Forget the cartoon character on the cranberry sauce can. You know the one—the guy with the stiff, oversized buckle on his hat and the woman in a somber, jet-black dress looking like she’s headed to a funeral in 1620. Honestly, if you walked through the Plimoth Patuxet Museums today dressed like that, the historical reenactors would probably have a good laugh. So, what did pilgrims look like in reality? They didn't look like a monochrome painting.
History is colorful. Real life is messy.
When the Mayflower arrived, these weren't people trying to make a fashion statement for future Thanksgiving pageants. They were refugees, laborers, and families trying to survive a brutal transition from urban England and the Netherlands to a rugged coast. Their clothes had to work.
The Great Buckle Lie
Let's kill the biggest myth first: the buckles.
If you look at 17th-century archaeological finds or period inventories, you won't find those giant, iconic buckles on hats or shoes. Buckles were expensive. They were high-fashion items that didn't really become a "thing" until later in the 1600s. The people on the Mayflower used leather laces or "points" (basically strings with metal tips like modern shoelaces) to keep their clothes together. If a Pilgrim had a buckle, it was probably a small, functional one on a belt, not a shiny hood ornament for their head.
Why do we think they wore them? Blame the 19th century. Victorian-era illustrators loved a good visual shorthand. They added buckles to distinguish "the olden days" from their own time, and the image stuck. It became a brand. But to a real person in 1621, a giant silver buckle on a hat would have been seen as incredibly vain and weirdly impractical for chopping wood.
Colors You Wouldn't Expect
We tend to think of the "Pilgrim uniform" as black and white. Boring.
In reality, black dye was incredibly difficult and expensive to produce. It required multiple baths in expensive dyes like logwood or gallnut. Only the wealthy or those dressing for a very specific formal occasion wore solid, deep black. Most of the settlers wore colors derived from plants they could find or buy cheaply. Think russet, dull orange, "Lincoln green," "sad color" (which was a kind of grayish-tan), and plenty of blues from woad.
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Records of the time, including wills and estate inventories from the Plymouth Colony, mention items like "red petticoats" and "violet-colored cloth." They loved color. It just wasn't neon. It was earthy, saturated, and practical.
Layers, Layers, and More Layers
Imagine living through a New England winter without central heating. You’d be wearing everything you owned.
Men wore a "linen shirt" as their base layer. This acted like an undershirt and pajamas; they rarely washed their heavy outer clothes, but they washed their linen shirts constantly to keep body oils off the expensive wool. Over that went a "doublet," a tight-fitting jacket that zipped—well, buttoned—everything in. Then came the "breeches," which were baggy pants that ended at the knee.
Women had it even more complex. No, they didn't wear corsets in the way we think of Victorian fainting couches. They wore "stays," which were stiffened bodices that provided back support for the heavy lifting they did all day. On top went a "waistcoat" and a "petticoat" (which was just a skirt back then).
They were walking bundles of wool and linen.
The Mystery of the "Pilgrim Hat"
The "capotain" is that tall, steeple-shaped hat we always see. While it was a real style in the early 1600s, it wasn't the only thing people wore. Many men wore "monmouth caps"—simple, knitted wool hats that looked more like a modern beanie. They were warm. They stayed on in the wind.
And women? They almost always had their hair covered. A "coif" was a simple white linen cap that kept hair out of the fire while cooking and protected it from dirt. It wasn't about being "repressed"; it was about hygiene and heat. Washing long hair in a 17th-century wilderness was a nightmare, so keeping it under a cap was just common sense.
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Fabric and Texture: The Feel of the 1620s
If you touched a Pilgrim's sleeve, it wouldn't feel like the soft cotton or polyester we're used to. It would be "kersey" or "broadcloth"—heavy, dense, slightly scratchy wool that had been "felted" to make it windproof. It smelled like lanolin (sheep grease), wood smoke, and probably a fair amount of human sweat.
They were "shabby chic" before it was a thing. Because they only had a few sets of clothes, everything was mended. You’d see patches on elbows, mismatched threads, and visible darning. A person’s clothing told the story of their work. A blacksmith’s doublet would be singed; a farmer’s breeches would be stained with the iron-rich soil of the coast.
What About the Kids?
Here is a detail that always trips people up: little boys wore dresses.
Until age six or seven, both boys and girls wore "petticoats." This was purely for practical reasons—potty training a toddler in complex 17th-century breeches with dozens of tiny ties and buttons was a disaster waiting to happen. Once a boy reached a certain age, he underwent "breeching," a rite of passage where he got his first pair of adult-style pants.
The Wampanoag Influence
We can't talk about what people looked like in Plymouth without mentioning the people who were already there. The Wampanoag.
The interaction between the English and the Wampanoag didn't just happen in diplomacy; it happened in fashion. The English quickly realized their heavy leather shoes were terrible for the marshy, wet terrain of New England. Many settlers adopted deerskin moccasins. Conversely, the Wampanoag traded for English wool blankets and metal jewelry.
By the late 1620s, the "look" of a settler was a weird, hybrid survivalist gear. They were wearing English wool, but maybe with indigenous-style footwear and accessories made from local furs that were much warmer than anything they brought from London.
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Facial Hair and Grooming
Did the men have those weird, pointy Van Dyke beards? Some did. Beards were quite common in the early 17th century, though the fashion was moving toward a cleaner-shaven look or a very neat mustache.
They weren't "dirty" by choice, either. There's a persistent myth that people in the 1600s never bathed. While they didn't submerge themselves in tubs of water often (they thought it opened the pores to disease), they were obsessed with "dry washing." They rubbed their skin with clean linen to remove dirt and oil. If you look at the portraits of the era, you see people who took pride in their appearance despite the lack of running water.
Why This Matters for Your Research
When you’re looking for the truth about what did pilgrims look like, you’re really looking for the humanity of these people. They weren't symbols. They weren't black-and-white icons of religious austerity. They were people who liked bright green waistcoats, who struggled with itchy wool, and who were probably perpetually cold.
If you want to see the most accurate representation of this today, look at the work of historians like Bethany Groff Dorau or the research coming out of Plimoth Patuxet. They use "experimental archaeology"—actually making the clothes using 17th-century methods—to see how they move and wear.
Actionable Takeaways for History Buffs
If you're trying to visualize or recreate an accurate 1620s look, here’s how to do it right:
- Ditch the Black: Use "earth tones" instead. Think mustard yellow, deep madder red, and forest green.
- Focus on Linen: The "white bits" (collars and cuffs) should be linen, not stiff cotton. Linen has a specific drape and texture that defines the silhouette.
- Texture is Everything: Real 17th-century clothing was thick. It had weight. If it looks flimsy or shiny, it’s wrong.
- No Buckles on Hats: Use a simple leather band or a silk ribbon if the character is "wealthy."
- Aprons are Mandatory: For women, a blue or white apron was a functional tool, not just for the kitchen but for carrying eggs, herbs, and wood.
The reality is much more interesting than the myth. By stripping away the Victorian "costume," we get closer to the actual people who stepped off that boat—people who looked a lot more like us than we usually care to admit, just with a lot more wool and significantly fewer buttons.
Next Steps for Deep Research:
Check out the primary source Mourt's Relation, which is the first-hand account of the early days of the colony. It doesn't focus on fashion, but it describes the physical environment that shaped what people wore. For visual accuracy, look at the paintings of Johannes Vermeer or Frans Hals. While they were Dutch, the clothing styles of the "Middle Class" in the Netherlands were very similar to what the Pilgrims (many of whom lived in Leiden for over a decade) would have worn.