In 1995-96, I worked as an English language assistant in Le Puy-en-Velay, a remote town nestling among the dormant volcanoes of Auvergne, often described as the prettiest in France.
The sartorial choices of students at Lycée Charles et Adrien Dupuy, however, fell far short of their town’s aesthetic splendour. Grungy comfort ruled, from saggy woollen jumpers to ripped, skinny jeans of mottled grey, adorned with chunky bangles and - both to affect an anti-establishment vibe and protect from sub-zero temperatures - keffiyehs half-stuffed into ski jackets.
There was no school uniform. French people seemed more instinctively rebellious than the British, and any attempt to enforce a uniform would have been met with arched eyebrows and a mass outbreak of Gallic disdain.
Yet behaviour and attainment were good, and the pupils were mostly patient with my inexpert attempts to teach them something. From this vantage point, school uniform seemed a British idiosyncrasy, like sinks with separate hot and cold taps - existing just because it always had, despite having little practical purpose.
Judging by a snap Tes Scotland Twitter poll, however, objecting to school uniform remains a minority pursuit and, like a republican railing against the imminent royal wedding, critics will find the majority resolute in their dedication to this British tradition.
‘Military-style discipline and control’
But why? The Education Endowment Foundation’s analysis of (admittedly limited) existing research found no robust evidence that uniform would by itself improve academic performance, behaviour or attendance (see bit.ly/EEFuniform). Perhaps uniform instils pride in a school - certainly, some teachers tell us that pupils are often the most passionate advocates of uniform. Even ardent critics commenting on our poll agreed that it might offset stigma for pupils who could not keep up with a “fashion arms race” (a scenario taken as a given if uniforms were no longer worn in school, although no student at my old lycée would have been allowed anywhere near a Milan catwalk).
Some see uniform as illogical: in an era of child-centred learning, when individualism is supposedly celebrated, why enforce a dress code that, as one Scotland-based teacher from the Netherlands says, echoes military-style discipline and control?
But another online commenter likely spoke for the majority when he said: “As long as the policy isn’t overly strict for the sake of it, and the uniform is affordable, I’ve never seen a convincing argument against uniforms.”
However, not all uniforms are the same. As EIS union assistant general secretary Andrea Bradley told the ongoing parliamentary inquiry into poverty and attainment, many schools insist on expensive, “unnecessary fripperies”, such as elaborate logos and braiding on blazers. We’ve also heard about teachers waging personal campaigns to get pupils to pull their cardigans over their shoulders, or to ban the cut-price culottes that one girl wore instead of a more expensive skirt. As one teacher says this week, albeit not about school uniform, “Let’s get on with the actual business of learning.”
When I worked at the Press and Journal, I never batted an eyelid at the pomp and ceremony of Aberdeen City Council meetings. But when a French journalist accompanied me on work experience, and saw a pre-meeting troupe of puffed-up men in chains and fine coats with long red tails, she burst out laughing - she just didn’t see traditional garb fetishised in the same way back home.
School uniform, while not unique to the UK, is a peculiar piece of British exotica, and often a source of bemusement and fascination abroad (JK Rowling has tapped into that with huge success). And people here like it, so it’s not going anywhere - let’s just not pretend that a uniform is essential to running a successful school.
Henry Hepburn is news editor at Tes Scotland. He tweets @Henry_Hepburn
