Back tie affair: Unwrapping the history of the apron
Part armour, part second skin, it has survived thousands of years. It was an ancient item of workwear, and is now on runways too. What else can the apron be?
If one had to draw Jeremy Allen White in The Bear, the apron would be the key element (that and the hair, most likely).
It serves as part armour for him, and part second skin. It has played this role for centuries, indicating femininity, care and a homely meal upcoming. Or, conversely, welders, butchers and mechanics at work.
What else can an apron be?
That’s a question that brought two academics together for a three-month residency titled 1:01 Aprons at Chelsea Space at the Chelsea College of Arts (CCA), part of University of the Arts London.
Together, curators Carol Tulloch, a professor of dress, diaspora and transnationalism at CCA, and Judith Clark, a professor of fashion and museology at London College of Fashion, explored Fashion Museum Bath’s collections and their personal archives to study the apron’s many lives.
What’s to study; it’s an apron, one might say.
The truth is, it is so much more. Not only has the garment endured over thousands of years (more on that in a bit), it has served, during that time, as a marker of class, race and identity. Think of the blue aprons (and white head wraps) worn by enslaved African-Americans; or the leather ones worn by blacksmiths and butchers in pre-industrial Europe.
It remains, in its most enduring avatar, a symbol of domesticity.
“Most people have some form of memory of an apron, often maternal and therefore very intimate. But the apron is so many things, across cultures,” says Clark. “And yet, it really is just a piece of cloth with a string. A fabric that almost never matches the main outfit, is so often repurposed, is almost never pre-planned, and just sits there proudly dissonant.”
Wrap sheet
The garment is now being reinvented.
Lately, the silhouette has been appearing on runways and red carpets, in patterns reminiscent of housewives and carpenters from previous centuries, as well as in slick goth blacks (as in the Dior Spring 2024 ready-to-wear collection).
Aprons and apron dresses featured in the Spring 2026 collection of the Prada subsidiary Miu Miu at Paris Fashion Week earlier this month, and in recent collections by Hermès, the British designer Phoebe Philo and the Olsen sisters’ apparel brand The Row.
Here, the apron has been recast as a dress, skirt, even pants.
It helps that it is such a versatile symbol, embodying domesticity, sensuality, reclamation or rebellion. “It chimes with this unrelenting quest for workwear as well. And it stands for longevity and good, practical design,” Tulloch says.
The ornate apron is turning up on runways and red carpets too. Some of these feature crochet, studs, crystals or leather ruffles, and have been paired with blazers, bikini tops and T-shirts. This, incidentally, is a throwback to the Renaissance era. But first, let’s go a little further back.
COVER STORY
It is possible that the apron was one of the first items of workwear ever invented, since labour of almost any kind would have required some protection for skin and sensitive organs (from tools, sparks, rough materials).
Through recorded history, the garment has turned up, over and over. “It is popularly traced back to the time of the Ancient Egyptians,” says Tulloch.
There, it took the shape of a triangular cloth that extended from the waist to just above the knees, and was worn by deities, pharaohs and commoners alike.
Such a semi-wrap appears in cultures around the world. To this day, for instance, among the Zulu of South Africa, such coverings are worn over a primary garment, by women and sometimes by men too, with hand-stitched bead patterns on the cloth indicating the wearer’s stage of life, marital status, even the number of children they have borne.
By the Renaissance era, European women were indicating status in their aprons as well.
The garment did need to be worn while supervising housework, or while embroidering. So, as a symbol of the separation between mistress and maid, the aprons worn by the former featured fine lace, embroidery, embellishments and bows.
It didn’t end there. Dresses were often so elaborate, ornate and hard to wash that an elaborate apron, sometimes decorated in tones of gold and silver, might be worn over a gown at home, to protect it from damage and allow it to be worn more often between washes. (Keep in mind, this was a time of wax candles, tallow, and little to no running water.)
By the 18th century, street vendors and factory workers in the UK had turned this garment into a symbol of class pride. Among self-employed women in particular, as seen in British-ruled Jamaica, it began to represent agency and independence, says Tulloch. To this day, a cartoon of an irate baker or an angry-at-the-system factory labourer conveys its sentiment better through the simple addition of an apron, or the hanging up of it.
Proof of just how universal the garment remains, and what a remarkable canvas a single piece of fabric can be.
If one had to draw Jeremy Allen White in The Bear, the apron would be the key element (that and the hair, most likely).
It serves as part armour for him, and part second skin. It has played this role for centuries, indicating femininity, care and a homely meal upcoming. Or, conversely, welders, butchers and mechanics at work.
What else can an apron be?
That’s a question that brought two academics together for a three-month residency titled 1:01 Aprons at Chelsea Space at the Chelsea College of Arts (CCA), part of University of the Arts London.
Together, curators Carol Tulloch, a professor of dress, diaspora and transnationalism at CCA, and Judith Clark, a professor of fashion and museology at London College of Fashion, explored Fashion Museum Bath’s collections and their personal archives to study the apron’s many lives.
What’s to study; it’s an apron, one might say.
The truth is, it is so much more. Not only has the garment endured over thousands of years (more on that in a bit), it has served, during that time, as a marker of class, race and identity. Think of the blue aprons (and white head wraps) worn by enslaved African-Americans; or the leather ones worn by blacksmiths and butchers in pre-industrial Europe.
It remains, in its most enduring avatar, a symbol of domesticity.
“Most people have some form of memory of an apron, often maternal and therefore very intimate. But the apron is so many things, across cultures,” says Clark. “And yet, it really is just a piece of cloth with a string. A fabric that almost never matches the main outfit, is so often repurposed, is almost never pre-planned, and just sits there proudly dissonant.”
Wrap sheet
The garment is now being reinvented.
Lately, the silhouette has been appearing on runways and red carpets, in patterns reminiscent of housewives and carpenters from previous centuries, as well as in slick goth blacks (as in the Dior Spring 2024 ready-to-wear collection).
Aprons and apron dresses featured in the Spring 2026 collection of the Prada subsidiary Miu Miu at Paris Fashion Week earlier this month, and in recent collections by Hermès, the British designer Phoebe Philo and the Olsen sisters’ apparel brand The Row.
Here, the apron has been recast as a dress, skirt, even pants.
It helps that it is such a versatile symbol, embodying domesticity, sensuality, reclamation or rebellion. “It chimes with this unrelenting quest for workwear as well. And it stands for longevity and good, practical design,” Tulloch says.
The ornate apron is turning up on runways and red carpets too. Some of these feature crochet, studs, crystals or leather ruffles, and have been paired with blazers, bikini tops and T-shirts. This, incidentally, is a throwback to the Renaissance era. But first, let’s go a little further back.
COVER STORY
It is possible that the apron was one of the first items of workwear ever invented, since labour of almost any kind would have required some protection for skin and sensitive organs (from tools, sparks, rough materials).
Through recorded history, the garment has turned up, over and over. “It is popularly traced back to the time of the Ancient Egyptians,” says Tulloch.
There, it took the shape of a triangular cloth that extended from the waist to just above the knees, and was worn by deities, pharaohs and commoners alike.
Such a semi-wrap appears in cultures around the world. To this day, for instance, among the Zulu of South Africa, such coverings are worn over a primary garment, by women and sometimes by men too, with hand-stitched bead patterns on the cloth indicating the wearer’s stage of life, marital status, even the number of children they have borne.
By the Renaissance era, European women were indicating status in their aprons as well.
The garment did need to be worn while supervising housework, or while embroidering. So, as a symbol of the separation between mistress and maid, the aprons worn by the former featured fine lace, embroidery, embellishments and bows.
It didn’t end there. Dresses were often so elaborate, ornate and hard to wash that an elaborate apron, sometimes decorated in tones of gold and silver, might be worn over a gown at home, to protect it from damage and allow it to be worn more often between washes. (Keep in mind, this was a time of wax candles, tallow, and little to no running water.)
By the 18th century, street vendors and factory workers in the UK had turned this garment into a symbol of class pride. Among self-employed women in particular, as seen in British-ruled Jamaica, it began to represent agency and independence, says Tulloch. To this day, a cartoon of an irate baker or an angry-at-the-system factory labourer conveys its sentiment better through the simple addition of an apron, or the hanging up of it.
Proof of just how universal the garment remains, and what a remarkable canvas a single piece of fabric can be.
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