Scapes Supply Co. · The field uniform
Wear what the pros wear.
The same uniform the crew wears every day. Field olive, brass thread, broken in by Houston. Eleven pieces. The real kit — signed, because we're proud of it.
The Premise
We brand everything.
Most landscape companies hide their name on a job site. We are the opposite. The seedhead goes on the polo, the glove, the gaiter, the cap — and in time the pot on the porch, the boot, the truck. If we are proud enough to build it, we are proud enough to sign it.
What follows is the actual gear our crew puts on at six in the morning — the polo with the seedhead at the chest and "I am Scapes" across the back, the field pant that survives a brick patio install, the gloves with the mark burned into the cuff. Ten pieces. The same gear the foremen wear. Available, by request through the studio, to clients of the Reserve and to anyone who has cared enough to ask.
We do not gatekeep the look. The crew earns it; anyone who wants to wear what the pros wear can ask the studio. Buy the real thing, not a souvenir.
Uniform top
The Field Polo.
Medium-weight combed cotton in field olive. Seedhead and wordmark embroidered at the left chest — I am Scapes across the back.
Built for the crew, not the office. The collar holds its line through a hundred wash cycles. The hem is split for the bend. The buttons are real horn. We re-spec'd the fabric in 2024 to a 220 gsm weight — heavier than a golf polo, lighter than a work shirt, exactly right for ten hours in a Houston August.
The embroidery is brass-thread on chest, sandstone on back. The thread is the only place our name appears. No printed graphics, no swing tags, no logo at the sleeve.
Hand
The Work Glove.
Olive deerskin palm, brushed canvas back, sandstone stitch. The crew's name is printed inside the cuff.
A glove the crew chooses for itself — we tried six other gloves over the years and kept coming back to this one. Deerskin softens at week one and holds shape forever. The canvas back breathes through the long part of a Houston afternoon. The cuff is long enough to clear the polo sleeve.
The inside of the cuff is rubber-stamped with the crew member's name, by hand, at issue. You are not on the crew unless your glove has your name in it.
From the studio
A uniform is not a costume. It is a standard, worn by the people who keep it.
Hardware
The Belt.
English bridle leather. Solid brass buckle. One length of leather, made to outlast the pant.
1.5″ wide, eight ounces, English bridle from the same tannery that supplies the saddle works in Walsall. The buckle is solid brass, hand-finished, single tongue. No keeper loops past the first. No company name stamped into the leather.
It is the only piece of the uniform that improves with age. You will replace the pant. You will not replace the belt.
Standing
The Boot.
A brown leather six-inch work boot, rebuildable, with a Vibram lug sole. Earned at twelve months — not sold.
The first year at Scapes is your apprenticeship. The second is your career. After twelve months, you've earned more than a pair of boots — you've earned your place.
We buy you the same rebuildable leather boot our team trusts every day. With proper care, they'll last for decades, just like the landscapes we build and the people who build them. Resole them. Keep working. We hope the pair you earn is the pair you retire in.
Eyes
The Sunglasses.
Matte black acetate, polarized green lens. The only colored thing the crew is allowed to wear.
A simple rectangular frame, matte black acetate, polarized neutral-green glass lens. The crew wears them for safety more than for sun — a polarized lens lets you see into a pond, a moving sprinkler arc, a glare on stone, in a way the naked eye does not.
It is not a fashion piece. It is the piece that lets you read the work in the light Houston actually gives you.
All-season layer
The Field Longsleeve.
Engineered performance knit in forest green — it moves sweat off the skin and dumps the heat. Long sleeves that run cooler than bare arms.
This is the piece that solved August. A four-channel wicking knit pulls sweat off the skin and spreads it across the face of the fabric, where it evaporates and takes the heat with it — so a covered arm ends up cooler than an exposed one, with UPF 50 on top of it. Set-in sleeve, a cuff that holds, and a hem cut long enough to stay tucked through the bend.
It goes on before dawn in February and it stays on at two in the afternoon in July. The wordmark runs the full length of the back in sandstone — the same thread as the polo, scaled up to read from across the yard. The only place our name appears. No printed graphics, no logo at the sleeve.
Neck & sun
The Gaiter.
Digital-camo microfiber, the seedheads at the hem. Up at noon, down at the truck. The afternoon's only shade you can wear.
A single seamless tube of brushed microfiber — UPF 50, light enough to forget until the Houston sun turns it into the only shade on the lot. Pull it over the face on a dusty cut, drop it to the collar on the drive home. It dries before the next pass.
The digital camo earns its keep — it carries a season of red clay and grass stain the way field olive never could. Three seedheads at the front hem, and nowhere else. Field issue, not a souvenir.
Head
The Cap.
Earth-brown washed canvas, the script and the seedheads at the crown. A six-panel that earns its fade.
A low-profile six-panel in washed cotton canvas — the kind that takes a season of sweat and sun and only looks better for it. Structured enough to hold its shape on the dash, soft enough to ball into a back pocket. A mesh back for the long part of the afternoon.
The Scapes script and the three seedheads sit at the crown, stitched, not printed. Wear it on the job, wear it to dinner. We are done pretending the crew does not want the hat.
The layer
The Crewneck.
Forest green, no hood. The seedhead and the full lockup at the chest. What the crew reaches for when the front comes through.
A hood catches branches and it catches wind, so this one does not have one. Heavyweight brushed fleece, ribbed collar and cuffs, set-in sleeve — cut to go over the polo without binding at the shoulder when you bend.
The seedheads sit at the chest with GotScapes.com beneath them in sandstone. The only mark on the front. Not a graphic — a signature, and the one line a client needs if they see it across a yard.
The layer
The Hoodie.
The crewneck's hooded sibling, same forest green. For the morning that starts in the dark and stays cold.
Same brushed fleece, same chest mark, with a lined hood and a kangaroo pocket. The crew wears the crewneck on the machines and this one on the truck, at the nursery, and standing in a driveway at six in the morning waiting on the light.
Two-piece hood so it holds its shape instead of collapsing flat, flat-drawn cord, and the pocket cut deep enough for a phone and a pair of gloves. Sized to layer over the longsleeve.
The signature
The Eyewear.
Matte navy acetate, clear lens, the seedhead at the temple. The frame the founder is never seen without.
This is the optical piece, not the field shade — a round-ish keyhole frame in matte navy bio-acetate, clear lens, five-barrel hinge, SCAPES SUPPLY CO. set small along the inside temple. The seedhead rides the outside in brushed gold. Honest weight. It sits like it was made for one face and quietly fits the rest.
You will see it before you ever see the man wearing it. That is the idea. The glasses go everywhere; the founder stays at the studio. We price it like a piece of him — absurd on purpose. If you truly must emulate the look, the studio will sell you one.
A note on the embroidery
One mark, on everything.
The seedhead is our signature, and it earns a place on everything we are proud of — the chest, the back, the cuff, the hem, the crown of the cap. In time the pot on the porch and the door of the truck. I am Scapes across the back says the rest. It is not a logo we hide; it is a flag we plant.
It is not vanity. It is the reason the gear reads the same in the parking lot, in the truck cabin, and on the porch at the end of the day — the real thing, signed by the people who made it.
Request the gear