Suits or joggers? A doctor’s dress code

Look at this guy – NFL Chargers jersey and shorts with a RVCA hat on backward. And next to him, a woman wearing her spin-class-Lulu gear. There’s also a guy sporting a 2016 San Diego Rock ‘n Roll Marathon Tee. And that young woman is actually wearing slippers. A visitor from the 1950s would be thunderstruck to see such casual wear on people waiting to board a plane. Photos from that era show men buttoned up in white shirt and tie and women wearing Chanel with hats and white gloves. This dramatic transformation from formal to unfussy wear cuts through all social situations, including in my office. As a new doc out of residency, I used to wear a tie and shoes that could hold a shine. Now I wear jogger scrubs and sneakers. Rather than be offended by the lack of formality though, patients seem to appreciate it. Should they?

At first glance this seems to be a modern phenomenon. The reasons for casual wear today are manifold: about one-third of people work from home, Millennials are taking over with their TikTok values and general irreverence, COVID made us all fat and lazy. Heck, even the U.S. Senate briefly abolished the requirement to wear suits on the Senate floor. But getting dressed up was never to signal that you are elite or superior to others. It’s the opposite. To get dressed is a signal that you are serving others, a tradition that is as old as society.

Benabio_Jeff_SanDiego2017_web.jpg

Think of Downton Abbey as an example. The servants were always required to be smartly dressed when working, whereas members of the family could be dressed up or not. It’s clear who is serving whom. This tradition lives today in the hospitality industry. When you mosey into the lobby of a luxury hotel in your Rainbow sandals you can expect everyone who greets you will be in finery, signaling that they put in effort to serve you. You’ll find the same for all staff at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., which is no coincidence.

[embed:render:related:node:263772]

Suits used to be standard in medicine. In the 19th century, physicians wore formal black-tie when seeing patients. Unlike hospitality however, we had good reason to eschew the tradition: germs. Once we figured out that our pus-stained ties and jackets were doing harm, we switched to wearing sanitized uniforms. Casual wear for doctors isn’t a modern phenomenon after all, then. For proof, compare Thomas Eakins painting “The Gross Clinic” (1875) with his later “The Agnew Clinic” (1889). In the former, Dr. Gross is portrayed in formal black wear, bloody hand and all. In the latter, Dr. Agnew is wearing white FIGS (or the 1890’s equivalent anyway). Similarly, nurses uniforms traditionally resembled kitchen servants, with criss-cross aprons and floor length skirts. It wasn’t until the 1980’s that nurses stopped wearing dresses and white caps.

165543_Agnew_Clinic_web.jpg

In the operating theater it’s obviously critical that we wear sanitized scrubs to mitigate the risk of infection. Originally white to signal cleanliness, scrubs were changed to blue-green because surgeons were blinded by the lights bouncing off the uniforms. (Green is also opposite red on the color wheel, supposedly enhancing the ability to distinguish shades of red).

But in outpatient medicine, the effect size for preventing infection by not wearing a tie or jacket is less obvious. In addition to protecting patients, it seems that wearing scrubs and donning On Cloud sneakers might also be a bit of push-back from us. Over time we’ve lost significant autonomy in our practice and lost a little respect from our patients. Payers tell us what to do. Patients question our expertise. Choosing what we wear is one of the few bits of medicine we still have agency. Pewter or pink, joggers or cargo pants, we get to choose.

The last time I flew British Airways everyone was in lounge wear, except the flight crew, of course. They were all smartly dressed. Recently British Airways rolled out updated, slightly more relaxed dress codes. Very modern, but I wonder if in a way we’re not all just a bit worse off.

Dr. Benabio is director of Healthcare Transformation and chief of dermatology at Kaiser Permanente San Diego. The opinions expressed in this column are his own and do not represent those of Kaiser Permanente. Dr. Benabio is @Dermdoc on Twitter. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com

Look at this guy – NFL Chargers jersey and shorts with a RVCA hat on backward. And next to him, a woman wearing her spin-class-Lulu gear. There’s also a guy sporting a 2016 San Diego Rock ‘n Roll Marathon Tee. And that young woman is actually wearing slippers. A visitor from the 1950s would be thunderstruck to see such casual wear on people waiting to board a plane. Photos from that era show men buttoned up in white shirt and tie and women wearing Chanel with hats and white gloves. This dramatic transformation from formal to unfussy wear cuts through all social situations, including in my office. As a new doc out of residency, I used to wear a tie and shoes that could hold a shine. Now I wear jogger scrubs and sneakers. Rather than be offended by the lack of formality though, patients seem to appreciate it. Should they?

At first glance this seems to be a modern phenomenon. The reasons for casual wear today are manifold: about one-third of people work from home, Millennials are taking over with their TikTok values and general irreverence, COVID made us all fat and lazy. Heck, even the U.S. Senate briefly abolished the requirement to wear suits on the Senate floor. But getting dressed up was never to signal that you are elite or superior to others. It’s the opposite. To get dressed is a signal that you are serving others, a tradition that is as old as society.

Benabio_Jeff_SanDiego2017_web.jpg

Think of Downton Abbey as an example. The servants were always required to be smartly dressed when working, whereas members of the family could be dressed up or not. It’s clear who is serving whom. This tradition lives today in the hospitality industry. When you mosey into the lobby of a luxury hotel in your Rainbow sandals you can expect everyone who greets you will be in finery, signaling that they put in effort to serve you. You’ll find the same for all staff at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., which is no coincidence.

[embed:render:related:node:263772]

Suits used to be standard in medicine. In the 19th century, physicians wore formal black-tie when seeing patients. Unlike hospitality however, we had good reason to eschew the tradition: germs. Once we figured out that our pus-stained ties and jackets were doing harm, we switched to wearing sanitized uniforms. Casual wear for doctors isn’t a modern phenomenon after all, then. For proof, compare Thomas Eakins painting “The Gross Clinic” (1875) with his later “The Agnew Clinic” (1889). In the former, Dr. Gross is portrayed in formal black wear, bloody hand and all. In the latter, Dr. Agnew is wearing white FIGS (or the 1890’s equivalent anyway). Similarly, nurses uniforms traditionally resembled kitchen servants, with criss-cross aprons and floor length skirts. It wasn’t until the 1980’s that nurses stopped wearing dresses and white caps.

165543_Agnew_Clinic_web.jpg

In the operating theater it’s obviously critical that we wear sanitized scrubs to mitigate the risk of infection. Originally white to signal cleanliness, scrubs were changed to blue-green because surgeons were blinded by the lights bouncing off the uniforms. (Green is also opposite red on the color wheel, supposedly enhancing the ability to distinguish shades of red).

But in outpatient medicine, the effect size for preventing infection by not wearing a tie or jacket is less obvious. In addition to protecting patients, it seems that wearing scrubs and donning On Cloud sneakers might also be a bit of push-back from us. Over time we’ve lost significant autonomy in our practice and lost a little respect from our patients. Payers tell us what to do. Patients question our expertise. Choosing what we wear is one of the few bits of medicine we still have agency. Pewter or pink, joggers or cargo pants, we get to choose.

The last time I flew British Airways everyone was in lounge wear, except the flight crew, of course. They were all smartly dressed. Recently British Airways rolled out updated, slightly more relaxed dress codes. Very modern, but I wonder if in a way we’re not all just a bit worse off.

Dr. Benabio is director of Healthcare Transformation and chief of dermatology at Kaiser Permanente San Diego. The opinions expressed in this column are his own and do not represent those of Kaiser Permanente. Dr. Benabio is @Dermdoc on Twitter. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com

Look at this guy – NFL Chargers jersey and shorts with a RVCA hat on backward. And next to him, a woman wearing her spin-class-Lulu gear. There’s also a guy sporting a 2016 San Diego Rock ‘n Roll Marathon Tee. And that young woman is actually wearing slippers. A visitor from the 1950s would be thunderstruck to see such casual wear on people waiting to board a plane. Photos from that era show men buttoned up in white shirt and tie and women wearing Chanel with hats and white gloves. This dramatic transformation from formal to unfussy wear cuts through all social situations, including in my office. As a new doc out of residency, I used to wear a tie and shoes that could hold a shine. Now I wear jogger scrubs and sneakers. Rather than be offended by the lack of formality though, patients seem to appreciate it. Should they?

At first glance this seems to be a modern phenomenon. The reasons for casual wear today are manifold: about one-third of people work from home, Millennials are taking over with their TikTok values and general irreverence, COVID made us all fat and lazy. Heck, even the U.S. Senate briefly abolished the requirement to wear suits on the Senate floor. But getting dressed up was never to signal that you are elite or superior to others. It’s the opposite. To get dressed is a signal that you are serving others, a tradition that is as old as society.

Benabio_Jeff_SanDiego2017_web.jpg

Think of Downton Abbey as an example. The servants were always required to be smartly dressed when working, whereas members of the family could be dressed up or not. It’s clear who is serving whom. This tradition lives today in the hospitality industry. When you mosey into the lobby of a luxury hotel in your Rainbow sandals you can expect everyone who greets you will be in finery, signaling that they put in effort to serve you. You’ll find the same for all staff at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., which is no coincidence.

[embed:render:related:node:263772]

Suits used to be standard in medicine. In the 19th century, physicians wore formal black-tie when seeing patients. Unlike hospitality however, we had good reason to eschew the tradition: germs. Once we figured out that our pus-stained ties and jackets were doing harm, we switched to wearing sanitized uniforms. Casual wear for doctors isn’t a modern phenomenon after all, then. For proof, compare Thomas Eakins painting “The Gross Clinic” (1875) with his later “The Agnew Clinic” (1889). In the former, Dr. Gross is portrayed in formal black wear, bloody hand and all. In the latter, Dr. Agnew is wearing white FIGS (or the 1890’s equivalent anyway). Similarly, nurses uniforms traditionally resembled kitchen servants, with criss-cross aprons and floor length skirts. It wasn’t until the 1980’s that nurses stopped wearing dresses and white caps.

165543_Agnew_Clinic_web.jpg

In the operating theater it’s obviously critical that we wear sanitized scrubs to mitigate the risk of infection. Originally white to signal cleanliness, scrubs were changed to blue-green because surgeons were blinded by the lights bouncing off the uniforms. (Green is also opposite red on the color wheel, supposedly enhancing the ability to distinguish shades of red).

But in outpatient medicine, the effect size for preventing infection by not wearing a tie or jacket is less obvious. In addition to protecting patients, it seems that wearing scrubs and donning On Cloud sneakers might also be a bit of push-back from us. Over time we’ve lost significant autonomy in our practice and lost a little respect from our patients. Payers tell us what to do. Patients question our expertise. Choosing what we wear is one of the few bits of medicine we still have agency. Pewter or pink, joggers or cargo pants, we get to choose.

The last time I flew British Airways everyone was in lounge wear, except the flight crew, of course. They were all smartly dressed. Recently British Airways rolled out updated, slightly more relaxed dress codes. Very modern, but I wonder if in a way we’re not all just a bit worse off.

Dr. Benabio is director of Healthcare Transformation and chief of dermatology at Kaiser Permanente San Diego. The opinions expressed in this column are his own and do not represent those of Kaiser Permanente. Dr. Benabio is @Dermdoc on Twitter. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com