Clothing at Club Fed

    The morning of my self surrender to the Bureau of Prisons in May of 2021, I woke up in a

queen sized hotel bed with a burnt orange comforter, a mountain of cloud soft pillows and

ample thread count sheets. I changed into a pair of colored briefs, comfortable jeans, and a teal

v-neck. As I gazed in the bathroom mirror, I remembered thinking, “This is the last I'll be

wearing denim for five years.” That my whole day was one of liminality of endings, of

transitions, of new realities. At the end of it, I lie down on a thin mat on the top of an aged

metallic bunk, covered myself with a fraying blanket, and rested my head on a Taco Bell burrito

thick pillow. Before climbing into bed, I had slipped out of a pair of oversized khakis, draping

them over the plastic chair at the base of the bunk. My colorful v-neck and briefs had been

swapped with loose, ill fitting off white boxers and a dune colored T-shirt with the hole in the

armpit.

    This wardrobe makeover is one of the more visible adjustments you make upon arriving at

USMC FP Springfield, known as Fed Med, or any of the B. O. P. Institutions. It is part of the

process of stripping away your old life of individuality and freedom and replacing it with one of

stripped down choices and increased rules in every aspect of living. After a whirlwind tour of

the subterranean labyrinth connecting Fed Med's buildings, one of the first places you have to

meander back to is clothing issue. You're “greeted” by Mr. Williams, the burnt out retirement

yearning clothing issue supervisor decked in a worn gray shirt, his name monogrammed on his

chest. He barks through scowled lips, “What do you want?" After explaining your need for

clothes, he beckons you in with an eye roll into a room with wall to wall with monochromatic

shelves of khaki. An inmate worker asks you for your measurements. Upon rattling off your

numbers, Williams clips you off. ”No way that'll fit you.”

    You learn everything in clothing issue runs small. A guy with a champion marathoners build

would have to squeeze into a 34 inch waist with a size large button up shirt stretching at the

seams over the smoothest sinewy stature. Of course, some guys oblivious to or in denial to

stress eating or late night gnashing of burritos, oatmeal cream pies, and potato chips,

underestimate their girth. Luckily, clothing issue contains all sizes great and small from 30 to 80

inch waists, 24 to 36 lengths enlarged to 18 XL shirts, Enough fabric for a pup tent.

Besides 4 khaki button ups and pants, 4 t-shirts, ranging in hues from cappuccino to Missouri

dirt to dark chocolate, join your pile. All these clothes were made and inspected with the care

and diligence you'd expect from a UNICOR Prison Industrial Center, With guys making less a

month than an entry-level Bangladeshi garment peon. Hems and sleeves are uneven and

mismatched. Out of four pairs of 36x34 pants, one might reach your shins, another draping to

your ankles and fraying at your heels and finally one feeling just right. If you cajole him enough,

Mr. Williams might reissue you some new bottoms.

    Offsetting your earth tones is a Navy blue canvas belt cinched together with plastic buckle. If

you're lucky, the edges haven't started to fray yet. Navy rubber soled slip-ons, known as Jackie

Chans around the compound, are what the B. O. P. deems comfortable and safe footwear for

years long. If you can't afford a pair of sneakers from the commissary or aren't bestowed a

useful pair by a kind soul. Don't worry about going commando, you're issued four pairs of

threadbare, hastily sewn boxers, the prior owners you'd rather not dwell on. Four bundles of

socks are hurled your way, which might protect you from the blister inducing jackies!

    The B. O. P.’s Love of earth tones extends to your bedding, with two chocolate brown sheets

and pillow cases +2 sage woolen blankets. Brooke linens they are not. previous experience in

rodeo calf tying would aid you as you attempt to secure your sheets around the flimsy mattress

on your bunk. What you're given to put inside your pillow case semantically means the

definition of a “pillow”, Much like a hot dog meets being meat. Hotel towels have more depth

and cushioning. As for towels, four sets of wrinkled and worn washcloths and towels with the

surface area to adequately dry off a dwarf complete your towering pile. You are given a netted

laundry bag, new if you're lucky, to lug your mountain of brown back to your unit.

    You begin to dread donning khaki pants on 100 degree Missouri summer days, having your feet

fall victim to the jackies and being up close and personal with someone else's drawers in

perpetuity as you arrange it in your 20 inch by three foot locker. Thankfully hope appears. The

welcome committee of your pod encircles your bunk, offering advice, directions around the

labyrinth and most importantly gently or rough used hand me downs, many from guys who left

them behind as they ended their sentence. You find out that not only do shorts exist here

they're not brown. Only, silver and charcoal grey aren't splashes of the rainbow; still, your color

palette of threads has broadened slightly. If you're lucky, your Prince might come sans marriage

prospects, with something to slip on your feet: a pair of used but cleaned up sneakers with arch

support! A dream that you wish for really does come true.

    While altruistic aid givers do exist, for new arrivals, the entrepreneurial force is strong, with

many looking to make an honest (or dishonest) stamp. The chief clothing hustler of Fed Med,

nicknamed Billy Blue, makes his introduction to new arrivals soon enough. He's your local

goodwill store; he's not a charity, but no price gouger. Like a 19th century street peddler he

makes his way around the unit, his arms draped with thermals, white fluffy towels, brand new

institution shirts or his latest monthly deal. Where he procures and stores his continuous

stream of prison merch, you don't know but also don't care. Compared to the vultures stripping

your financial carcass at the commissary window, Billy's prices are reasonable.

If you want a brand new duds, you'll have to resort to commissary. They sell Wal-Mart quality

at Target prices. They've never met a mark up they didn't like. While rocket inflation has plagued

the populaces pocket books post pandemic, prisoners have paid perilous prices for years;

nevertheless, acquiescing to highway robbery is sometimes needed. Paying $23.40 for a 5 packs

of boxer briefs you know have never had close encounters of the crotch kind before you brings

inner peace. Shelling out $5.85 for some cheap ankle socks is something to bear when yours

became threadbare. Of course this is contingent on saving up for purchases on B. O. P.

Sweatshop wages.

    Orange may have been the new black for Piper Kiernan. At Fed Med style and fashion make

their own subtle marks. In the prison hustle market seamsters, will gladly for a few stamps

alter loose fitting khakis into skinny pants showing off your”ass-etts” and Thights”.

Who needs room to let their nether regions breathe anyways. Artisans in the hobbycraft

program wet their beaks as well. Crocheters will sell you a colorful koozie for your water bottle

while leather workers fashion pouches to stow away your stamp stash in style. For those who

like their shorts to reach down to their shins, A la Hummer pants, purchasing 4X shorts for your

L size waist does the job. Apparently inspired by a younger Madonna of the early 80s, some

guys wear rosaries issued by the Chapel not to guide their hail Marys, but to sport some pseudo

“bling.”

    Shortly after arriving here I joked with others that Ralph Lauren, after paying homage to

Cowboys, yachtsman and polo players needed to honor their overlooked segment of

Americana, Mass Incarceration, with a prison fashion line. Fast forward months later, I spotted

a man at indoor rec sporting a gray sweatshirt embroidered with a iconic polo man on the

chest. Accosting him about his provenance, I found out a talented sewer had embossed it for

him. A couple months later, his departure for the real world imminent, he bestowed said

sweatshirt upon me. It was the highlight of my otherwise humdrum day, nay, week.

    Maybe I should include it in my winter photoshoot, a real phenomenon here at Fed Med. Yes

you pushed up, pulled up and chopped down to higher caliber “guns.” If you’ve plunked,

crunched, and ab rolled your weight to a hardcore six-pack. If you lunged and box jumped to legs of

steel; it's time to show off your guns, slip on your whitest tank and cleanest shorts, head to the

yard, and grab the inmate photographer on some summer Sunday afternoon. Any wall will do

to flex pose for family, friends and a prison pen pal from afar. For cooler temps or a modest

physique, you can iron your best pair of khakis or sweatshirt, bleach your tennies to ivory, style

and spike your fresh cut with the dab of pomade and accessorize with scarves, watches, or

caps. A set of steps, bench, or tree provides the perfect milieu for a festive feel.

    Maintenance, care and cleaning of prison wear varies greatly. Some spend hours at the ironing

board steaming and pressing their way through military grade smoothness and creasing. Their

lockers are Tetris boards, each shirt, pants pair, towel and sock folded with origami precision to

fit limited locker real estate. Others sport clothes as wrinkled as salvaged wrapping paper after

an eager 4 year old's birthday party. “Who am I trying to impress in here?” they will say.

Laundry service occurs semi weekly for each. Typically it involves tying up your netted bag

filled with your dirty business and tossing it into a yellow plastic bin the night before along with

the bags of the 150 others in your unit. From there, it makes its way to central laundry to be

washed, rinsed and dried along with the others from your unit. It's an orgy of fabric bumping

and grinding together in a hot wet darkened and cramped space. In the afternoon your sack

comes back to the unit for a joyous reunion. If you can find it. Even though each bag is tagged

it's a quest to locate yours. Smart experienced inmates wait for others to do the grunt work of searching 

for their bags until the mountain whittles down to a manageable pile to peruse through.

    Laundry isn't impervious to the prison hustle game either. For the right amount of stamps, you

can have your bag suddenly labeled with a Columbia blue fabric strip, picked out from the

multitude to be washed dried and folded with a little bit of TLC. Billy Blues fabric syndicate

extends from selling you clothes to laundering them for you as well. Others will gladly iron

your threads if you're too busy, lazy or inept to do it yourself. Most floors had their own

washers and dryers before being removed; however, they became monopolized by a few who

hustled their way to a tidy weekly sum by tidying up other guys clothes. If you were lucky, you

were able to squeeze into their gravy train queue to get in your own load.

    If you can't wait for the unit laundry day or don't want your clothes near others, you can always

multitask and go eco friendly while showering. While lathering up your hair, you can soap up your

undershirt, briefs and shorts as you rinse off your skin so you can scrub and squeeze out stains

under the shower head, draping your duds over the floor fans or in front of your bunk’s radiator

replaces a dryer. On hot summer days, you can lay out your laundry on benches in the yard.

Some apparel are best left to hand washing for the sake of your gear and others. For example,

the maroon aprons worn by kitchen workers bleed like a would be Roman emperor in mid

March when washed and rinsed. Unfortunately, a few guys with white undershirts, briefs and

shorts came back with the tinge of pink when our cook tossed his apron in his own laundry bag.

In prison real men don't wear pink.

    Understanding and navigating Fed Meds dress code policy adds another wrinkle to adjusting to

the clothing culture. Some policies seem reasonable and justified, others feel capricious and

inane. All shirts need to be tucked in Monday through Friday, except on federal holidays, while

in hallways, appointments, and classes. Khaki pants also need to be worn for work, meetings

with staff, and education on these days too. After 4:00 PM and on weekends and holidays

though, going untucked and sporting T-shirts, shorts and sweatpants have the green light.

    Clearly, this policy isn't driven by safety nor security concerns since it's only extended to certain

times and places. Perhaps it's the B.O.P.’s attempt to instill workplace and public space clothing

norms for successful ”real world” integration. Apparently the B.O.P. hasn't heard of the

pandemic era “no Pants” zoom meetings. or visited Walmart midday to see the real-world dress

code. If anything, the tucked in shirt and khaki rule creates a veneer of decorum and order even

though guys steal, gamble, smuggle and get drunk and high in complete dress code

compliance.

    Enforcement of the above dress code varies from staff to staff, shift to shift. Some CO’s are

either apathetic or oblivious to the dress code violations, letting offenders slide pass with

impunity. Others will take the friendly public service announcement route with a passing ”tuck

in your shirt” or “where is your khaki?” with limited follow-up. The pragmatists pick their

battles; they realize, for example a septuagenarian hunched over in a wheelchair wearing

sweatpants and T-shirt isn’t someone to accost, but a guy in his mid 20s strutting down the

hallway with his pants sagging 6 inches below the waist repeatedly might need a reality check.

For repeat dress code violations, they might be forced to sport a button up jumpsuit for a few

weeks. Think of a jumpsuit as an unflattering adult onesie.

    A final elite group I’ll call “Super Cops” go above and beyond enforcing the dress code or at

least their distorted extreme vision of it. Recently one who's been protecting America by going

after the nefarious scourge of hemmed shorts. Let me give some context. On commissary you

can buy sweatpants albeit overpriced ones to wear around the units and the aforementioned

times and places especially during chilly Missouri winters. You can also purchase a sewing kit,

with needles and thread bobs to mend clothing. Over time, pairs of sweats can show wear and

tear. practicing frugality and resourcefulness, guys will cut off the ragged sweats to the knee

and hem them using their sewing kits. This results in a pair of shorts made with items bought

off the approved commissary list. It is a much cheaper alternative than a pair of new shorts for

$22.50.

The vast majority of staff have no qualms with this. Except for one. As the guys leave the chow

hall from supper, having scarfed down fajitas, spaghetti or fried rice, ”Captain America”

confronts them not to pat down for drugs or contraband apples or spoons, but to check out

shorts. Upon finding you with hemmed sweat shorts, he'll take your ID tag, order you to change

back at your unit and make you bring back the offending bottoms. When asked for a reason for

this, he states you are altering clothing, a handbook offense. While in the handbook, this rule is

broad and vague, makes sense for flagrant alterations like hidden pockets to smuggle hooch or

knives, not upcycled shorts. Still, Captain America presses on with his quest and must rest well

at night, knowing he's made” a difference”. Luckily, guys here, knowing the nights he works,

simply adjust their wardrobe selection for dinner, until the end of the quarter when our brave

hero moves to a different job detail from being the Fashion Police.

    Being relegated to limited clothing choices doesn't stop the incarcerated men from waxing

nostalgic about fashion from an earlier time, keeping up on current trends, or dreaming about

what they’ll wear upon release. Some guys, behind walls and wires for decades, will strike up

conversations about 70s polyester, Adidas zip ups from the 80s, and Tommy Hilfiger polos, and

coats of the 90s. Issues of GQ float around the yard and unit to peruse through for what is hot

and ritzy this season. When I asked others what they look forward to wearing the most upon

release, they respond resounding with jeans, a good pair of shoes, color and anything not khaki. I

have looked forward to the day of hangers and closets, hues of the rainbow and untucked

shirts while doing errands.