[ He presses lips together and narrows his eyes at her reaction. Many, many years of having their garb indirectly scorned leaves him inclined to aggressively defend it.

Shutting his eyes for a few moments, he takes a few meditative breaths and lets them out slowly. His response, even after that, is clipped and restrained. ]

A uniform? No. 'Tis as much our cultural garb as whatever it is you Miqo'te wear.

[ He snaps his fingers and conjures several generic figures in a line outside Amaurot's sprawl: one member of each of Hydaelyn's races with random genders, bearing different clothing to mark out their professions. ]

Tell me: what would you think of each of these people if you met them? Generalisations are fine.