Really, gorpcore was just the result of menswear, in the back half of the last decade, splintering into a kaleidoscope of niche styles and micro trends. Gorpy stuff was an ultimate destination, or a point of culmination, for several different things that were happening: streetwear morphing out of logomania; a new burst of energy in the curated vintage market; high fashion finding new, accessible entry points into the modern guy’s wardrobe; a flood of new outdoorsy brands—both new and reinvigorated heritage labels—entering the menswear ecosystem. Then all of that collided with the COVID, remote-work, digital-nomad, experience-craving, athleisurely millennial lifestyle, which favored more casual, sportier attire at all times.
Needless to say, it seems the gorp wave has been tremendously successful and lucrative for the fashion business. Much of this gorpy stuff is relatively cheap, since it’s largely made from plastics, and easy for most people to wear, because it’s all familiar. In fact, it’s so familiar that much of it—fleece jackets and Gore-Tex shells and hiking boots—is simply essential stuff. Like suits and jeans and sweats, these things will remain fixtures for as long as guys wear terrestrial clothes. In other words, these things are typically good, easy buys. And they tend to play well as commercial pieces on fashion runways and as building blocks for the fictional worlds of look books. Like sneakers and hoodies, these gorpy standbys have become collection staples for just about any menswear brand.
Gorpcore as a trend, meanwhile, is dead. Let it be known. Tell the creative directors and brand consultants and mood boardists in your life to move on. We just don’t need to see any more soft-skinned models in silly outfits hanging out on the grounds of scenic coastal hotels, looking like they’re about to get helivaced back to the natural wine bar where they belong. No more unnecessary carabiners and climbing ropes dangling like sporty bondage straps. No more sleeping bags rolled up and strapped to backpacks like it’s 1977 on the Pacific Crest Trail when it’s 2024 and you have a 7 p.m. reservation at the Post Ranch Inn. The line between style and make-believe has to be drawn somewhere. And as an avid outdoors person it is my duty to say it: my culture is not your costume.
Trend deaths are hard. At first there will be denial: No way, man, gorpcore is an eternal vibe. Then comes anger: Fuck GQ. Elitist snobs. Bargaining: Fine, but I’m not giving up my Gramiccis! Depression: Life without technical apparel is a meaningless slog. And, finally, acceptance: Gorpcore wasn’t really for me, anyway. I’m afraid of nature.
Fortunately, you don’t have to sell off your collection of Beta AR jackets just yet—though you probably only need one, not five. The best and most effective way to put gorpcore to rest is to just stop saying “gorpcore.” Stop acting like there’s anything novel or trendy about wearing sherpa fleece and colorful nylon. It’s nice to have a good waterproof shell, but there is no need to wear it in the shower. Just be cool about it. Act natural. Take a hike.
