We pick up all sorts of things from our parents – wonky noses, straight hair, dimples, a propensity to wake up in the middle of the night to eat ice cream, etc – but the people who raise us tend to pass down quirks of an entirely non-genetic nature as well. Our senses of humour, our love of football, or our complete indifference to sport, these things are learnt not inherited. In honour of Mother’s Day (at least in the UK), we got to thinking about some of the things our mothers have taught us, particularly when it comes to fashion and style.

After all, we have a rather stylish team over here at MR PORTER, so it follows that our mums were rather stylish as well. Below are the lessons we learnt from our mothers about getting ourselves dressed in the morning – for which we are eternally grateful.

We all had that free-spirited hippie art teacher at school – you know, the slightly mad one who talked about “wackie backie” and wouldn’t hesitate to tell you to “shut the f*** up” in class. Well, luckily for me, that was my mum, an iron-willed Glaswegian art teacher who spoke her mind and approached fashion with a French workwear-chic attitude.

Among many of the life lessons my late mum taught me – like always carry a large balloon and adequate juice supplies – something that’s always stuck is how to dress, and to always take care of what I wear. The three rules she has left with me are: 01.) practicality, 02.) timelessness and 03.) versatility. Workwear is a great example of these three rules existing together and makes up for 90 per cent of the contents in my wardrobe today. Another great example is the Canadian tuxedo, the legendary double denim that my forward-thinking miniature self is modelling above. I still strive to live by these rules set by my mother today, however, I shudder to think of the comments she would make about some of my more expensive style choices.

Growing up, I have memories of my mum and her friend coming back from sample sales with bags stuffed full. Nicole Farhi and Paul Costelloe were their two favourites. I was so excited when I reached an age that I could join them, and I still wear clothes I picked up at those sales 20 years ago. One of the things I learnt early on from my mum is that simple, beautiful, well-made clothes don’t date. When I’m buying now, I look for classic pieces and want them to last well past the season.

Chief among many other indispensable lessons my mum has, probably unbeknown to her, taught me a lot about style, is the value of a great coordination. Still to this day if my jacket or jumper seamlessly matches my trousers, I feel fully dressed and ready to tackle whatever life throws at me, (global pandemics, unfortunately, excluded). She also taught me that growing out a cropped perm is a long, strenuous and often heart-breaking process that should never be documented beyond close family… Whoops, sorry Mum.

My mom, Kathy, isn’t one for style maxims or decrees, but I can say her practicality and sensibilities towards dress have certainly influenced my formulaic, functional approach to developing a wardrobe. We’re from the Pacific Northwest, where bells and whistles aren’t for ornamentation, but for practical use. We’re also led by the elements and natural pursuits. When it rains, our first layer of defence is a Gore-Tex jacket with a hood (no umbrella). For enduring wet winters, Shetland sweaters last the long season and for years to come. Looking back, Kathy also prepared me for certain sartorial “rites of passages” – a versatile navy sport coat and flat-front chinos for school dances, weddings and funerals (we come from a big family); a black Hugo Boss suit for post-college job interviews (which came in handy as I interned for a few glitzy film festivals). Needless to say, my preferred style of dress is more akin to a Boy Scout, rather than a city slicker, and the former’s motto of “be prepared” echoes my mum’s values and what she instilled in me.

My dad always joked (at least, I always assumed it was a joke) that he sold a perfectly good sportscar so that he could cart me and my sister around in the back of an estate. But now I see that, once we turned up, my mum’s wardrobe also took a hit. True, she was a working mum who managed to keep two human children alive during the boom-and-bust 1980s, which is an achievement in itself. But it was when she dug out their old photo albums from the 1960s and 1970s that I found myself digging her style. This isn’t to say that her taste in clothes today is in anyway off kilter – although the folks, long retired, now run an archery club, which has an annual “medieval day”, with olde-world outfits to match. But as I’m now learning the hard way, probably the best way to stay stylish through the years is not to have kids in the first place. I can’t help feeling that I was holding her back, rather than the other way around as the above photograph suggests.

I know this is incredibly #basic to say, but when I was a child, my mother and I used to lie in bed and read Vogue magazine together. I think that experience was influential in my ultimate decision to work in fashion – and indicative of the stylish kind of woman my mom is. (Shout out as well to my father who is an elegant old-school gent with an aristocratic style sensibility when he’s not wearing head-to-toe LL Bean.) My mom, Sharon, who has worked as a psychotherapist since before I was born, loves beautiful clothes – not necessarily expensive brands, but well-made, high-quality clothing – and has taught me to appreciate the details. I also learnt to be patient and meticulous while shopping, as you never know what you might find in a sale pile (I got my first Stella McCartney dress by combing through a sale rack for approximately one hour – it was $100). More importantly, however, my mom taught me that dressing well, and looking one’s best is important, not frivolous. It tells the world you respect them and that you have respect for yourself.

My mother taught me not to take clothes too seriously (which, with me growing up to be a fashion journalist, clearly worked). As endlessly kind and supportive as she is, her patience did not extend to my teenage insecurities about which circulation-endangering drainpipe jeans would be best to step out in. “You look absolutely fine,” would be the cutting rebuke whenever I asked if something – anything – looked good. Or, even better: “Nobody cares what you’re wearing, Ashley! It’s not a fashion show!” This turned out to be very liberating when it came to getting dressed. If other people aren’t fussed by what you wear, that leaves you free to enjoy clothes wholly uninhibited, and dress for yourself rather than for the imaginary critic on the street. Funnily enough, not worrying about my clothes too much works just as well when I actually am at a fashion show. Who knew?

It’s no surprise that growing up with a mom who had an obsession with shoes and handbags meant that her tendencies were passed to her sons. Since day one, my mom always made sure I had my footwear sorted. My feet were always adorned in Converse, baby Air Jordans, Dr. Martens and mini penny loafers. She’s the reason (or the person to blame) for the number of unnecessary pairs of shoes I keep in my closet today. 

She always cared about the way she looked and presented herself with a high-level of coolness that never really stuck to one look. One day she’d be inspired by something sporty, the next day she’d be in something dressier, and every day in-between you’d find her rocking something acid-washed with a bit of Benetton and some Converse Chuck Taylors. 

It was because of her that I learned that being yourself and expressing who you are or what you felt that day was the real style lesson, and that ultimately, if it felt right, then do it – just make sure you look amazing while doing so.