By tracing the evolution of these laws, this article explores how fashion became a tool of governance – and how its symbolic power continues to shape our understanding of virtue, class, and autonomy in contemporary society.

Edward III and the Birth of Sartorial Regulation

The earliest English sumptuary laws emerged under Edward III, who ascended the throne in 1327. Often described as “the king who taught the English people how to dress,” Edward presided over a period shaped by two major forces: a) the wealth generated by the wool trade, which expanded the English commerce; b) the Hundred Years’ War, which necessitated tighter control over trade and spending. These two forces have led to building a national personal character and a national costume, but also a socio-economic division in dressing. For example, the upper classes wore garments like the cote-hardie (or hardi), which was a very tight-fitting tunic, following the lines of the figure, and it was buttoned down the front with a jewelled or decorated belt around the hips. The tunics of the aristocracy were made of the most gorgeous materials: cloth of gold or silver, velvet, silk, and satin. The use of some items was forbidden in certain instances by the sumptuary laws. Ornamentation included embroidery, pearls, gold and other precious stones. While ordinary citizens mimicked these styles, they did so with humbler fabrics and simpler cuts. For example, over the cote-hardie was worn a cloak or rattle which varied in shape, and these cloaks were circular and buttoned to the shoulder. Therefore, the sumptuary laws restricted access to these materials, reinforcing a visual hierarchy. The wardrobe has become a legal document, worn rather than written.

Elizabethan Law and the Aesthetics of Sovereignty

As Edward III’s regulation has become a foundational figure in national dress, Henry VIII and Elizabeth I’s reigns have led to the sumptuary laws becoming much more codified and expansive. For example, Elizabeth’s 1562 proclamation asserted, ‘None shall wear in his apparel any silk of the colour purple, cloth of gold tissue, but only the King, Queen…except dukes and marquises who may wear in doublets and sleeveless coats cloth of gold of tissue not exceeding £5 the yard, and purple in mantles of the Garter.’ This exclusion of language has made it clear that the law specified not only fabrics and colours, but also spending limits: aristocrats were permitted annual expenditures of up to £100, while lower-ranking individuals were capped at £40.

These restrictions have rendered a status legible briefly. Clothing has become a mechanism for surveillance – assessing obedience, virtue, and rank as fabrics like silk and velvet were reserved for mobilising, symbolising power and prestige, which has marked social class. The 1574 law issued at Greenwich on the 15th June 157, only duchesses, marchandesses and countesses were allowed to wear fur sable in their gowns, curtails, potles and sleeves; other dress restrictions were listed for different levels of status and society too.[2] These granular distinctions have reinforced a rigid socio-economic hierarchy, and it has shaped a personal identity through a legal constraint.

 These distinctions were also seen in negative ways, which has affected people’s own personal characteristics. For example, in periods of economic upheaval, such as the Black Death, these boundaries were disrupted. When lower classes acquired costly fabrics, the elite responded with anxiety and disdain.[3]As Scholz observes, ‘Rapid social change enabled groups and individuals that had previously been excluded from social and political agency to enter the field of social action, which generated tremendous anxieties about perceived hierarchies in Tudor England.[4]The countless competitions of the upper class have led to common materialistic norms and values, but also to consumption being increasingly common. As Elizabeth I exhibited her superiority to all of her subjects through the example of her extensive wardrobe, which was both indulgent and strategic. As McCracken, she used her expenditures as instruments of sovereignty – encouraging displays of wealth among the nobility to foster competition and reinforce loyalty.[5]This has led to a materialistic and consumer-driven society amongst the elite for royal favour and to ensure family status for the next generation, for high ranking and wealth via expensive clothing, maintaining the image of families in contrast to social inferiors.

Modern England: Branding, Class, and Visibility

In comparison to the countless legal legislation of the sumptuary laws in the medieval period, nowadays modern England no longer enforces sumptuary laws, fashion continues to signal class and identity. Although there are strict protocols still present in the British royal family, there has been a spark of light on personal expression and style. Alicia Powell notes that middle-class individuals often perceive public spaces as arenas of visibility, while working-class individuals treat local spaces as semi-private zones where judgements matter less. The distinction has manifested in everyday choices – for example, wearing a pyjama in public, which is not problematic for working-class women in the context of their lifestyle, which reflects class-based norms around propriety.[6]Fashion has been seen as an interaction of social hierarchy, but also individual identity. A working-class person has a ‘real’ rather than basic taste, while people belonging to the middle or upper class display a more cultivated and acquired one.

Georg Simmel’s 1904 article, Fashion remains relevant: he argued that upper-class members of society initiate fashion trends, which are then adopted by lower classes in a bid for social mobility.[7] Yet postmodern critiques challenge this model, emphasising personal style as a form of self-expression rather than imitation to achieve one’s creative potential. It is commonly agreed that a style is individual when it expresses character, personality, and the inner self, but the line between authenticity and conformity remains blurred. For example, wearing Burberry or Louis Vuitton may signal upper-class status, while fast fashion brands are often stigmatised. Jessica Andrews, writing for ELLE, recounts how her beauty rituals shifted during university to align with the middle-class intellectual norms by abandoning fake tan and hair extensions to embrace pale skin and natural hair. Later, she reclaimed her working-class identity through makeup choices that connected her to her mother and grandmother. Her story reveals how fashion and beauty rituals can both obscure and affirm class identity and how self-styling becomes a form of resistance.[8]

Particularly, there has been a rise of the ‘Y2K aesthetic,’ which has allowed for different social classes to scout for low-rise jeans, graphic tees, and glitter. The demand increase has led to the rise in prices. The social media platforms like TikTok have led to rapid fashion movements, whilst not ignoring the social class divisions. For example, the ‘cigarette mum’, which is a working-class stereotype, has been used in the Y2K fashion trends or the ‘chav makeup,’ which is a well-known classic amongst state-school female students wearing makeup. These have been praised for modelling aesthetics, but there is an ongoing inequality within the fashion sphere.[9] Recently, the aesthetics of working-class clothing has been considered ‘cool’, where individuals are adopting the working-class aesthetic when their actual lifestyle is akin to that of the upper class. For example, the rise of the ‘Nu-lads’ where the middle class are wearing expensive streetwear clothing.

The latest absurdity was Balenciaga in 2022, when they presented their fully destroyed sneaker, which was extremely dirty and worn out, yet cost thousands of pounds. Maria Laura Pardo argued that aestheticising poverty is more about creating stereotypes used for discrimination.[10] Streetwear fashion gained popularity among the working class, who have incorporated it into luxury brands. For example, collaborations aimed at transitioning into streetwear often incorporate a working-class aesthetic. Louis Vuitton and Supreme, Dior and Jordans, Balenciaga and Adidas, Tiffany and Nike have taken working-class aesthetics to elevate them and make them acceptable for middle-class consumers. There has been criticism of this trend due to the rising prices and reduced accessibility for those who traditionally could afford such clothing. These garments, once ridiculed, are now regarded as ‘cool’ according to the middle class.

 Conclusion: Toward a Politics of Personal Style

Fashion should not determine one’s class, occupation, or social worth. Instead, it ought to reflect character, creativity, and individuality. As Lundbald and Davies suggest, individuals who follow the self tend to develop a unique style that embodies their values and attributes. Our make-up rituals, what we wear, and what we eat should not determine our class, but rather should be based on character, uniqueness, and the conception of being ourselves.[11]In recent years, consumers have chosen clothing that accentuates individuality, distinctiveness and originality. A piece of clothing should be a medium for self-awareness, self-development, and self-love – not a tool of exclusion or exploitation. From Tudor proclamations to Pinterest aesthetics, fashion remains a contested terrain where law, identity, and aspiration converge. To be able to recognise the symbolic weight of style allows us to challenge inherited hierarchies and reclaim fashion as a site of autonomy and ethical expression.

References: 

[1] Frances Elizabeth Baldwin, ‘Sumptuary Legislation and Personal Regulation in England’ (1928), John Hopkins University.

[2] Alchin, L.K, ‘Enforcing Statutes of Apparel’ < Enforcing Statutes of Apparel> (accessed 21st August 2025)

[3] Snell, Melissa, ‘Medieval Sumptuary Laws: Legislation of the Middle Ages regarding excessive expenditure’ (2025) <Medieval Sumptuary Laws> (accessed 21st August 2025)

[4] Susane Scholz, Body Narraives: Writing the Nation and Fashioning the Subject in Early Modern England (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), 23.

[5] Grant McCracken, Culture and Consumption: New Approaches to the Symbolic Character of Consumer Goods and Activitties (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1988), 15.

[6] Alicia Powell, ‘Style and social class: ‘the authenticity fetish’ (2022), Varsity < Style and social class: ‘the authenticity fetish’ | Varsity> (accessed 21st August 2025)

[7] Georg Simmel’s, ‘Fashion’ (1904) Journal of Artificial Societies and Social Simulation, Volume 3, Issue 2.

[8] Jessica Andrews, ‘The Line of Beauty’ (2022) Elle <The Line Of Beauty – Where Beauty And Classism Collide> (accessed 21st August 2025)

[9] Connie Hilton, ‘Rags to riches: unravelling the stitched up class divide in fashion’ (2024) Cherwell < Rags to riches: unravelling the stitched up class divide in fashion – Cherwell> (accessed 21st August 2025)

[10] coloquio5.pdf

[11] Lundblad, L. and Davies, ‘The values and motivations behind sustainable fashion consumption’, Journal of Consumer Behaviour, 15:2, pp 149-62.

The post From Statutes to Streetwear: Sumptuary Laws, Fashion, Class, and Identity in England appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

The Illusion of Fashion Weeks

The exploitative nature of fashion weeks has become a norm which has been built upon chaos and immense disadvantage to the fashion workers. As a model, your job is to sell products, but the rule is not to overshadow the product. Although luxury brands unveil their masterpieces globally in Paris, London, and Milan, while models and celebrities strike choreographed poses in expensive clothing, the ‘catwalk size’ – the models have started to eat tissues – is a manifestation of private cruelty, authoritarian, and hierarchical control over models. The Vogue Editor, even though it was okay to faint from food deprivation, eat tissues and go on hospital drips to be ‘Paris-thin.’ The fashion world is exploitative – our bodies are polished, our faces are manufactured into specific standards, and our worth is measured based on enduring the perfection that is expected; flawless skin, flawless body, flawless behaviour – internalising these expectations are exploitative as it leads to internalisation of the norms of the fashion industry which exploits mental and physical health, i.e. sleep deprivation, eating disorders, and losing your self-identity to meet a certain standard.

This distortion of self is reflected in runway controversies, such as Mowalola’s 2024 London Fashion Week show. Critics accused the designer of glamourising domestic violence by displaying models with bruises and torn garments. Mowalola cited Crash as an inspiration—fetishising pain through spectacle. Mowalola says the collection was inspired by the film, Crash, telling Vogue Runway that she felt an excitement by the fetishisation of pain through crashing, adding that she envisioned ‘a whole universe that resides on the street.’ This show’s chaotic energy and provocative visuals were described as a ‘brilliant car crash’ by Hero Magazine, underscoring the tension between artistic expression and ethical boundaries.

While Mowalola’s show sparked debate over the fetishisation of violence, such portrayals have raised questions about the designer’s responsibility for working conditions. If models were placed under unsafe environments, i.e. physical (hazardous sets, strict diets) or psychological (e.g. themes without safeguarding or training) – the law in the UK can apply. Under the Health and Safety at Work Act, employers owe a duty of care to anyone on-site, including models, in the event of harm arising from negligence, such as a failure to provide a safe working environment. Designers or production teams could face civil liability in such cases. However, these enforcements in the fashion industry have still been limited, as they are inconsistently applied in creative contexts.

The Illusion of Opportunity

Beyond the runway, exploitation extends to the unpaid labour propping up the industry’s glamour. Last month, a glossy magazine launched a competition in partnership with the flat-share site SpareRoom, offering four people a month-long paid scholarship that includes accommodation in central London. There were numerous reactions to this internship, as countless fashion interns who worked in top fashion brands, such as Vogue, have had opposite experiences. They were unpaid, were not provided with accommodation and had to sleep on friends’ sofas and seek financial support from their parents. According to Shelly Asquith, a student and president of the University of the Arts London Student Union, at Alexander McQueen, countless unpaid internships continue to be the norm in the fashion industry.

A recent study by The Sutton Trust has found that 86% of internships in the arts – like TV, theatre, film, and fashion – were unpaid. London Fashion Week highlights the industry’s unpaid interns, and the campaign group ‘IInternAware used the glamorous five-day event to draw attention to the unfairness behind the scenes of the fashion industry. Once, a 22-year-old told the Observer that she had cut patterns, handled fabric, and set up fashion shows with no payment. Although the privilege of working there is rewarding, it also becomes exploitative. The Sustainable Fashion Initiative at the University of Cincinnati notes that low-income students often must take out loans or rely on family to support unpaid roles. In contrast, wealthier students usually navigate a system that favours privilege.

Legal Loopholes  

Beyond unpaid labour and harmful aesthetic standards lies a deeper failure: the UK’s legal inability to hold companies accountable for exploitation across supply chains. A Sheffield Hallam University report [1] revealed that UK brands are sourcing cotton from the Uyghur Region, using forced labour with impunity. Human rights abuses, often concealed under the guise of ‘ethical’ branding and vague sustainability pledges, remain shielded from legal accountability. Currently, UK companies are not legally obliged to ensure freedom from modern slavery in their supply chains. Anti-Slavery International has called for the Business, Human Rights, and Environment Act—a legal reform that would hold corporations accountable for human rights abuses. Without such laws, Fashion Week continues to market garments woven through exploitation, perform cruelty-free theatrics, and greenwash their branding while real lives suffer.

A new white paper published by ‘Fashion Declares!’ and Bates Wells. The white paper has proposed policy recommendations. This includes closing the tax loophole for cheap overseas fashion. Right now, cheap fast fashion from overseas can enter the UK without paying tax if the value is under a certain amount (called the ‘de minimis’ threshold). This can be problematic because large, fast-fashion companies exploit this loophole to avoid taxes, keep their clothes affordable, and put British sustainable brands at a disadvantage. The solution would be to remove the threshold, so that all imported fashion is taxed fairly and linked to the level of harm or sustainability of a product.

Another problem is that fashion brands do not take responsibility for what happens to clothes after they are sold – especially when they end up as waste. A solution to this would be to introduce a UK-wide “Extended Producer Responsibility” law. This is where brands would pay fees depending on how durable, recyclable, and ethically produced their clothing is. The less sustainable a product is, the more it costs the brand, and the fees can be used to build repair hubs and recycling centres. The third solution could be creating a digital passport for every clothing item, as it is challenging to track the origin of clothes or their manufacturing process, given the prevalence of greenwashing. This can make it easy for consumers to access precise data and check the sustainability of a product.

Conclusion 

Fashion Week claims to champion creativity, diversity, and progress – yet behind the glamour lies a reality built on unpaid labour, legal loopholes, and the illusion of inclusivity. The industry continues to exploit aspiring talent through unpaid internships, celebrates brands that avoid regulation, and promotes beauty standards that prioritise Paris-thinness over health and representation. These structural harms are not accidental, but they have been embedded in the very design of Fashion Week itself. 

While recent policy proposals signal a desire for change, they are still unenforced. Until the fashion industry conforms to these regulations, it will remain a curated spectacle – one that has revealed itself to be exploitative beneath the spotlights. The question is no longer whether oversight is needed, but whether the industry should be allowed to define progress on its terms. 

References:

[1] Laura Murphy, ‘New report exposes forced labour connections in global retail brands’ supply chains’ 12th November 2021, Sheffield Hallam University.

The post Fashion Weeks’ Dark Side appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.