Iowans are often portrayed as hillbilly farmers who wear bib overalls. Although many of my fellow Iowegians rightfully take offense to this characterization, I have learned to embrace it. I’m no fashionista, but there’s something to be said about the practicality and legacy of a good ole pair of worn in denims.
Bib overalls have been a fad in my family for generations. Perhaps that’s why my hand-me-down Keys are my go-to chore clothes on the farm. They were worn by my father before me in his teenage years, and despite a few rips and tears, they’ve got a lot of miles left in them.
In my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with dressing the part of a farmer. While bibs may not seem “cool” in terms of style, they offer a lot of functionality when pitching manure or feeding bottle lambs. And you always have a spare pocket for bits of twine string, a pocket knife, or a headlight for nighttime chores. Every now and then I’ll even find folded up cash I’ve managed to hide from myself in the securely buttoned top pocket.
Now back to my fashion sense. Luckily I have a very stylish mother who over the years has taught me how to dress tastefully and for the occasion. (Thanks Mom, for talking me out of my embarrassing head band phase back in my pre-teen years.) But when it comes to the farm, any sense of style I have goes out the window, and I’m okay with that.
Why, you might ask? First off, when you’re working on the farm, you’re bound to get dirty. So you might as well choose an outfit you don’t mind being covered in who knows what. Some prefer jeans or workpants, I happen to prefer bib overalls.
More importantly, my fondness for my worn in Keys stems from the subtle yet ordinary notions I’m reminded of when I wear them. For example, if you’ve ever met my dad you know he also proudly sports bibs on a daily basis. And he doesn’t just wear them at home on the farm. He isn’t afraid to wear them into town, and I guess I’ve always admired that quality – individuality.
My dad isn’t the only farmer I’m reminded of when I wear my bib overalls. Sometimes I also think about my Grandpa Ralph Banwart, a man I never met. I’ve seen a lot of pictures of him though, and often he’s seen wearing the same denim workwear. I like to think that when I’m wearing my bibs, I’m paying tribute to my grandfather and the countless other hardworking farmers who worked long hours wearing the same wardrobe.
I don’t intend to break the tradition. I’ve been known to wear my farm bibs to Iowa State football tailgates. But when I’m home on the farm wearing my bibs, that’s when I feel the most natural version of myself. Dirt on my boots, hair tucked under a ball cap, and a pair of frayed bib overalls with barn red paint stains and traces of alfalfa leaves in the front pockets.
