There are cycling traditions that feel as if they’ve been around forever. The maillot jaune. The roaring crowds on the Tourmalet. The sight of some wiry, half-possessed climber dancing away on a gradient that makes everyone else look like they’re pedalling squares. And somewhere in that mix sits the most joyful garment in the Tour de France wardrobe: the King of the Mountains jersey, bright white and dotted with red.

To celebrate the launch of our new Dossard 13 ceramics, celebrating the greatest jerseys of the Grand Tours - the Maillot Jaune of the Tour de France, the Maglia Rosa of the Giro and the Maillot a Pois of the King of the Mountains - we've dug a little deeper into the history of cycling's coolest jersey.

It’s such an odd design when you think about it. A jersey for the hardest task in the race that's often ended up on the back of the skinniest rider of them all, decorated like a French pastry shop tablecloth. But as with so much in cycling, there’s a story behind it.

The Mountains classification itself dates back to 1933, when the Tour decided it needed a way to honour the best climber in the race. But for decades there was no special jersey. The leader simply held a title and a few column inches in the papers. It wasn’t until 1975 that the Tour gave the climbers something distinctive to wear.

And that’s where the polka dots come in.

In 1975 the Mountains jersey gained a sponsor: Chocolat Poulain. One of France’s oldest chocolate brands. Their logo and packaging at the time featured red dots on a white background. The Tour’s organisers liked the idea of giving the climbers something immediately recognisable, and Poulain wanted something that looked unmistakably theirs in every photograph. Put the two together and suddenly the mountains classification had its identity.

That’s the whole secret. Not symbolism. Not some ancient Alpine folklore. Just a chocolate company with a fondness for circles.

But cycling is brilliant at turning commercial quirks into mythology. Over time the polka dots have come to feel perfectly matched to the role. There’s a sort of playfulness to them that offsets the brutality of what the climbers are doing. The jersey stands out in the middle of Alpine fog or a Pyrenean thunderstorm. Kids can draw it in two seconds flat. And when a rider like Virenque or Chiappucci or Pogacar lights up a mountain stage, the whole thing suddenly makes sense.

It also helps that the category has always attracted the entertainers. The KOM jersey seems to end up on the shoulders of riders who animate the race, who attack early, who lose touch, who attack again anyway. There’s a kind of romantic heroism in the dots. It’s never just about numbers. It’s about personality.

So yes, the reason is simple. A chocolate bar wrapper. But the effect is something much bigger. The polka dots have become a symbol of the sport at its purest: one rider against gravity, the weather, and the small voice in their head telling them to stop.

And every July, when the caravan rolls out and the race heads for the high ground, those red dots still feel like a promise. Adventure ahead. Mountains to climb. A jersey that shouldn’t work but absolutely does.

Shop the full Dossard 13 Ceramics range here