ICONS: RUGBY SHIRTS
- Santeri Horst
- Jun 9
- 4 min read
There’s a certain kind of clothing that earns its stripes the hard way. Worn through like armour. Pulled at the seams. Thrown into mud, patched up, and thrown in again.
The rugby shirt was built for scrums. As regular Finns, we don't know much about that. We know there is a ball involved and the guys look like they been hit by a car, when walking off the pitch. Thankfully, this isn't about the game. It's about what they wore. The rugby shirt. Heavy cotton. Bold stripes. Collar you could grab onto. Built for bruises, now worn for everything but.
Made to Take a Hit
Like many sports, rugby's origin story is somewhat mythical. It's said to began in the 1830's central England at a school named Rugby. The game spread fast, and by the next couple of decades, new rugby clubs had popped up across UK. By 1845, they’d scribbled down the rules. Football as played at Rugby School, they called it. A mouthful, sure, but it stuck. Eventually, just “rugby.”
They say it’s a hooligan’s game played by gentlemen, and if you saw what they wore back then, you’d believe it. White flannel shirts, matching trousers, little caps. Bowties. Sometimes a monocle. Like they were headed to tea, not a brawl.
The white flannels didn’t last long. Too easy to grab, too easy to rip. Tails flapping, trousers tearing, hardly match-fit. So out went the tea-party gear, in came the wool jumpers. Problem was: wool stretches, itches, cooks you alive.
Next up: heavy cotton. Tough, breathable, didn’t stretch like taffy. That’s when the rugby shirt found its modern form.
But it wasn’t just the fabric, it was the collar. Short. Stiff cotton twill. No buttons. Nothing to snag, nothing to scratch. Safety by design. Later, some snuck buttons back in, but made them soft, rubbery, hidden. Tackle-tested.
As the sport grew, so did the need for more colors. Solid colors didn't cut it anymore. Enter the stripes. Horizontal stripes in team colors, stitched across the chest like war paint. Some went bold with one thick band, others stacked five or six. Though national teams stuck with solids like: Australia with yellow, South Africa with emerald green and the New Zealand's All Blacks’ with namesake black.
From pitch to status symbol
The rugby shirt didn’t always live off the pitch. For the first hundred years of its life, it stayed in the mud. But in the 1950's, fans started rocking the rugby shirts. Rich kids with clean collars began wearing club shirts to matches. As the rugby players and fans were primarily privately educated the shirt lent itself to becoming a status symbol of the upper class. You weren’t just wearing a uniform, you were advertising where you belonged.
In the UK, it slipped from pitch to pub quite fast. But in 1960's America? Rugby shirts jumped the fence. From the pitch to the Ivy League. College kids pulled them over khakis and loafers. Ralph Lauren took notes. It went Ivy.
In 1965 Shōsuke Ishizu’s book Take Ivy documented college kids sauntering around in rugbys and loafers. The book didn’t sell big in the US, but the photos lingered like smoke: youthful, elite, and carelessly sharp. Photos that now live rent free on every menswear aficionado's moodboard.
The Rugby Shirt Hits the Wall
Climbers fell in love with rugby shirt for its practicality.
In the late 60’s, basic Yosemite climbers look would consist of the tan cut-off chinos and white dress shirt, bought from thrift store. Collared shirt kept the hardware slings from cutting into the neck. Enter Yvon Chouinard. Before Patagonia was Patagonia, it was Great Pacific Iron Works, and they were rocking rugby shirts like armour. And our mate Yvon is widely credited with popularising the rugby shirts among the climbers.
Later on in 1974, in Connecticut, Gant launched a whole line called Rugger. L.L. Bean and Land’s End followed. So did Columbia Knit out of Portland. What was once a British relic had officially gone Yankee.
HipHop
By the 1980's, rugby shirts weren’t just East Coast elite. They were Americana. And then they were everywhere. Ralph Lauren didn’t miss. By the 90's, Polo Rugby shirts were showing up in ad campaigns, and this time it was a whole new demographic taking notes. The Lo Lifes, a Brooklyn-based movement and street gang who had started racking Polo rigs in the late 80's. They were wearing Polo from head to toe and by the 90's that had become an integral part of streetwear. It was preppy. It was street. It was everything fashion wanted: a contradiction you could pull over your head.
Of course, like most good things, it got big. Baggy, long-sleeved rugby shirts paired with sagged jeans and Timbs.
Still Holding
Today the rugby shirt sits in that rare space: practical but cool. Perfect garment between the tee and the shirt. It got color, structure, and nostalgia. You can wear it out. Wear it in. Tuck it, crop it, stain it, patch it. It’s still a shirt made to get hit in. And still here. Whether you’re studying, going to a show or just hitting your local pub, it's a perfect weapon of choice for nearly any occasion.
Want one? You can now find a great selection of these icons at your local vintage dealership.
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