This article is part of a series called ‘A love letter to…’, where Cycling Weekly writers pour praise on their favourite aspects of cycling. The below content is unfiltered, authentic and has not been paid for.
Long before I rode a bike, I cosplayed as a cyclist.
It all centred around a bright green vintage Shimano jersey I’d found in the charity shop, the bold blue sponsor cut across the chest. Paired with low-rise jeans, it made the perfect outfit for a 16-year-old me, despite the fact that the longest bike ride I’d ever been on was an agonising one-off trip to see my grandma the summer before. But I loved it – the colour, the bobbled wool of a pre-loved top, the little pockets lining its back.
As cycling began to weave itself more tightly into my life (and the true purpose of a jersey revealed to me), what I wore to ride my bike became a more conscious kind of play. I would pair my shorts with a tie-dyed donkey t-shirt, and on downhill days I would ride out in my red sequinned dragon top, worn under a pair of old dungarees. As a casualty of the secondary-school myth,“if you’re not good at netball you’re not sporty”, the opportunity to build a “kit” was exciting, and new.
But whenever I sought out fresh road cycling clothes, the colours on offer were far from the bright kit of my vintage Shimano jersey days. Apart from a few single-tone jerseys, the options were – and remain today – a wash of muted tones: soft, earthy colours, creamy browns and olive greens. Where’s the hot pink? I wondered. Or the bold graphics?
Part of the spectacle of road racing is, for me, the colour: pink; purple; polka dots; yellow. Shooting past the spectators, the peloton is a technicolour show. Before I understood the meanings the colours held, I could recognise the symbolism. The rider in the red and white spotted top carried a particular professional weight, and the yellow - well, the yellow.
And cycling jerseys have long taught us lessons about our sport and culture. In 1985, art met the bike in the Piet Mondrian inspired geometric design of the La Vie Claire team jersey. In a last minute bid to brighten up the peloton, the team switched their monochrome kit for the modern art inspired top, which is now remembered as one of the most impactful team kits of all time.
In 1996, Mapei became the first team to sell their garments to the public. Their blue jersey carried the UCI logo, the Italian flag and a multi-coloured cubic design, which riders from all walks of life could model on their home roads.
But no kit sets my heart alight like a motocross kit. Bold type plastered on orange that disappears in flames into a purple background; white sleeves against a body of pink. It’s bold and flashy and insanely cool. Now, downhill mountain biking attire is beginning to change in its image, with riders like Tahnée Seagrave embracing a powerful femininity embodied in painted nails and a hot pink kit as she tackles some of the hardest downhill terrain in the world.
So, is road cycling next to follow suit? EF Education-EasyPost's pink, bejewelled kit is a personal favourite, but it's a world away from the jerseys available on the shelves. Might we see more everyday cyclists riding out in colourful gear? That remains to be seen.
What I have discovered in this small excavation into cycling fashion is that the internet has some strong opinions on what we should wear to ride our bikes. Listed among some of cycling's worst fashion faux-pas are: wearing socks over tights; riding in white shoes (unless you’re a professional); matching your jersey to your bibs - an unforgivable offence, apparently.
Maybe you’d add my hankering for bold design onto the list, too. Maybe, given the option, I might pull out that soft olive green jersey for the odd ride. But a hot pink jersey with a fiery design? I'd chose that over anything else, even if the internet disagrees – the more garish the better.
