How the Sports Jersey Became a Gender-Fluid Gen-Z Upcycle Muse
@manchad0
Every thrift store has its signature sections: Hawaiian dad button-ups, leather coats, denim, and, of course, sports jerseys. The early 2020s have been defined by the rapid rise and fall of microtrends and aesthetics; if you’re fortunate (or strong willed), you might’ve managed to avoid them. Yet, the sports jersey emerges from the avalanche of aesthetic labels and highly sought-after pieces as a trending garment that is timeless, readily available on the secondhand market, and open to reinterpretation.
Among the many aesthetics that have emerged in the 2020s, none have been as paradoxical or enduring as blokette. With the sports jersey at its core, blokette has played a key role in helping Gen Z define the genderlessness of their generation's style. Blokette blends blokecore and coquette—the indie, grungy vibe of British "blokes" mixed with the frilly nature of coquette. On a superficial Pinterest search, this aesthetic and its centerpiece, the jersey, might seem simple; pair it with a few bows, a skirt, lace, and sneakers for a hyper-feminized take on varsity wear. However, when the jersey comes in contact with the artistry of upcycling and the unique identities of the artists behind it, it transforms into a foundational piece for expressing an androgynous, gender-fluid state of fashion.
While varsity-inspired clothes have always been a timeless trend, the sports jersey in particular has long been a symbol of masculinity, deeply rooted in the culture of competitive sports. Whether on the field or in the stands, jerseys have traditionally been worn to show allegiance to a team, a player, or even a national identity. In Latin culture, soccer jerseys hold particular significance, often intertwined with tenets of machismo and cultural pride. For many, these jerseys are more than just clothing—they're emblems of strength, passion, and a deeply ingrained cultural identity. While actual sports inspire the jersey's fanatical wear, pop culture and social media have transformed it into a fashion staple in everyday life. Events like the FIFA World Cup in 2022, sports dramas like Luca Guadagnino’s Challengers, and this year’s Summer Olympics in Paris have only amplified sportswear as a cultural and fashion icon.
In the adjacent realm of sustainable fashion design, upcycle designers are tapping into the surplus of sports jerseys and responding to the cultural shift by doing what they do best—reimagining tradition into inclusive, forward-thinking fashion. The sports jersey, once a symbol of athleticism, fandom, and masculinity, has evolved into an upcycled icon where gender does not define its wearer. In recent years, the fashion industry has witnessed a significant surge in upcycling—a practice that transforms old or discarded items into something entirely new. But upcycling isn’t just a trend; it’s a movement towards sustainability, advocating for a metamorphosis in fashion that challenges the industry to rethink waste, consumption, and test the limitations of what we know certain garments to represent.
@manchad0 upcycled dress
So why is there so much focus on the jersey? Its durability and symbolic value make it the perfect subject for reinvention. Take for example the Bogotá-based brand, Manchado. Manchado is a multidisciplinary artist whose work explores the visual landscape of Bogotá, particularly focusing on the pervasive counterfeit culture and the entrenched machismo that influences Colombian society. This culture, often characterized by the imitation of mainstream brands, appropriation of animated characters in small business branding and marketing, and the celebration of hyper-masculine ideals, serves as a backdrop for his art. Manchado says of his brand and take on the jersey, “When I came up with this idea, I never really thought of it in aesthetic terms. For me, it was more about transforming and reinterpreting what the jersey symbolized, how soccer felt like a space that I couldn’t be a part of and had negative experiences with, and turning it into something I could be a part of. Also, it’s a way of me being petty. I asked myself, ‘What is the most offensive thing I could do to this symbol of masculinity?' and it was to put my favorite anime girlies, which I got bullied for liking, on it.”
Manchado understands that in creating cutesy, cunty clothes fit for sustainable baddies— and pissing the right people off with it—they’re contributing to a necessary shift in our understanding of raw material and gendered clothing. When you view a piece from Manchado, a pink jersey dress with draped detailing, national Colombian soccer team patches, and Sailor Moon screen prints, it’s a rare novelty to witness in contemporary fashion and is in clear defiance of gender expectations.
Daria y Maria upcycled dress
And it’s not just Manchado. It’s no secret that younger queer artists could care less about which gender is “allowed” to wear skirts, ties, or jerseys. Upcycling as an emerging method of production and design blurs gender boundaries. It provides a lens through which we can view garments themselves and the vast amounts of existing clothing on the planet as raw material, while reinterpreting styles created within a binary system. As Gen Z continues to reinvent fashion through modes like upcycling, the industry is destined to become increasingly queer and sustainable.
When blokette was born, it was meant as a way for the aesthetic-obsessed to babygirl-ify the likes of Liam and Noel Gallagher. Somewhere along the way, the aesthetic and the jersey evolved into something a machista would’ve thought impossible: a broader commentary on the fluidity of gender and style. And hey, Oasis just got back together, so maybe anything is possible.
Looking to don a blokette vibe this fall? Check out these sustainable designers who are doing the aesthetic differently.