Grandpa Sweaters: Stitched with Versatility, Empowerment and Love

Graphic by Agnes Lee.

I never really played dress-up as a kid. I never went into my mom’s closet to try on her jewelry or to figure out my dad’s ties. I didn’t ask to use her makeup or play around with his large shoes. I was dressed up by my family, more than anything. 

Whether it was for church, a holiday or anything else, my mom and grandma continuously made sure I was presentable in their eyes. It was always about “dressing for my body type” (which is just a nice way of policing my clothes) and prioritizing what others would think about how I looked. 

I never played dress-up because it was practically a part of my everyday life. And it was exhausting. 

But when the New York winters hit and we took our sweater bins out from the attic, it was my favorite time of year. Sweaters meant comfort, and they also meant less scrutiny. You can hide a lot in a sweater, sometimes even your whole self. 

I was in high school when I started to realize my abuelo had style. Like, the good shit. His collection of grandpa sweaters (or just sweaters, to him) was unparalleled. During dinner one night, I asked to borrow one so I could wear it at school the next day. My abuelo agreed, much to my mom’s dismay. But from then on, he was my grandpa sweater provider, and I was hooked. 

What’s so intriguing about the grandpa sweater is how versatile it’s become. Having an oversized sweater with stripes or a v-neck or even ugly designs you thought were left in the ‘90s has become a staple in many closets. You can layer them with turtlenecks or even French-tuck them in your jeans and they’ll actually look cute! What’s even better, though, is how the grandpa sweater, and baggy clothes in general, has become a key item in reclaiming sexuality. 

A prime example is the talented Billie Eilish. Her style? Pristine, funky and intentional. The pop star  “has made no secret of her preference for loose-fitting clothes, saying she feels they prevent people from sexualizing and shaming her body,” reads a 2020 Forbes article. Eilish rose to fame as a teenager and has made it a point to use clothes to tell the public everything they need to know about her body: nothing. Her body is no one’s business but her own. This was highlighted when a tweet went viral, stating how “in 10 months Billie Eilish has developed a mid-30's wine mom body,” with an attached picture of Eilish in a tank top.

Her response? "My boobs were trending on Twitter! At number one! What is that?! Every outlet wrote about my boobs!" she told Elle Magazine. Eilish called out people for body-shaming her and responded with the need for normalizing “real bodies.” 

For decades, our society has normalized scrutinizing and judging physical appearances, especially those of women. Eilish wore baggy clothes for the same reason she was endlessly questioned and prodded about why she wore them in the first place. 

I’ve found that the 2010s, and now ‘20s, have been a period of reclamation, confidence and boundaries. There’s no point in judging physical appearances, especially now that people are more vocal about how irrelevant body-shaming is. This is an era of doing whatever you want; where anything is in style as long as you have the confidence to will it into style. 

Take model Samirah Raheem, for example. While attending Amber Rose’s 2017 SlutWalk, Raheem unexpectedly got interviewed by right-wing podcast and talk show host Jesse Lee Peterson. During this street interview, she replies to Peterson’s pointed questions and slut-shaming with pure charisma and certainty. At one point Peterson asks her, “What makes you a slut?”, to which she replies, “Because I own my body. My body is not a political playground. It’s not a place for legislation. It’s mine, and it’s my future.” Iconic. 

Image via @thisishowilook on Instagram.

The grandpa sweater fits into this shifting movement of reclamation because its existence is the embodiment of comfort. I’m tired of outdated, rude and, frankly, musty judgments that literally do nothing but make people feel bad. While looking incredibly cute, the grandpa sweater has played a key part in how fashion is *slowly* becoming more inclusive and accepting of what’s “in” while expanding into what actually makes people feel empowered and essentially good. Especially during what feels like countless unprecedented moments, the grandpa sweater is not only a cozy closet staple but a piece of comfort in such uncertain times. 

The grandpa sweater is whatever you want it to be. A reclamation of sexuality, of comfort, of fashion, of anything. When I wear mine, I remember my abuelo’s laugh at how the sleeves were too long and how I needed to roll them up a lot. I remember my mom’s sigh and his encouraging smile. I remember that I have power in how my body is perceived, and I can wield it in both comfort and style.