How Tim Walz put Midwestern style front and center

You only appreciate the specificity of your own family when you spend time with other families. Suddenly, habits that seemed completely normal come into sharp relief. Likewise, the specifics of where you live aren’t always obvious until you move outside your time zone. I was born in Minneapolis, where we could walk from our house through the tree-lined streets to Kenwood Park and around Lake of the Isles. Ten minutes in the other direction and you’ll arrive at the amazing Walker Art Center and Guthrie Theater. You can park directly in front of the house. I spent my adult life in fast-talking, fast-walking, extremely direct New York. You can’t find a parking spot anywhere (if you’re crazy enough to own a car).

I quickly realized that Minnesotans had a reputation for easy decency and even a profound mildness that is anything but boring. I started to adapt. My dad says I talk faster after decades in New York. I still feel a kinship with Minnesota’s favorite literary son, F Scott Fitzgerald, who grew up in St Paul, across the Mississippi from Minneapolis. Old Scott and I happened to go to the same high school. He left for Princeton and because my grades got in the way of academic heights, our paths diverged.

What makes you think of Minnesota? Well, the state has come into the picture because its governor, Tim Walz, is on the presidential ticket. Minnesota has produced two vice presidents (Hubert Humphrey and Walter Mondale) – a good omen for Walz. But when those two men ran for president, in modest Midwestern style, neither succeeded. A real Minnesota lesson in aiming too high. We love ambition, within reason.

Walz is an example of our habit of being clear. He speaks directly, he is not a man of jargon. He also dresses modestly. In a world of micromanaged politicians, Walz feels like a breath of fresh air. He is not beholden to the class of advisors; he is not – and this is not a judgment – ​​beholden to a personal trainer. He is a rarity in public life: a well-adjusted man.

Walz’s standard wardrobe, unusually for a politician, does not rely on suits. Like many modern men, he doesn’t look particularly comfortable. More often he is seen in plaid, flannel, a parka and sometimes a camouflage hat. This clothing speaks to the recreation of Minnesota. It also looks natural in Red Wing boots, made in Red Wing, MN, since 1905, and functional for farmers before they were adopted by LA creative directors who never had to spray real mud off the famous white rubber soles. (Last month in Milan, Fendi sent models down the runway in a new Red Wing collaboration that will send a shiver into the cold heart of any Midwesterner.)

For those unfamiliar with our geography, the Midwest spreads from the sparsely populated Dakotas west through Iowa and Nebraska (where Walz was born). Then you have Minnesota, right in the heart, before moving on to Wisconsin, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan and Ohio. It’s silly to argue about these things, but Kansas and Missouri don’t really feel like the Midwest because they don’t have intense winters there. And part of the virtue (don’t call it righteousness!) of the Midwest comes from stoicism in the face of harsh weather.

That’s a lot to keep track of. Simply put, this is not an area where anyone comes to ski. The Midwest is defined by its assertive, almost profound flatness. Coastal types might say that this lack of geographic dynamism is reflected in the personalities of its inhabitants. Minnesota has a history of Scandinavian immigration; the Lutherans were pious, unpretentious and believed that putting a porch on a house inspired laziness and other undesirable habits. These people believed that after hard work you relaxed by working even more.

The presumption of ornamentation extends to tailoring. “The Midwest style is largely devoid of flash, detail or visual accents that would draw too much attention,” says Michael Hainey, a Chicago native and former deputy editor of GQup now Airmail. But there are advantages: “It plays well everywhere. It’s not attracted to trends unless they’re a few years late.”

Another crucial detail: it’s snowing in Minnesota. A lot of. We transplanted Midwesterners raise an eyebrow when we see New Yorkers losing their collective minds when it snows. Manhattan closes down when there’s just powder dusting and people start hoarding canned goods like they’re about to be frozen on a boat in the Arctic. “This is nothing,” we say, thinking of the blizzard of 1991, when several feet of snow fell on Halloween: “That’s a storm.” Either you got your car out of a snowstorm at 7am or you didn’t. This character-building exercise leads to sore backs and the promise of spending next winter on a remote island in the Caribbean.

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Weather informs Midwest dressing. As Hainey says, “You can keep your beautiful thin-soled, Milan-made loafers. We need a boot that can walk through two miles of winter slush.” If someone in the Midwest wears a flannel shirt, it’s not ironic or referencing their favorite band; they try to stay warm.

These people believed that after hard work you relaxed by working even more

The great thing about the Midwest is that even if you live in a city, you’re not far from the countryside. The low green hills near our cabin in Wisconsin remind me of soft Dutch landscape paintings. Small towns like Bloomer, Wisconsin, are comforting and beautiful, although many of the buildings on Main Street have seen better days. Bloomer is the former “roping capital of the world” – and I was sad when that was no longer the official designation. The hardware store is large and staffed by helpful, knowledgeable and, yes, open-hearted women who know most customers by name. In August you can stop to buy sweet corn at the gas station. Local farmers hand it over every day, you fill your bag and leave the money in a box.

Although we don’t have mountains, we do have lakes. Many, many lakes. Minnesota is “the land of 10,000 lakes,” where you can fish in the summer and skate in the winter. But we don’t stop there – we also fish in winter. Oh, I’m sorry, aren’t you familiar with ice fishing? Isn’t that part of the après-ski program in St. Moritz? Well, let me paint you a picture. Imagine the bleakest, most soul-destroying February day with a brutal wind chill. Football season is over and your beloved Minnesota Vikings have crashed out of the playoffs once again. Stay indoors and read War and peace by the fire? No. You drive onto a frozen lake and with a few friends get into a structure the size of a large telephone booth, cut a hole in the ice and try like crazy to catch a pike-perch or a perch. This makes a little more sense after you’ve had some whiskey (or, heaven forbid, some local schnapps).

Michael Williams, who writes A continuous leana style newsletter, has been covering the clothing scene of his native Cleveland for years and appreciates the importance of practical style decisions. “There is no such thing as Arc’teryx weather in Cleveland. There is just a non-ironic Carhartt season,” he says, referring to the workwear brand often worn by Walz but also loved in major cities around the world. It should be noted that Williams now lives in Los Angeles, where he doesn’t have to wear anything insulated.

The Midwest is not a magnet for trends. “It doesn’t feel right for a Midwesterner to be obsessed with fashion issues,” Williams notes. For example, you often see Walz in a T-shirt. That’s what he usually wears to the Minnesota State Fair, also known as “The Great Minnesota Get-Together,” which makes it sound like a backyard barbecue – which in a way it is, but on a larger scale . The State Fair features concerts, livestock, butter sculptures, the Dairy Princess and an 800-pound pumpkin. But it’s best known for its fried pickles, corn dogs, cheese curds and various other things that would make your cardiologist turn pale. And it is here where Walz, grinning broadly, is in his element.

Walz is a Bob Dylan fan. Dylan, born Robert Zimmerman, is from Hibbing, MN. We’re heading towards Canada now – although Dylan usually refers to his childhood on “the Iron Range”, which sounds more poetic. (Midwesters, especially those leaving, aren’t opposed to a little reinvention.)

But Walz is also a fan of the great local music I listened to as a high school student: The Replacements, Hüsker Dü, the Jayhawks and Soul Asylum. Now we’re talking! They all played First Avenue, the club in downtown Minneapolis where I went to All Age shows as soon as I could drive – you’d recognize it from the movie Purple rain. Oh yes: Prince, another legendary Minnesotan (who owned more pumps than work boots). Walz signed a bill in purple ink naming a highway after the musician. A reminder that while the Midwest represents open-minded civility at its best, it can still accommodate large numbers of people.