Loosely Talking: Exposing Your National Style

The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about – Oscar Wilde. 

Hello again, 

Welcome back to Loosely Talking, where we reflect on our lives between the cobblestones. 

So we need to address our absence. After taking 10 days to recover from Kingsday and a week to lock in for the thesis, we are officially back with lovely inspiration to work from! 

One of which was the amazing FLS Fashion Show that took place on Saturday. We always love to see student creativity and innovation in all ways, shapes, and fabrics. This got us thinking about how fashion not only reflects personality but also deeply reflects one's nationality. 

Maastricht is not STRICTLY Dutch, it’s an international blank canvas, that produces unique peculiarities from different nationalities After a couple of months in Maastricht, you have practically been trained to guess someone’s nationality just by looking at them outside of ICL. This ambiguity in the city is reflected in clothing styles, which tend to stand out and groups people with others of similar cultural and stylistic backgrounds. We’re one big melting pot of countries and clothes! Therefore, we have put together a nationality-based rundown of the patterns, colors, and brands we have identified over the years:

First of all, our beloved Dutch, to whom we owe this university, but who should learn a thing or two about their fellow visitors. You cannot miss them either in an oversized blazer for absolutely every event or in a ridiculous costume on a Wednesday night. They wear big hoops, slick buns, skinny jeans (that survived three trend cycles out of pure national stubbornness), as well as sneakers or boots. The footwear heavily depends on whether they arrived by bike or are going to a techno event. The aesthetic is half corporate intern, half Ibiza tourist.

Then, naturally, our conversation flowed to the finance bro Germans. The SBE practical core elevated into a moral philosophy. Khakis, polo shirts, weatherproof jackets, and shoes designed primarily for arch support. The outfit says: “I came prepared.” Everything fits correctly, nothing stains easily, and there’s always a backpack with compartments. Functionality wins, but in a strangely respectable way. Although less recognizable, we did not forget about die mädels, who are on the spectrum of horse girl minimalism or Berlin techno architect, with very little in between. 

Moving on to tapas and la dolce vita. The charming Italians somehow make loafers look hereditary. Always in Sebagos, suede loafers, or those impossibly soft Friulane that look accidental but cost €180. Even their “casual” outfit feel curated by a grandfather who owned a yacht in 1974. Linen shirts permanently half-unbuttoned with an IQOS in hand. They turn “going to buy cigarettes” into a Riviera aesthetic at all times. 

How not to forget the proud Spaniards, instantly recognizable by their loudness from across the street without knowing why. Hair immaculate, sunglasses aggressive, confidence irrationally high. Scalpers shirt, fitted trousers, cowboy boots, maybe a sweater over the shoulders despite the rare 28°C weather. Their style somehow screams both “wealthy cousin” and “guy who stays out until 5 am.” The silhouette is very intentional.

Now onto our beloved, overpopulated, and yet never here on Weekends: the Belgians. Resembling fashion students who emotionally gave up halfway through getting dressed. Expensive coats, good jeans, beautiful knitwear… paired with the most destroyed sneakers you’ve ever seen. The dirtier the sneaker, the more culturally relevant the person probably is.

As zey would say… ze beust for last, non? The French always perform effortless sophistication like it’s a civil duty. Neutral tones, structured coat, fancy leather bag, laptop under one arm, like they’re heading to write a screenplay. The neck scarf is allegedly for style, but realistically exists to conceal hickeys from CAVO and nicotine damage. They look permanently “between meetings and no sleep” whilst sipping on 6 euro wine on Vrijthof. 

No hate, though, guys, we fit in our respective stereotypes as well. So we roasted each other: Ella the German who owns an excessive amount of long skirts. All of her outfit looks like she’s either about to attend an experimental pottery workshop or overthrow industrial society through sustainable fabrics. 

And Celia, with her dream of becoming an elegant Spanish woman, keeps getting interrupted by the fact that she has size 43 feet and every cute Spanish shoe brand stops at a 39. Every shopping trip ends the same way: either one tragic orthopedic-looking option, a quiet walk toward the men’s section in denial, or a return to the dirty Belgian sneakers.

Until next week, 

Celia and Ella