In the end, there was no plaid.
Despite former President Barack Obama’s noting, “You can tell those flannel shirts he wears don’t come from some political consultant — they come from his closet, and they’ve been through some stuff.” Despite Senator Amy Klobuchar’s calling him “a dad in plaid.” Despite all of that buildup, when Gov. Tim Walz took the stage on Day 3 of the Democratic National Convention as the party’s nominee for vice president, he did so in an impeccably tailored navy suit, blue tie and pristine white shirt, the de rigueur little American flag pin on his lapel.
Gone were the rumples of his early rally appearances with Vice President Kamala Harris. Gone was the slightly messy hair. He may have been called “Coach Walz” by Bill Clinton in the former president’s convention speech, and the members of the high school football squad Mr. Walz coached back in the day may have made a cameo appearance to cheer him on, but he wasn’t giving coachcore. (Judging by the shape of the old uniforms, that was probably a good thing.)
Instead, Mr. Walz slid right in with the lineup of next-gen dems who had been his opening acts: Senator Cory Booker of New Jersey, Gov. Josh Shapiro of Pennsylvania, Gov. Wes Moore of Maryland, Pete Buttigieg, the transportation secretary. Almost all of them wore the blue suits, white shirts and blue ties that are the effective uniform of the blue state male politician. So far, so not surprising.
The poet Amanda Gorman was more trendsetting in her cape-sleeve dress as she recited her new work, “This Sacred Scene.” Oprah Winfrey in a purple Christian Siriano pantsuit, both royal and strategic (it comes, after all, from the combination of red and blue), was more striking.
But Mr. Walz was the star of the night — and his natty suit the fashion statement. Because, even though as the governor of Minnesota he surely wore plenty of suits, just as he must have during his time in Congress, almost all of the narratives since Ms. Harris chose him as her running mate just over two weeks ago, have focused on his regular guy cred.
His love of Carhartt and Filson. The fact that he was wearing a camo baseball cap when he was tapped for the national ticket. His relatability and authenticity, as expressed through clothing. The way that, as the New York Times critic Guy Trebay wrote, he “has cultivated an approachable image his backers are relying on to convince voters that he’s the real deal.”
But here’s the thing: While there’s political capital to be gained in making a candidate seem like the guy with whom you’d want to share a beer, he also has to look like a guy who can handle himself in the room — the room being the Oval Office. Even if he’s just there for a meeting. Also the Senate, where the vice president presides.
He has to look like someone other world leaders would take seriously. He has to look as if he could represent not just all of those neighbors Mr. Walz talked about in his speech, but also the country. He has to demonstrate respect for office. And clichéd though it may be, that still means he has to look good in a jacket and tie. Washington D.C. may be the last bastion of the suit.
As Mr. Walz clearly understands. He is a National Guard vet and a social studies teacher, after all. He gets the role of uniforms, official or not, in demonstrating both membership in a group and rank.
To that end, he dressed his part. His blue tie was bright, but not too bright, part of the job of V.P. being not to outshine the boss. When his family joined him onstage to wave good night, they were clearly part of his team: His wife, Gwen, wore a coordinated navy Badgley Mischka dress; his daughter, Hope, in lighter blue lace; his son, Gus, in a matching blue suit and blue tie.
Over the next few weeks, as Mr. Walz gets back on the campaign trail with Ms. Harris, the plaid may make a reappearance. Ms. Walz did post a photo on X of Mr. Walz mending a favorite jacket himself as proof that the wardrobe preference is real. But on Wednesday night, as he gave the biggest “pep talk” of his life, it seemed the candidate wasn’t just ready for his close-up. He had gotten his glow-up.
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