My Polo

I do declare this day that I reclaim the POLO shirt from the domain of the DOUCHE.

My polo is not a Ralph Lauren. Nor is it Tommy Hilfiger, Lacoste, or HUGO BOSS. It is not a PGA officially-licensed product. It did not cost $125, plus tax.

My polo comes from American Eagle or Old Navy. Occasionally, it's a no-name brand from a department store. It cost $30 AT MOST, presuming I didn't buy it during a "3 for 1" sale.

I do not wear two different coloured polos at once, one over top of the other (Just use a God-damned undershirt, douchebags).

I DO NOT POP THE COLLAR, except occasionally as a joke at parties, and only momentarily. After laughing I usually shudder and feel a bit dirty inside.

I wear the bright pink one, not because I am "comfortable with my masculinity", but rather to subtly show that I am uncomfortable with it. Fuck your gender-norms.

I wear my polo because it's easy to wash and dry (by the way, I do the laundry in our household).
I don't wear my polo with khakis. Jeans are cheaper and last longer anyway.

I wear my polo because it breathes in the summer heat. I wear it because in the relaxed professional environment of Vancouver it is suitable, practical work-wear. Work-wear which won't be incredibly uncomfortable during the crowded commute home on public transit. No, I shan't be driving home in a BMW.

In summation, my polo is, an affordable, versatile garment.

MY polo is the shirt of the proletariat. Fuck your preconceptions. Down with douchebags.



young man with red polo shirt - copyright: Sedlacek/Shutterstock

Jesse Schooffsnark, writing