I am as preppy as the next guy. My footwear is generally limited to flip-flops or loafers. I like to wear button-down shirts with lacrosse shorts or sweatpants. I was wearing aviators before Iceman. But never, ever, is my collar "shocked." The very thought of it makes me want to vomit up the lobster SAE serves at rush.
This fashion blight seemed first to infect the campus my sophomore summer. Guys began to show up in frat basements with pink plumage around their necks and little horses and alligators on their chests. Brian and I would beat them in pong, especially the Phi Delts, only to watch in frustration as they continued to saunter about with oblivious prep-school smiles. I think most males that summer were too preoccupied with the thought, "Damn, I bet this pastel makes my tan look so hot right now."
At that point, it remained to be seen how far this collar-popping trend would spread. As any casual observer can see, the plane has crashed into the goddamn mountain. I can count on one hand (because I got a B in Math 5) the number of necks I saw all last term. Though I do routinely sing the praises of pink and green -- that's "apple," not "forest" -- I must ask that we stop this nonsense.
When preppy is done right, it is done unintentionally. The question is one of intent, not one of overstatement or understatement. While the latter criterion is in the eye of the subjective observer, the former lies objectively in the heart of the subject. The man who wears seersucker before Memorial Day because it's all he has left in his closet passes the test; the giggling sap who buys a plaid suit at the thrift shop because it's "ridiculously sweet" fails. One does not simply plunge into true preppiness -- one achieves it.
My point, I trust, is clear. This is a contemptible fad -- different from those pleated skirts girls wear, whose purpose is simply to be revealing -- because it is a vain and empty expression of allegiance to a particular social group (go Sox!). It's trying too hard. In fact, the practice has become so pervasive that even guys with Roman numerals at the end of their names can't pop their collars without looking as desperate and clichd as some baller icing out his neck to catch Shorty's eye.
So please, all you '08 boys and girls, don't follow the herd. Unless you routinely use the word "summer" as a verb, or if you've never taken Latin, leave the collar down. Preppiness can be charming, but pretensions cannot.
