We've all noticed. Pink boots — or cleats, as Americans inexplicably call them — are all the rage at the 2026 World Cup. Of the 26 players in the England squad, the Financial Times tots up, 22 have worn pink boots during the competition. There's a few reasons. First up:

Much of the popularity is pragmatic. “Brands used bright pink because it creates maximum contrast against the green pitch,” explains Matt Powell, senior adviser at BCE consulting. In an era where millions of people watch games by looking to the palm of their hand as well as a TV or big screen, pink boots “boost broadcast visibility”.

But then, neon yellow or maybe bright blue boots would have the same effect, so why pink? Players are of course being paid many millions to wear them, but beyond that, there's a broader signal emerging from the traditionally "feminine" colour being readily embraced:

Pink became more prominent on luxury menswear catwalks in the 2010s, as designers sought to subvert rigid gender norms. Gentle shades of the hue — what would become known as “millennial pink” — appeared proudly on runways for brands such as Sacai and Robert Geller and in the wardrobes of male celebrities like Bad Bunny and Mac DeMarco, possibly looking to market themselves more softly for female audiences — and provoke questions around what masculine identities could look like.

For this reason, expect more pink in football in the upcoming season, starting with my very own Cambridge United — the team's new third strip is positively on-trend:

Derek Guy for Mr Porter:

The internet teems with a veritable cottage industry of corrective dressing, offering guides on how to dress for every shape imaginable. Large men, we’re told, shouldn’t wear horizontal stripes because they make you look wider. Short men shouldn’t wear cuffed trousers because they truncate the leg line. These rules are dressed up as practical advice, but they rest on shaky logic and accept the fashion industry’s standards as law.

Follow these too closely and you’ll enter a state of perpetual self-surveillance, forever asking whether a garment diminishes or exaggerates some defect that you see in yourself. The result is self-consciousness and anxiety, pushing you toward clothes that conceal rather than express, ultimately producing the opposite of style.

Instead of leading with body type, start with the cultural language of dress. We no longer live in a world where a single class sets the terms for how men should appear. This has made the task of dressing more complicated, but also more pleasurable.