Sparkle What? A Fashion Editor's Return to Riding Attire
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What and why is this?” I asked my patient Manhattan Saddlery salesperson, Emily, after grabbing a pair of riding leggings embellished with gaudy crystals. My old trainer would have crucified me if I wore these to the barn. In fact, I think he would have dropped me as a client.
After an 18-year break, and in the midst of a midlife crisis ahead of my 40th birthday, I returned to riding last year. A longtime fashion editor and critic, I immediately had one pressing question: What does one wear to the barn in 2025? I asked my chic new French equestrian contact, Florent, that very query. He had invited me to his stable for a lesson with my now-trainer, Justin Dye of River Willow. “Is it still all about Tailored Sportsmans and GPA helmets and the like?” “Um…No. No, it is not,” he replied in his fabulously condescending accent.
Back when I was a youth riding in Junior Hunter, Big Eq and jumper classes, my kit consisted of stiff, high-waist Tailored Sportsman breeches, suffocating wool jackets and tall boots that required medieval-looking contraptions to pull on and off. Until helmet rules caught up with reality in the early 2000s, we wore glorified velvet baseball caps—attractive but useless. And we all donned long-sleeve cotton blouses with embroidered, detachable collars that triggered my gag reflex if I so much as hunched. I loved the formality of it all: the rigidity, the rules, and the tiny acts of rebellion riders found within them—an ultra-wide windowpane pattern, an unconventionally hued monogram, an out-of-the-box belt.
Thus, I was utterly bewildered when I walked into Manhattan Saddlery and was assaulted by helmets, shirts, breeches, and jackets doused in various forms of shimmer; leggings that looked more appropriate for a Pilates class than the barn; and a barrage of breathable, sweat-wicking, athletic fabrics. Where was the wool? Where were the suffocating collars? Why did the breeches hit below the belly button? What was happening?
During my second visit to the shop, Emily presented me with a new shipment of Dada Sport, a French brand that my horse friends, new and old, had been touting. Specifically, she handed me a black Olga button-down shirt and the Kit New breeches, which, mercifully, were high-waisted. What sartorial sorcery is this? I thought while moving unencumbered through the store. The pants were formal, but didn’t feel like sandpaper. The shirt was elegant, but also cooling. Bonus: It didn’t make me throw up.
From there, my obsession with this new-school riding wear only grew. I’m confident that I now own 80% of Dada’s latest collection (note: they are not sending me free garb or paying me to say this, as evidenced by my dwindling bank account). I’ve also acquired an impressive arsenal of profane spur straps, neck pins, and last-minute essentials, like the men’s shirt and tie I bought from Dapper Horse 10 minutes before my .90m jumper classic at HITS IV. Because why should the guys have all the cravat-fueled fun?
That brings me to my next fashion grievance: Why is nearly everyone suiting up in the same humdrum looks? Last year, at my very first show, I was dismayed to see most riders in identical unfortunate ensembles: lace-sleeve shirts that resemble what a figure skater might wear to her Vegas wedding; generic zipper dress boots with snapped elastic laces; indistinguishable black or navy jackets; and the same quilted, faux Chanel belt or unremarkable elastic cincture. It hurt my eyes and my soul.
For a sport built around one’s deeply individual relationship with their horse, riding’s outfits have largely devolved into frumpy, monotonous banality. I appreciate that we’re all shopping at a relatively small set of retailers, but I wish riders felt liberated to put their own spin on the accepted attire. Line your jacket with a weird color. Embrace an unconventional accessory. Don’t buy your belt from one of the three tack shops that travel to every horse show. Break the rules without actually breaking them.
This sport is an investment in every sense, and if you’re an amateur—particularly an adult amateur—and you’re not squeezing every ounce of fun out of equestrian life, you might as well sell the saddle and take up pickleball. Or Padel. Or whatever basic, bougie activity is trending these days.
My fashion flourishes have merrily evolved over the past 12 months. They began with a Pasquale Bruni ladybug pin, which I affix to the lapel of my jackets (the beetles have always brought me luck). Then came the belts—a rotation of eccentric cinchers including my late mother’s Kieselstein-Cord turtle belt; a vintage Hermès Collier de Chien style adorned with oversize metal studs; and a slim Schiaparelli specimen with golden lips. (Subtlety is not my strong suit.) Next came my “riding stacks,” assortments of bangles on each wrist that jingle as I ride (my horse, Frédéric, has gotten used to the clamor). And finally, I acquired my show necklaces: a duo of ladybugs on delicate chains that peek out of my collar. Recently, as a 40th birthday gift to myself, I ordered a custom jacket from Charles Ancona that is so complicated, it’s required multiple calls with his design studio. What’s more, my riding looks have infiltrated my fashion life. I’ve worn various combinations of Tucci boots, Dada breeches, etc., to fashion shows in New York and Paris to surprisingly rave reviews.
Building my riding wardrobe (alongside my ability to canter three strides without gasping for air) has been one of the great joys of getting back in the saddle. Call it a sartorial renaissance—equal parts chic, nostalgic, absurd, and gloriously unnecessary. Most of all, it’s been obscenely fun. And I hope to coax a few more riders down the delightfully unhinged rabbit hole of equestrian style.
All that is to say, Hi. I’m Katharine K. Zarrella, and I’m Sidelines’ new fashion columnist. So buckle up. Ideally, in a statement belt.
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