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Train Dreams was the last movie I had to watch in order to claim that I had seen all the Best Picture nominees for the 2026 Oscars. Like I said in the last blog post, you have to consume to critique!
This is a feat I’ve never done before, but I came close in 2023– I just wasn’t able to catch Anatomy of a Fall. 2024 was no contest; I straight up didn’t see Emilia Perez, I’m Still Here, and The Substance. But 2025 was different. I had really amped up my movie-watching attitude, bolstered by friends new and old who had AMC A-list; I ended up watching a flick nearly every week! It was no surprise that I was close to seeing everything. What’s funny is that I didn’t end up seeing Train Dreams in an AMC at all, let alone on the silver screen. Instead, I watched the period drama the way that Ted Sarandos always intended: sitting on a couch in a friend’s apartment.
The movie is made up of vignettes from the life of Robert Grainier, starting from when he marries his wife and ending at his quiet, solitary death. Much of the story revolves around his experiences as a logger, an aspect of Americana that we don’t really get much of on the big screen (outside of documentaries). Through his rough life, Train Dreams explores the theme of loss, both in material and temporal aspects. It’s absolutely devastating to see Grainier cope with losing his family, but it also hits quite hard to see him affected by the passage of time; he sees friends get older and technology march on, with logging moving from two-man crosscut saws to a handheld chainsaw. What’s interesting is that due to the “wild” setting of the PNW as well as his steadfast fashion sense, we get to see the world change around Grainier, emphasizing his solitary status.
The film isn’t anything groundbreaking, but it is a nice, pensive watch, an experience that contrasts against the chaos of Marty Supreme. The best part for me was Adolpho Veloso’s gorgeous cinematography, which, when combined with considered blocking, makes for some of the most beautiful on-screen imagery I’ve seen in a long time. Each frame is truly a painting, which only helps to make the vintage menswear contained within all the more alluring. All throughout the film, I kept saying “Damn” for both the cinematic photography and for being able to see Wabash jackets, caulk boots, and band collar workshirts on the “big screen”.
I was never one for the heritage-workwear/vintage lumberjack look (I am from LA and not Seattle or Portland), but damn, this movie made a strong case for it.
Much like Marty Supreme, the appeal of this film’s menswear is not predicated on characters flexing sartorial prowess or even showing off bold, quirky choices. As this film follows rather stoic men working in an intensive, manual labor profession, it makes sense that the style on screen is narrow and static. Grainier and his compatriots all dress more or less “the same”. But that’s entirely the point.
Train Dreams is about achieving a particular attitude, by way of showcasing the general look for a certain cohort at a particular time: loggers in the late 1910s to likely around the 30s or 40s (the film doesn’t give us too much indication of what decade we’re in outside of the beginning and end). Costume designer Malgosia Turzanska takes the opportunity to show us what these guys would wear and just how interesting their choices are. It is indeed workwear, but it’s a side that we don’t normally get to see. The “vintage workwear” looks that get the most screen time (or even play in the digital space with menswear enthusiasts) tend to look a bit “mechanic”— think jeans, tubular tees, and chambrays, perhaps a chore coat and coveralls. Train Dreams showcases something different, even if the aesthetic is as classic and stylish as any other piece of Americana.
As a film concerned with logging, a decidedly “old” and more outdoors-y profession that is pointed to the Pacific Northwest, Train Dreams gets to delve into a more rugged and “heavier” workwear aesthetic, one that feels vaguely western (but not cowboy attire, mind you) and can feel dressy (or perhaps considered) relatively speaking. Doing so allowed Turzanska and her team to make heavy use of fun, niche details, ones that workwear and heritage heads will no doubt be happy to see make it on the big screen (or in this case, small screen, because Netflix hates theaters).
Workshirts are done as popovers (full placket shirts weren’t widespread yet, especially among workwear) and all feature band collars or spearpoint with throat-latches, cat eye buttons (a vintage-enthusiast fav), and even some niche moves like fun bib-fronts (which reinforced the chest to prevent wearing through). The shirts are made of brushed cottons and flannels, which are sturdy and provide warmth, and are seen in muted solids and checks, all of which are inherently casual and look great amongst the forest setting. Jeans obviously make an appearance, but these ones feature a higher waist, fishtail backs, and exterior buttons for suspenders (not just a thing for suits). The loggers also don workpants in various twills and wools, done up in dark greys, browns, and early 20th century favorites like salt-and-pepper mixes, multistripes, and Wabash; that damn dotted stripe does a lot in making a garment feel old. Caulk boots (made by White’s Lastly, there’s heavy use of chore coats, here made of canvas, suede, and denim (another helping of Wabash); they also feature rivet buttons and quad-pockets– all things that make this type of chore go “harder” than the typical bleu de travail we typically see associated with workwear. As you can see, practical, hard-wearing clothing is plenty interesting.
Of course, what’s really fun is seeing just how Turzanska brought all the details together to create the look of the film, one that feels authentic to both the profession and the era that Train Dreams aims to portray. Copious layering is the name of the game here, as all of the characters have to live out in the elements. The loggers all don wool band collar shirts and Henleys underneath their workshirts, a practical move that also makes for a dynamic effect when the undershirt peaks out under their necks or when the loggers roll up their sleeves. These layered shirtings are then paired with a workwear-style waistcoat or the aforementioned chore coats, creating a bit of a sartorial look, especially as it’s finished off with a patterned bandana. These garments and combos are certainly casual and designed differently, but these looks are just the logger’s analogue to business suiting. After all, historically speaking, much of workwear was simply a utilitarian/casual version of businesswear. Work trousers were cut high-waisted and straight-legged like a suit trouser but just made up in casual, hardwearing fabrics; it’s a similar story with shirts. Some chore coats were cut similarly to suit jackets, lapels and all.
Even the styling moves come off similarly. Colloquially speaking, waistcoats have a “formal” attitude. Seeing such a garment worn in the context of manual labor has that dressy feeling, even if the waistcoat itself is a utilitarian version and is worn over a workshirt and not a dress shirt and tie. Hell, there are even a few loggers who wear wool suit jackets and waistcoats to cut trees instead of the workwear-designed counterparts; they are quite literally wearing tailoring to do work.
The real kicker is the generous use of full-brimmed hats. The unstructured and misshapen crusher hats worn by Grainier and a few of his compatriots are definitely built for work (and have certainly been through a lot), but still come across as a pseudo-fedora, which only adds to the archaic and subtly-fancy vibe that these particular vintage workwear outfits express. For a time, these types of hats, as well as actual fedoras (Arn wears one), were commonly worn by laborers of this period. It goes without saying that the flat cap eventually became more synonymous with the look, especially when workwear became a fashion genre, which only helps make the look from the movie (and real life) all the more distinct. A big floppy fedora-esque hat is what makes the look feel firmly vintage-PNW and not a “generic workwear” look.
With all the truly fantastic cinematography and thoughtful blocking, frames of the film are ripe to be added to your inspo albums. The BTS photography from D. S. Schaefer are also equally wonderful to flip through; it’s a different style from the period-attitude that we saw in Marty Supreme’s production photos, but they’re great nonetheless. I will always be on the side of documentary photography— especially when it’s on period films.
Overall, the Train Dreams’ costuming serves as a great tip of the cap to this facet of the Americana aesthetic, one that leans more as a “modern” pioneer than it does cowboy. Much like Grainier himself, the look is steadfast and reliable, being stylish, easy, and utilitarian. It’s delightful to see it honored in movie form, but it goes without saying that this look has always been around.
Flannels over Henleys, quad-pocket chores, and hearty jeans or canvas pants are worn plenty today, whether or not you’re doing work in them. Brands like RRL, Filson, and Huckberry help keep the aesthetic alive by producing the component garments as well as crafting editorials that pull from the look, adding even more fodder to inspo-tize. I’m surprised that Filson didn’t sponsor this flick (thought it seems White’s made Grainier’s caulk boots)! And even though the original look is quite PNW-coded, plenty of content creators and general menswear enthusiasts around the world regularly post iterations of this look, with some even saying that this look is what got them into menswear to begin with. It is true, however, that in most cases, dressers tend to swap out some of the “canonized” pieces in order to make the look less “costumey” and a bit more contemporary/versatile. But for me, nothing will beat the original.
There is something so endearing about seeing this subgenre done straightforwardly and executed well. Grainier serves as the epitome of this look and is such a compelling watch for any menswear enthusiast. Each of his outfits is interesting and intricate, showing us that being casual and rugged doesn’t have to be simple. It almost feels sartorial, despite the lower formality. Grainier takes care to wear a variety of combinations: a shawl collar chore with a wool waistcoat; brown-grey workpants and a brick-red workshirt; a blue popover on top of a Henley. He even rocks dobby stripe band collar shirts (a very antiquated garment) and makes use of both suspenders and belts (but never together). As noted by BAMF (who wrote an excellent article that makes this one redundant), Grainier does own a full Wabash 3PC suit (Mister Freedom, anyone?), but he never once wears all three components at once; at most, he does the vest and jacket (though they seem to have faded differently, hinting at how he might favor wearing one over the other). It’s all on theme and “repetitive”, but certainly not boring. The floppy felt hat is just sartorial icing on the cake, adding a touch that is both expressive and dramatic.
What’s funny is that the only time we see Grainier him wear something different is at the end of the film, when he’s old, retired, and arguably aimless. Time has passed him by, with tall buildings and spaceships now being as commonplace as the trees he once cut down. Ironically, this is when we see him wear a proper jacket and tie, outside of a quick shot at his wedding to Gladys. This outfit makes sense for the social convention of the time, but it also serves to make Grainier look incredibly out of place, at least for what we’ve come to see him wear for the majority of the movie. His combo doesn’t appear to be too much like the 60s (or even 50s for that matter), but it does nod toward his “casual” roots: the jacket is brown and flecked, the shirt is a dark chambray, and he’s traded his workwear vest and neckscarf for a cable knit cardigan and foulard tie. The Central Line is there!
I won’t lie– after seeing this movie, I found myself going casual and rocking my fedora (instead of a western hat) with my workwear. As much as I enjoy Americana by way of milsurp and going cowboy, there is something obviously “Ethan-friendly” with this aesthetic. I may need to delve into this a bit more. It might help if I finally acquire a chorecoat, particularly in Wabash. I unfortunately turned my only blue chore coat into a senior jacket. Quirky and fun, but not quite the rugged, hard-handed look of Grainier.
Though, who am I kidding– I’m as soft as they come!
– end of blog post –
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Ethan
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a little bit of rest 