25 days until Visby
We talk a lot about the ruins, the ghosts, the bones beneath the grass. But let’s not forget the fabric of the people — literally. In medieval Visby, clothing wasn’t just protection from the cold or a way to look decent in church. It was identity, status, and sometimes even a legal issue.
🪡 Wealth in a Stitch
Visby was a Hanseatic trading hub, which means people here had stuff — silks from the East, dyed wool from Flanders, linen from the countryside, and buttons that actually fastened (instead of just being decorative lies).
If you were rich in 1300s Visby, you made sure everyone knew it — in scarlet robes, imported furs, and embroidered trim so fine it could bankrupt a peasant just to brush past it.
Meanwhile, the rest of the town wore rough-spun tunics, patched hose, and “practical” brown. (We see you, medieval middle class.)
✂️ What You Wore Was Regulated
Yes, really. Visby — like many medieval towns — had sumptuary laws that restricted what people could wear based on their class. So if you were a blacksmith’s wife and showed up to church in a noblewoman’s cloak? Fined. Possibly shamed. Definitely side-eyed.
Fashion wasn’t just vanity — it was a controlled expression of power.
🧶 Color Was Expensive
Blue = woad or indigo, both imported or labor-intensive Red = madder root or crushed insects (luxury!) Green = tricky and unstable to dye, often faded to mud Yellow = …let’s just say it didn’t age well
Deep, vibrant color meant money. A full outfit in scarlet wool was the medieval equivalent of a Gucci tracksuit.
👒 Hats, Veils, and Layers of Meaning
Head coverings weren’t optional. Women — married, unmarried, merchant, or noble — were expected to veil their hair. The style of the veil or cap, though? A silent code. Think of it as medieval LinkedIn: your head said everything before you opened your mouth.
Men wore coifs, chaperons, and fur-lined hoods (some of which doubled as bags, because medieval men loved a multi-tasker).
👗 Dressing for Medieval Week
In 25 days, I’ll walk those streets. I don’t know what I’ll be wearing yet — maybe linen and a ridiculous belt pouch. But I do know I’ll be looking at those stone walls and thinking about the people who once walked them in boots they couldn’t always afford, wearing fabrics that told their stories before they spoke a word.
Because the threads we wear — then and now — are never just about fashion.
They’re about belonging.
And I’m starting to feel like I’m part of this story, stitch by stitch.
Swedish Word of the Day: tyg – fabric
(Alla bär tyg, men inte alla bär historia i sina sömmar.
– Everyone wears fabric, but not everyone wears history in their seams.)
Swedish Wanderlust 