With the theatrical release of the new documentary You Can See Everything, directed by Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim, disgraced Theranos founder Elizabeth Holmes has once again thrust herself into the public eye. This renewed spotlight arrives nearly four years after the Stanford University dropout was handed an 11-year and three-month federal prison sentence for orchestrating a massive fraud that bilked investors out of hundreds of millions of dollars. As audiences re-examine the fascinating and cautionary tale of Silicon Valley’s most notorious corporate collapse, cultural critics are once again picking apart the very facade that helped build her mythos: her signature wardrobe.
Characterized by a deceptively low voice, long blonde hair, and an unchanging uniform consisting of a black turtleneck paired with all-black ensembles, Holmes cut a striking, singular figure in the heavily male-dominated tech sector. At the height of her enterprise’s astronomical valuation—which reached a staggering $9 billion and boasted a prestigious board of directors including heavyweights like Henry Kissinger, Sam Nunn, and George Shultz, according to Forbes—Holmes was celebrated as a visionary entrepreneur. Yet, even as her company promised a revolutionary blood-testing technology that ultimately proved to be a complete fabrication, observers could not help but notice the striking resemblance between her presentation and that of late Apple co-founder Steve Jobs, who famously favored an Issey Miyake black turtleneck paired with Levi’s 501 jeans and gray New Balance sneakers.
Throughout her meteoric rise, Holmes steadfastly maintained that her sartorial choices were purely functional rather than derivative. In a widely discussed 2015 interview with Glamour magazine, she explained that wearing the exact same style of clothing every single day eliminated unnecessary decision fatigue, leaving her with one less thing to think about. Estimating that her wardrobe contained roughly 150 black turtlenecks, Holmes claimed she had begun wearing the garment at just eight years old. "All of my focus is on my work. I take it so seriously. I’m sure that translates into how I dress," Holmes told the publication at the time, attempting to frame her clothing as a testament to her monomaniacal work ethic.
However, Holmes’ carefully cultivated narrative regarding her simple, utilitarian style was subsequently challenged by former colleagues. In a 2019 interview with Elle, former Theranos staffer Ana Arriola recalled a very different reality from the company’s early days, noting that Holmes had previously been partial to "baggy Christmas sweaters." According to Arriola, who had worked at Apple prior to her time at Theranos, Holmes became completely "infatuated" with Steve Jobs’ daily uniform and actively sought advice on how to achieve a similar psychological effect. Holmes eventually abandoned the casual knitwear in favor of the stark black turtleneck, black trousers, and black shoes that would become her unofficial corporate armor.
Fashion and cultural scholars agree that the emulation was far from accidental. Lorynn Divita, an associate professor of apparel merchandising at Baylor University, asserts that Holmes was "absolutely influenced by Steve Jobs and his habit of dressing the same way every day." Noting that women tech leaders had a vast array of available sartorial choices, Divita points out that Holmes deliberately selected the black turtleneck to harness what she calls the "halo effect" of Steve Jobs, leveraging his cultural cachet to validate her own entrepreneurial ambitions.
According to Divita, Holmes effectively engaged in "reverse ostentation," a fascinating socioeconomic practice where individuals who possess the financial means to purchase virtually anything choose instead to dress with deliberate plainness. By stripping away conventional markers of luxury, wealth, or trendiness, such individuals project an image of profound importance. The underlying message, Divita explains, is that their time is far too valuable to waste on deciding what to wear like ordinary people do. By eschewing designer labels, contemporary trends, and clothing designed to cater to the male gaze, Holmes signaled to investors, partners, and the media that she was simply too important and far too serious to care about something as trivial as fashion.
This strategy is far from unique to Holmes. Meta founder Mark Zuckerberg famously spent years favoring simple gray hoodies, while Microsoft co-founder Bill Gates frequently opted for basic khakis paired with a blue Oxford shirt. Divita notes that many prominent tech executives dress down deliberately to avoid standing out as targets, while simultaneously cultivating the illusion that they are "just ordinary people." This calculated casualness also serves to signal that they do not feel any external pressure to impress anyone.
By essentially copying the visual language of Steve Jobs, Holmes successfully manufactured an aura of supreme intelligence and entrepreneurial success, observes Heather Akou, author of On the Job: A History of American Work Uniforms. Akou notes that Jobs himself had once attempted to convince Apple executives to adopt a standardized company uniform featuring Issey Miyake-designed vests, though his colleagues ultimately refused to go along with the plan.
The black turtleneck itself boasts a storied lineage far outside the confines of Silicon Valley boardrooms. Over the decades, the garment has been embraced as a symbol of intellectualism and cool rebellion by an array of cultural tastemakers, including pop artist Andy Warhol, musician Bob Dylan, actress Jayne Mansfield, and fashion icon Audrey Hepburn. In the wake of Theranos’s collapse, pop culture has repeatedly returned to Holmes’s aesthetic choices; actress Amanda Seyfried famously sported the black turtleneck while portraying Holmes in the critically acclaimed Hulu dramatic series The Dropout, and Seyfried’s likeness continues to resonate as public interest extends into newer documentary projects like Fielder and Oppenheim’s You Can See Everything.
Experts suggest that gender dynamics undoubtedly played a nuanced role in Holmes’ wardrobe preferences, given the notoriously male-dominated nature of the STEM sectors. Akou, who also serves as a professor of fashion studies at Indiana University, points out that Holmes chose not to emulate the traditional power dressing styles of established female corporate executives, nor did she attempt to feminize Jobs’ minimalist look. Instead, Akou interprets Holmes’s choice as either an expression of underlying anxiety about navigating a male-dominated profession or a calculated effort to signal that gender simply should not matter for a modern tech entrepreneur.
Steven Faerm, a professor of fashion at the Parsons School of Design, offers an additional perspective on the psychological mechanics of the look. He notes that mirroring Jobs’ minimalist uniform successfully evoked a sense of profound innovation, intellectual authority, and a singular, unwavering devotion to a mission. By adopting a simple, highly repetitive uniform, Holmes was able to effectively minimize visual distractions, thereby directing her audience’s focus away from external appearances and entirely toward her words, her vision, and her ambitious scientific promises.
