Mark Zuckerberg, Style Icon
Rain falls on the roof of Straus Hall at Harvard University. It’s autumn, and a young, rosy-cheeked undergraduate peers from his window. He is a computer science major on the cusp of creating a social network: one that, in ten years’ time, will allow your overwhelmed mother to write a sprawling, unremarkable message beneath each and every one of your status updates.
I’m sure you’re familiar with this character: a mildly condescending student addicted to his work. He has time for little else, but he does not seem to care. He would be open to style advice if it was forced upon him, but he did not hear you because he’s pretty busy right now and you should probably just email him.
One time he called you a hipster because you walked an extra block to grab a taco from the local truck when Chipotle was right there.
This is what he looks like:
His outfit is simple — almost invisible. In short, it’s a remedy for nudity. He puts things on. He does not think, he wears.
Most people dress for the weather, or an occasion. They are prepared for something. Mark Zuckerberg is not prepared for anything: he is comfortable, he is fleecy. Time’s 2010 Person of the Year looks like the most well-adjusted man to ever rip a bong hit, and that’s why his look is catching on.
To wear sandals without persecution is the Western dream. Most will say it’s meaningful work, or a well curated charcuterie board, but they’re fibbing.
Young Zuckerberg may have seen the future of social networking dotted somewhere in the drops of his window pane all those years ago, but I wonder if he foresaw his role as a fringe style icon 11 years down the road?
The preceding images aren’t just a catalogue of Zuckerberg’s influence on the fashion community, they’re a grinning reminder that Millennials are growing up, and their leisurely approach to style has emerged as a surprising hybrid of dorm-room utility and late ’80s yuppism.
And if Zuckerberg did foresee his sartorial quirks being swallowed by the zeitgeist, was his pyjama-clad meeting with venture capital firm Sequoia Capital supposed to bait us? Was the wizard behind the curtain all along, trolling us to design a socially acceptable daytime bedgown?
Clairvoyant faculties considered, I wouldn’t put it past him. Zuckerberg is always watching, always winning: he sees you. Perched on his sofa, crowned by an Oculus Rift headset, he’s spitefully enjoying a mouthful of day-old Chipotle, and he’s about to code a virtual utopia where housecoats are standard dress.
