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The pantheon of male fashion influencers is surprisingly select. There are many of uniquely good-looking and stylish actors, pop stars, sportsmen – but when it comes to enduring impact and a lasting presence unaffected by trends in fashion, a trio of strong-jawed US everyman figures stand out: Paul Newman, Steve McQueen – and the celebrated star, who passed away this week at eighty-nine.

His passing is, obviously, a great loss to film. In the second part of the 20th century, few actors so fully embodied the soul of American film-making, or perhaps even the United States itself. During a decade-long, pivotal run of blockbusters, Redford created the model of the contemporary star. He was impossibly handsome and deeply charming, of course, but also scrappy, soulful, athletic, bookishly bright and socially conscious. A heartthrob who could fix your car while reciting classic poetry.

He played with style, able to flit between rugged masculinity and 70s femininity, and always with innate sex appeal.

But his influence extended beyond the film industry. For the fashion community, especially those handful who producing men’s style magazines, his death is particularly meaningful. He was a epitome of effortless style and a style shapeshifter, capable of take any aesthetic trope – the rancher, the drifter, the clean-cut executive, the East Coast academic – and make it stand out with effortless genuineness.

Iconic Performances and Style Evolution

His breakout role came in 1969 as the outlaw hero, alongside Newman’s Butch Cassidy, in a movie that reimagined the western hero for the sixties pop culture. The pair were smart, rebellious and thoughtful, dressed as much for bohemian New York as the Wild West.

In the same year, Redford appeared in the Swiss Alps as part of a fictional winter sports squad in the sports drama, swapping jumbo corduroy prairie-wear for a smooth face and one of the many unique garments that would over time serve as tent poles for his sartorial lore. There are entire online articles dedicated to the wool-lined jacket Redford wears in the movie, which is simply a well-made winter jacket. But on him it was somehow more.

Style Investigations and Iconic Pieces

Style sleuths can make further detailed explorations, searching online for: the kind of bomber jacket he wore in The Great Waldo Pepper; the denim trucker jacket he sported in The Electric Horseman; and the navy flannel shirt he wore in The Way We Were.

He was a phenom in tailored pieces, too, as demonstrated by a distinct “preppy yet rugged” era in the seventies that featured a political thriller, an investigative drama, and a campaign story. In each, the star struggles against some form of shady, systematic oppression in flawless tweed, ribbed fabric suits, which is invariably removed in exasperation at some point.

Mature Style and Enduring Influence

Redford’s most assuredly menswear-y movie was, of course, 1974’s the classic adaptation, which received not much fanfare from reviewers, but has become something of a stylistic benchmark for those interested in the history of men’s style. The wardrobe were mostly supplied by American brand and serve as a sartorial time capsule from the Jazz Age, via the film industry.

As his career progressed into the eighties and nineties, his aura – on film and off – became more statesmanlike, and his style evolved accordingly. Off-screen, he fused elements of utilitarian clothing, western-wear and Ivy League style pieces that were representative of the late mid-century but somehow more substantive when worn by him. Cowboy boots, blue jeans, button-down shirts, casual blazers, classic shades, robust timepieces … a porno-adjacent moustache and that head of light reddish hair.

As he got more mature, that meant less bell-bottoms and shirts open to the navel, and more understated sweaters and subtle suits. There were still periodic flashes of the sharp dresser of old, most prominently in the early 2000s, when Redford starred with a younger actor in thriller Spy Game. The film revisited to his run of conspiracy thrillers three decades before, and in turn, the chicly attired Boy Scout returned, replete with the aviators, the preppy tie, the untamed locks and even a tweed blazer.

The film feels like a symbolic passing of the torch, a transference of ruggedly handsome heart-throbbery. The two actors look so strikingly alike, but good-looking as he is, it’s hard to imagine the younger star having the same sartorial – or maybe even artistic – legacy. In fact, it’s hard to think of any person alive ever coming close.