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US Marines are on the hunt for a cloak they can wear to hide themselves from thermal-imaging sensors

The Marine Corps is looking for a new outer garment to protect its troops from battlefield threats that can see through traditional camouflage and concealment.

The modern battlefield is becoming increasingly saturated with sensors, including thermal-imaging technology that can detect human and vehicle heat signatures in the infrared range of the electromagnetic spectrum. Many of the drones in the Ukraine war are equipped with thermal-imaging cameras that have been used to deadly effect.

Ukrainian troops have sought solutions, and now, so are US Marines.

The Marines published a new ‘sources sought’ notification on Wednesday announcing the service’s search for vendors who could create a camouflage to reduce the chance of infrared detection, calling the desired garment a “Multispectral Camouflage Overgarment.”

The post said it will deliver “individual signature management” by “mitigating detection across the visual, near infrared, and short-wave infrared spectrums as well as suppress thermal signatures in the mid-wave infrared and long wave infrared to reduce the likelihood of detection by thermal sensors.”

The garment is intended to mask how a Marine appears not only to the naked eye and night vision devices, but also to advanced infrared and thermal sensors used by drones and surveillance systems.

To accomplish that aim, the Corps is seeking “a single-piece, generously-sized draped design constructed to provide full-body coverage, including individual gear and equipment,” the document said. It must be capable of being donned within 15 seconds, over a Marine’s uniform and equipment, whether deployed or during training.

The cloak could significantly reduce the distance from which Marines are detected, making it harder for adversaries to spot them using both ground-based and aerial sensors. It must also function in extreme temperatures and varied environmental conditions.

The service says it intends to have more than 61,000 of the cloaks available to troops by fiscal year 2030.

The US military has long recognized the need for such a capability, but the extreme proliferation of sensors aboard cheap drones in the war in Ukraine has heightened the urgency.

“We know that adversary [target] acquisition systems are very, very capable in that, if you can see a target, with precision munitions … you can hit a target,” Gen. Mark Milley, then the Army’s chief of staff, told lawmakers in 2019. “So camouflage systems that break up electronic signatures and break up heat signatures are critical.”

Last year, Secretary of the Army Dan Driscoll spoke bluntly about the modern battlefield in Ukraine during a War on the Rocks podcast, saying that “you cannot move without being seen.” He said that would require changes in how ground forces operate.

Ukraine’s 56th Separate Motorized Infantry Mariupol Brigade shared video footage last March of its efforts to combat thermal imaging, presenting what it described as anti-thermal suits.

“This is not fantasy. It is the reality of modern warfare,” the 56th said in a caption posted alongside the video footage.

“Thermal imaging suits are changing the rules of the battlefield, making soldiers invisible to enemy thermal-imaging cameras and drones. Such technologies are critical for assault teams, reconnaissance, snipers, and even evacuation missions. And this is just the beginning.”




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I used to save nice things for special occasions. Now I wear them to the grocery store.

I used to save my favorite clothes for a version of my life that never showed up.

The blazer stayed in my closet because it felt “too professional” for a normal day. The heels were waiting for a dinner I’d yet to be invited to. The earrings were longing for an occasion that felt important enough to justify wearing them. Meanwhile, I wore the same outfits on repeat — to work, to run errands, to all the places where my actual life was happening.

I wasn’t saving them for a rainy day. I was saving them for the perfect one. The problem was that “special occasion” never came.

It wasn’t just about clothes

This habit wasn’t limited to clothes. I treated everything the same way. A Sephora gift card sat untouched in my drawer, waiting for something “really worth it.” I rationed my favorite lip gloss as if it were a limited resource. I refused to light my favorite candle unless the night felt special enough to deserve it. I even held onto the last spritz of my discontinued One Direction perfume for years, as if saving it could somehow make more.


Woman posing for selfie

The author started to feel like she was saving her life for later.

Courtesy of the author



The special occasion is always vague — an imaginary fancy dinner, a future milestone, a celebration that exists only in theory. So I wait. Years pass. The things I loved enough to save start to feel untouchable. By the time I consider using it, we’ve waited so long that it feels wrong to start now.

Looking back, it sounds dramatic, but at the time, it felt practical. Why waste something nice on an ordinary day?

Then one day, the thought hit me: why am I living my life like a waiting room?

It felt like I was saving my life for later

That mindset didn’t stop at my closet. Saving a jacket for the right moment slowly turned into saving fun for the weekends, saving joy for later, saving happiness for a version of life that felt more legitimate than the one I was already living.

I realized I was treating weekdays like something to get through instead of something to participate in. When I did the math on how many days I was mentally skipping, it felt less like discipline and more like quietly wasting my life away.

So I stopped waiting.

I started wearing my favorite pieces on regular days

The shift was small at first. I wore blazers to the bars. I strutted in my nice heels to run errands. I put on the earrings just to go to the grocery store. Not for compliments, not for Instagram, not to prove anything to anyone, but because I liked how it made me feel.

The clothes didn’t lose their value because I wore them. They gained it. Each piece started collecting moments and memories instead of dust. Now, when I reach for something I love, it reminds me of a workday that felt a little lighter or a Trader Joe’s run where I found my new favorite snack.


Woman shopping

The author says clothes are meant to be worn more than once.

Courtesy of the author



That’s the part people tend to dismiss as “romanticizing your life,” a phrase that’s been flattened into internet fluff. But this wasn’t about pretending my errands were glamorous or turning my Mondays into Fridays. It was about presence. About intention. About letting regular days count instead of treating them like placeholders.

If I’m being honest, it changed more than my outfits. Work felt less like something I had to endure. Errands felt less like chores. I stopped waiting for permission to enjoy my life. I started dressing for myself instead of an imaginary audience or a hypothetical future. I even started liking Mondays.

I realized the dinner counts. The errand counts. The workday counts. And if the opportunity does truly come? I’ll wear those pieces again. Clothes are meant to be worn more than once.

The special occasion didn’t disappear. I just stopped waiting for it to arrive.




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