They say that Boston is the worst-dressed major city in the country, and they might be right. It goes beyond the fact that we’re not exactly known by the pride we take in our individual style (consider the winter jacket du jour that everyone and their grandma has to have), but we tend to eschew the concept of dressing frivolously altogether.
Still, as a womb-to-tomb Bostonian, I have to have some affinity for the sartorial habits we develop when our guards are down. All cities have a distinct visual character; the way we dress is merely a whorl in the larger fingerprint. That’s why I’ve decided to take some time every season to create a list of five Bostonian “looks” that celebrate the aesthetic beauty of my unglamorous, unfussy city. Here’s what’s hot this summer:
- The beach sweatshirt
The most popular activity by far for the cooped-up Bostonian is a trip to the beach. We have three seasons of winter (the fourth being roadwork, as the saying goes) and when it’s finally warm enough to venture outside, you’ve got an entire coastline of choices. The North and South shores are solid bets, but there’s also the Cape, the islands and even Maine if you’re determined. One thing is for certain, no matter what you choose: Even in the dead of August, that North Atlantic water is going to freeze your butt off.
Hawaiian beachgoers may bring their tanning oil and Californians may pack their surfboards, but Massachusetts babes bring sweaters and hoodies to the beach if they know what’s good for them. There’s always one or two people in the beachgoing party who don’t pack wisely, and you can reliably catch them blue-lipped, with teeth chattering after a few hours — every single time.
- Yacht club (’80s)
“Did you stay up to see the dawn/In the colors of Benetton?” asks Vampire Weekend in their 2008 semi-hit, “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa.” For some reason, that band had a strange affinity with the yachty late ’80s, shot through a distinctly Massachusetts filter. The cover of their second album, Contra, explains everything: A healthy-looking model stares confidently at the camera wearing no makeup. She’s adorned in nothing other than Polo, affluence, salt air and youth.
I wound up seeing Vampire Weekend in Boston after they released their third album, “Modern Vampires of the City.” They closed with the song “Walcott,” which asks the listener, “Don’t you want to get out of Cape Cod tonight?” Lead singer Ezra Koenig — a true Manhattanite — prefaced the song by telling the audience that Massachusetts “always really ‘got'” what the band was about. If it were peak season on the Vineyard circa 1988, he would have probably fit right in. But that Polo-clad girl doesn’t exist anymore — just her memory, experienced through out-of-towner eyes.
- Yacht club (contemporary)
I grew up in Metrowest, about 20 miles out of Boston. Middlesex and Essex counties are not too dissimilar; suffice to say, we’re both deep in Vineyard Vines country. While the whole Yacht club lifestyle is something I’ve only really observed from afar (if that’s what you call attending the same middle school), I’ve always really dug those cheerful, pastel colors and the little mascot animals stitched onto them. I once saw someone wearing mint-green shorts with little hedgehogs embroidered on them. I mean, that’s just delightful. What’s not to love?
- Farm duds
What I do have more up-close experience with is shorts, a bandanna and Doc Martens. My summers used to take me to farm volunteership and camp counselordom in the gorgeous deciduous forests where I was raised, where I’d measure the success of a day by how dirty — and sweaty — my clothes were by 4 p.m. I have nothing but the fondest memories for these comfortable, durable classics. These days I spend my summer free time embarking on camping road trips, and I find I wear the same combination of clothes. It’s an outfit that just screams, “pass me my water bottle, it’s hot out.”
- Old-school baseball
Whether we’re young or old, at the country club or the co-op, New England unites us — and baseball unites New England. My family of Sox fanatics took me to ballgames a number of times in my surly, bookish youth, and while the game never did much for me, I loved Fenway Park. The green, red and white; the old photos of baggy woolen uniforms in patriotic colors; the ancient logo of a red, stockinged foot. It conjures Main Street USA, boater hats and parasols, bandstand concerts, cotton candy and flying kites. The foundation of our country’s best season. I consider it a privilege — and a feast for the senses — to be able to spend my summers here.
