The Utterly Unnecessary Existence of Gilets

In the beginning, there was the jacket. And this was all very fine and good.

Jackets had sleeves, kept the upper portions of one’s anatomy warm, and were really quite uncontroversial.

But then, for reasons known only to Norwegian fishermen, regional boards of garden centre trustees, and someone who once felt slightly too warm in Devon, humanity invented the gilet.

Now, to be perfectly clear: a gilet is a sleeveless jacket. That is to say, it is a jacket that has undergone a voluntary amputation of its most useful features—and is somehow smug about the apparent freedom this creates.

Imagine if someone handed you a sandwich, removed the bread, and insisted it was “freedom food.” This, to stretch an analogy, is the gilet: a fashion paradox worn primarily by people who enjoy brisk walks, own multiple Labradors, or have very specific opinions about the best cheese to pair with wine.

One might think, “Ah, but the gilet provides core warmth while leaving the arms free to flail about in ecstasy or mild panic.” This is true. But so would a toaster, if you strapped it to your chest. The difference is that no one wears a toaster to the garden centre while pretending it's acceptable.

The gilet traps heat in your torso, creating a cozy bubble of warmth around your body’s least expressive region, while leaving your arms exposed to the cruel, uncaring elements. This means your heart is snug, but your elbows are in shock. Your kidneys are toasty, but your wrists are considering filing a complaint. The only reasonable explanation is that gilets are the universe’s way of telling us that not all progress is good.

Don't be like Colin. Don't don a gilet.

It’s possible—if one takes an evolutionary view—that the gilet is simply a transitional garment in humanity’s sartorial journey from full coat to complete nudity. And perhaps, in several millennia, humans will simply sport heated navels and call it fashion. But for now, it’s as if someone designed a car that only covers the engine and leaves the wheels to fend for themselves in the rain.

Now, let’s talk about zips. Because the obvious fact is that the gilet is disproportionately zippy. Some feature two zips, others three—and in one horrifying instance documented in the foothills of the Cotswolds, a gilet was discovered with six zippers, none of which opened anything useful. It was essentially a tactical waistcoat for someone preparing to do battle with a cheeseboard.

Indeed, gilet wearers will often unzip themselves theatrically, as though revealing some kind of hidden wisdom—or a chest made entirely of oat milk. But in reality, all that lies beneath is an obligatory flannel shirt and a mild sense of regret.

Of course, there are occasions when wearing a gilet is acceptable. However, there are only three:

1. You are a middle-aged man named Colin who owns a Land Rover and a vineyard.

2. You are preparing to engage in an activity that may involve light archery.

3. You’ve given up on the concept of jackets entirely but aren’t ready for the full nihilism of knitwear.

   
   

Otherwise, you’re essentially walking around in the fashion equivalent of a shrug.

In the end, the gilet is not so much a piece of clothing as it is a statement. And that statement is: “I have misunderstood sleeves.”

They are garments for those who believe in warmth—but not too much. For people who enjoy compromise. Who like their fashion the way they like their tea: half-hearted.

So next time you see someone in a gilet, do not judge them. Simply pat them on their chilly, unprotected arm and whisper softly, “It’s okay. The sleeves forgive you.”

And then hand them a toaster.