This year, for several reasons, celebrating American Independence Day on 4 July is not as easy as donning red, white and blue and chugging a beer. American patriotism is complicated right now (at least, even more so than usual) and “America” – and its accompanying myths – means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Clothing, unsurprisingly, plays a big part in how we understand these moments in time, particularly the fraught moments. Clothes reflect our ideas and our politics as they signal who we are and where we come from. So, instead of putting together the obligatory flag-themed edit of pieces to wear around the barbecue or to the beach, we decided to take a deeper look at some of the garments that have come to represent American fashion over the years.

Like Independence Day itself, these clothes signal and celebrate all of the things that the US hopes to be. And just as we should strive to understand the complex, sometimes problematic, histories of institutions that we take for granted, it’s time our garments were afforded the same attention. Did you know, for example, that the horsebit loafer that you probably own and love is actually a descendent of the moccasin, once indigenous to North America? Or that civil rights activists have been wearing denim as a uniform for decades. And that blue blazers, long the hallmark of boarding schoolers, can be surprisingly stylish (when subverted in the name of fashion).

Below is a brief primer of some of the most “American” garments through history. Of course, this isn’t the end for them: these garments are on a journey – journeys that will continue long after our clothes don’t fit anymore and the ideas they represent shift and change. The US is a young country, as far as countries go, and there is plenty of time for everything we consider American to evolve. Change is in our genes – and our jeans – after all.

Denim is the American fabric – just the right combination of strong and cheap – and jeans are its most influential fashion manifestation. However, denim itself isn’t even from the US. It migrated from France (“de Nîmes”, as in “of Nîmes”, the city credited with its introduction). Since the late 19th century, it has been the ne plus ultra uniform of American workers, a symbol for industry, humility, durability (and the “blue collar” work, for which it was worn). As designers affixed their logos to waistbands, this workman garment was “elevated” and now jeans are the most common fashion item in the world.

But before it was everywhere, denim became famous as the unofficial uniform of the members of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, or SNCC – a student-led civil rights committee in the early and mid-1960s. Their activism in the deep American South was often done in overalls, in a utilitarian nod to the working-class Black farmers with whom they organised and for whom they advocated. The look gained national exposure during the March on Washington in 1963.

First worn in the mid-1800s as a windbreaker by the rowing teams of Oxford and Cambridge, the blazer trickled from Britain into the American sartorial canon via the Ivy League universities, where it was adopted as part of their own athletic uniform. In its blue hopsack iteration, this item of clothing has become symbolic of patrician dignity in the US.

Thanks to prep-school boys, who wear them to class, fraternity semi-formals, and (eventually) jobs in Congress, the blazer conveys the kind of consistency and subtle American formality of the establishment. See: Mr Will Smith, playing “Will Smith” in The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, rejecting the jacket’s Waspy connotations by turning his school uniform inside out, identifying with the vivid paisley lining, while his straight-laced cousin Carlton (Mr Alfonso Ribeiro), kept his blazer on according to protocol, choosing to give into its promise of power. How you wear yours is down to you.

Soldiers have historically worn uniforms to distinguish themselves from civilians, but also from members of other armed forces. Indeed, Geneva Conventions require combatants to identify themselves as such – and the easiest way to do so is with a distinct uniform.

The dictates of utility, however, remain: a pocket goes here because it helps you reach your bullets faster; the zipper goes there because it helps you get in and out of things with the speed necessary to stay alive.

The influence of military-made garments on menswear is of course inestimable, from the ubiquity of khaki and the heroic-making shape of bomber jacket to the much-maligned cargo pants. During the Vietnam War, anti-war activists, some veterans and some not, adopted surplus clothing as their own uniform. In 1971, when then-lieutenant Mr John Kerry testified before the Senate in opposition to the war, he wore his jungle greens to do so (although notably not his silver star, bronze star and three purple hearts).

From its original canvas-on-a-slab-of-rubber construction, the athletic shoe has grown increasingly complex over the years. Even the return of 1970s profiles to the hype-sneaker world has often come with ostentatious design flourishes.

In the 1980s, the formerly humble sneaker sprouted pockets, pumps, shock absorbers and airbags, as though they were tiny Cadillacs. With all those bells and whistles came ballooning price tags, which allowed the sneaker to migrate from sports staple to fashion item.

When the second season of the Air Jordan debuted in 1986, its hundred-dollar retail price tag was almost as infamous as its attachment to His Airness. But New Balance had broken the $100-barrier five years previously with its 990 model, justifying the cost with the advanced technology it employed in the shoe. Mr Steve Jobs was later known for his attachment to grey New Balances, trotting out bleeding-edge Apple products while wearing his defiantly, gloriously atavistic sneakers with his signature turtleneck and jeans.

Various indigenous tribes of North America each have their own versions of footwear made with a leather top stitched to leather bottom. This, with a heavy dash of influence from elsewhere – notably the traditional fishing shoe worn in Norway, hence the nickname “Norwegians” – led to the modern American loafer.

From the introduction of the Bass Weejun in the 1930s via the sock-hop craze of the 1950s, this slip-on shoe became a staple of Mr John F Kennedy’s presidency. Witness Mr Matt Damon’s titular turn in The Talented Mr Ripley, gallivanting about mid-century Italy in all his delusions and a pair of Gucci horsebit loafers – the slightly more louche counterpart to the pretty penny loafer.

After a short lull, the Gucci loafer once again boomeranged into prominence in the go-go 1980s, with bankers pacing their offices in their “deal sleds”. And today, you’ll find bloggers strutting SoHo in them. From appropriation to a symbol of entitlement, and then one of decadence and dash, the loafer might just be the embodiment of the American Dream.

The people featured in this story are not associated with and do not endorse MR PORTER or the products shown