What Is The Origin Of The Term Redshirts In Sci-Fi?

From a more critical angle, the origin of the term is pretty straightforward but also reveals a lot about storytelling shortcuts. On 'Star Trek' the color system separated crew roles, and those wearing red—mainly security and operations—were often the ones sent on risky away missions. Writers could show that the mission was dangerous by sending a nameless red-uniformed crew member to die, which kept the main cast intact and let the plot carry emotional weight without long-term consequences.

That economy of storytelling was noticed by viewers and became shorthand in fan communities. By the later decades of the 20th century, 'redshirt' was part of fan vocabulary, used in articles, zines, and early internet forums to describe any throwaway character. It’s also worth noting that the trope has been examined and subverted in modern media—'Redshirts' by John Scalzi directly satirizes the trope, while movies like 'Galaxy Quest' wink at genre conventions. Beyond laughs, the term now serves as a useful critical tool: it signals expendability, plot convenience, and sometimes lazy characterization, and it helps writers and critics talk about how stories use—and abuse—minor characters. I find that linguistic evolution fascinating because it turns a production detail into a meta-commentary tool that creatives can either lean into or dismantle.

Late-night nerding makes me notice things like this: the 'redshirt' label comes straight from 'Star Trek' where red uniforms became a visual cue for who was likely to get zapped on an away mission. Fans noticed the pattern—nameless security types in red keep getting killed to show danger—and the name stuck. Now I use 'redshirt' casually whenever a TV show or game sends out a disposable NPC to meet a quick end.

Beyond the joke, it's handy shorthand for talking about storytelling. Modern creators either play with it—subverting expectations by saving someone in red or making them the hero—or they lampoon it outright, like in John Scalzi's 'Redshirts'. In games I play, that sensibility shows up too: expendable cannon fodder often wears bright colors so you instantly know who the throwaway enemies are. It’s a small piece of fan language that connects conventions across decades, and it always gives me a chuckle when a character in red strolls confidently into danger.

Man, I love how this bit of TV costume design turned into a whole storytelling trope. Back in the day, 'Star Trek' used color-coded uniforms—science in blue, command often in gold, and operations/security/communications often in red—and because so many one-off security types wearing red were sent on dangerous away missions, fans started joking that if your shirt was scarlet, you were probably not long for the episode. That casual fannish observation hardened into the term people use now to mean an expendable character.

The phrase spread because it’s so useful: writers and creators can nod to risk without wasting dialogue, and fans get to make meta jokes. I see it a lot in gaming communities too: players call cannon fodder NPCs or disposable squadmates 'redshirts'. Authors have riffed on it—'Redshirts' by John Scalzi flips the script and makes the trope central to a story, which is clever and funny. Even shows that changed uniform colors or deliberately subverted the trope only reinforced its legend, since everyone remembers the original pattern.

Honestly, the thing I like most is the affection behind it. Calling someone a 'redshirt' is rarely mean-spirited; it’s fannish shorthand that nods to TV history and the ways audiences read patterns. Makes rewatching those old episodes feel like a scavenger hunt, and I usually chuckle when a new show winks at the tradition.

It's wild how a costume choice from a 1960s TV show turned into a whole storytelling shorthand. Back when 'Star Trek' filmed 'The Original Series', uniform colors were a quick visual shorthand for who did what on the ship: blue for science, gold for command, and red for engineering and security. The pattern you notice when you watch episodes is that the red-uniformed crew members are the ones who go down to the planet surface, get separated from the bridge crew, and often become the disposable casualty to show danger. Writers used those deaths to create stakes without sacrificing major characters, and viewers picked up on it fast.

Fandom then turned observation into a term. By the 1970s and 1980s, lively fan discussions, convention banter, and fanzines were already labeling those expendable crew as 'redshirts'—a neat, slightly cheeky label for anyone who exists primarily to get killed and motivate the plot. The trope escaped 'Star Trek' and turned up everywhere that needed a quick way to show peril: movies, TV shows, and especially genre comedies that riff on the idea. For example, John Scalzi's novel 'Redshirts' leans into the concept and makes it the central joke and critique.

I love that a little design choice got so cultural. It says something about how fans read stories and how small production decisions ripple outward into language and humor. Seeing a red-jacketed extra now always makes me grin a little, because I know what likely fate the script has in mind for them.

I can still picture the original episodes and why the whole idea stuck: in 'Star Trek' (the 1960s series) the security and operations staff wore red shirts, and over time viewers noticed a pattern where a lot of those red-shirted crew members who popped up on away teams didn’t make it back. That visual shorthand—red = disposable—caught on fast among fans because it was an easy, slightly dark joke about how television handled background characters. The term grew organically out of fandom chatter, convention panels, and fanzines, then spread into general pop culture as people used it to mean any expendable minor character in sci-fi (or other genres).

Beyond the on-screen pattern, there’s something narratively useful about the trope that helped the phrase stick. Writers could put a danger marker on the background by sending a red-shirted security guy into a scene, and audiences immediately felt the risk without lengthy setup. Later creators both leaned into and played off the joke: John Scalzi’s novel 'Redshirts' is a loving deconstruction of the idea, and parodies like 'Galaxy Quest' wink at the same mechanic. Even when uniform colors shifted in later series—like in 'Star Trek: The Next Generation', where command wore red—the original association survived in cultural memory.

I enjoy how a small costume detail became a global shorthand. It says something about how attentive fans are and how pop culture turns tiny patterns into shared language. Every time I see someone in a red jacket get the short end of the storytelling, I grin—it's like spotting a long-running inside joke that writers sometimes can’t resist playing with.

Short and punchy: the term comes from 'Star Trek' in the 1960s, where red-uniformed members of security and operations were often the ones who died on away missions, so fans started using 'redshirt' to mean an expendable character. The label jumped from casual fan talk into wider pop culture because it’s an easy metaphor—spot a red shirt, expect danger.

There’s a fun meta layer too: creators have used, subverted, and critiqued the trope. Works like John Scalzi’s 'Redshirts' explicitly lampoon the phenomenon, and later 'Star Trek' series shuffled uniform colors around, which made the original red-shirt legend even more of an inside joke. I also keep an eye on how the term shows up in other media and gaming—sometimes it’s used affectionately, sometimes as criticism of lazy writing. For me, it’s one of those tiny, enduring pieces of fandom language that makes watching genre fiction feel playful and communal.