The Uniform
The strange social life of an F1 Team polo shirt
What feels like a lifetime ago, my housemate worked in Formula One before I did.
He would come home with free stuff all the time, and I was always slightly jealous of his uniform. I was still working at a small supplier and the uniform consisted of one poor quality blue jumper with enough holes in it to qualify as ventilation.
The uniform became a big motivator for me. It embodied what I thought working in Formula One was all about. Professionalism. Success. Being part of something important. The nice branded trainers, expensive jackets and sponsor logos all looked very cool. His team weren’t even doing particularly well and the uniform was very nice indeed.
I have to admit, I felt a bit smug when I landed my first role at a team. It was a top team and a combination of hard work, risk and luck got me there. I was excited to receive my uniform and assumed it would be miles better than my housemate’s. This team had bigger sponsors, more money and a lot more prestige.
When I received some very plain polo shirts, jumpers and cargo trousers, I was more than a little disappointed.
It wasn’t awful, but It was very boring.
The upside was that nobody ever noticed it. You had to look quite hard at the logo to know where it was from. My mum’s next-door neighbour thought I worked at a go-kart track. Which was absolutely fine by me.
One day, somewhere in Northamptonshire, I was driving along in a hurry. My girlfriend told me to watch my speed, and I remember rolling my eyes. She was the reason I was running late, and the impatience and arrogance of youth meant I ignored her advice completely.
A few minutes later, blue flashing lights appeared behind me.
I reluctantly pulled over, knowing I was about to receive a second telling off. The officer walked up to the car and knocked on the window with an unnecessary amount of force. As I wound it down, his eyes went straight to the logo on my boring polo shirt.
What he said next genuinely surprised me.
“Do you think you’re a racing driver, sir?”
As tempting as it was to say yes, I apologised and was sent on my way.
It was the first time I realised the uniform meant something completely different to other people than it did to me. Even if he was being sarcastic.
The following week I stopped at a supermarket after work. I was standing in front of a fridge trying to decide what to have for dinner when somebody got my attention.
“Can you tell me where the eggs are please?”
I looked down at exactly the same uniform.
A week earlier I had apparently been a racing driver. Now I worked for Tesco.
I told her they were three aisles to the left. It seemed easier than explaining I didn’t work there and had no idea.
For an F1 factory worker, the uniform means a lot of different things. It’s a sense of belonging. An identity. Free clothes. A way of saving your own wardrobe from being ruined at work. To everyone else, it can mean almost anything.
To some people you’re a racing driver.
To some people you work in Tesco.
Life in Formula One is full of strange little contradictions. The biggest one hides in the car park. We’ll come back to that soon.
Since starting Ghost Lap, I’ve had a surprising number of messages asking how to get a job in Formula One. So next time, that’s what we’ll talk about.
The good news is it’s considerably easier than most people think.
The bad news is you probably won’t be standing next to Max Verstappen.
— David Whitmore