form.
Start too early and you’ll freeze before you leave the station. Wait too long and you’ll sweat through your undershirt by Acton Town. Every commuter has their own layering technique, and you’ll need to develop one that works for you.
Mine is slow and steady. Never flailing your arms around wildly and accidentally stabbing the guy next to you in the neck with your elbow. I always loosen my scarf and open my coat the moment I sit down so I’m ready when the heat kicks in.
My coat comes off first, folded as efficiently against my chest as humanly possible (practise makes perfect) and stuffed into my bag in one fluid movement. Mid-layers are a little trickier and will sometimes have to wait if the train is too crowded. This is where outfit planning comes into play – the mid-layer you choose shouldn’t be so hot that you’ll instantly die of heatstroke if you can’t remove it.
Ideally, you can take it off halfway through the journey as the initial rush of air heat becomes overwhelming. Removing layers is all about timing – I take my second layer off just as I start getting uncomfortable, but before I start sweating through my underwear. Pro-tip: learn to half-remove.
Works great with cardigans and blazers – just shove your arms through the sleeves while leaving the garment draped over your shoulders. It sounds like you’re wearing a hospital gown, but hey, if the person next to you on the Northern line in February wants to judge, let them judge. We’re all professionals here.
Coat’s off, mid-layer stuffed into my bag, fifteen minutes until I need to change back into my coat to exit the station. Rinse. Repeat.
Once you get the hang of it, clothing yourself for the London commute becomes instinct. Your body starts to realise when it’s too hot years before the average person would even think about removing a layer. It’s like having a sixth sense.
For godliness. Spring and autumn are by far the worst times of year for commuters, because sometimes you leave for work and need that winter coat, but come home and it’s t-shirt weather. If you live in a city that experiences four seasons, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
For these impossible days, I always plan asymmetric outfits – IRL/ URL outfits, if you will. Clothing that I know I can remove during the day for when it’s sweltering inside but will still keep me warm when I leave the office. That could mean a lightweight packable layer you can bring with you but leave in your bag at work or wearing a double-breasted jacket that’s reversible with heavier fabric on one side and lighter-weight wool on the other.
I know it sounds excessive, but when you’re commuting every day, even the smallest annoyance becomes a colossal pain. Another thing I think about when layering is how my outfit will look as I’m removing layers. Will that blue shirt still look good on its own when I take off my grey jumper?
Am I wearing that plain white t-shirt because I like it or because it only looks good under other layers? Building outfits around certain colour schemes helps – a beige shirt will look just as good under a blue jumper as it does on its own. You can get away with more interesting textures and patterns that way.
I once read about an imaginary line you should theoretically be able to take off/ put back on your clothes while standing in an lift.
I use that as my standard now. If I can’t put an article of clothing on or take off in that amount of space, it doesn’t make the cut for my work wardrobe.
No matter how much I like it. Luckily, that’s led me towards certain details that help immensely when you’re commuting. Two-way zip jackets that can be partially unzipped for airflow, button cuffs that you can easily open with one hand, scarves made from slippery fabrics that don’t catch your beard when you’re struggling not to sweat through your shirt.
Trust me, it’s far from perfect. Some days – you will freeze on the platform. Some days you will literally melt on the train.
Once you factor in wind chill and humidity, everyone loses. There’s only so much you can do beyond preparing yourself for the worst and mitigating damage. At least, when you reach your stop you’ll still look like you put some thought into your outfit rather than a maintenance worker who survived a spice-themed roast.
