On a recent visit to Gaza, Steve Witkoff, the real estate mogul and Donald Trump’s special envoy to the Middle East, wore a “camouflage” top. I write “camouflage” in inverted commas because it was blue and, amid the dusty devastation of Gaza, there was nothing about it – or the bumbag he wore with it – that helped Witkoff blend in.

It’s an odd paradox that a pattern designed to melt military personnel into their surroundings – the word is derived from the French camoufler, “to disguise” – when worn by certain people, in certain ways, does the opposite. Witkoff being a glaring example.

But camouflage is chameleon-like. Militaristic or pacifist, Britpop or British army, there’s arguably no pattern that has a more functional original purpose or greater adaptability when deployed far from the battlefield. Context is king and camouflage reads wildly differently when it appears on a tie worn by the hawkish veteran and “secretary of war” Pete Hegseth, on the Louis Vuitton catwalk, in the fields of Glastonbury or even at a protest against conflict: one person’s sabre rattling is another’s anti-war statement.

It is perhaps its adaptability that means it has moments, such as now, of increased popularity. Style-wise it’s a symptom of the throwback-Y2K moment and, from Gap to Next, Damson Madder to JW Anderson, it’s not blending in everywhere. In the US, hunting camo has been spotted adorning everything from Kamala Harris and Tim Walz baseball caps to rightwing libertarians.

On the one hand camo is, says Vogue, “a stylish alternative to denim”, available at democratically low prices, as well as a relatively sustainable option – the likes of eBay are awash with camo clothing. On the other hand, it isn’t just a pattern in the way of gingham or paisley........

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