The Privilege of Being Preppy
Pleated mini skirts. Mid-ankle bobby socks. Striped button-down shirts.
What was once just considered to be the ugly private school uniform has now become the epitome of ritzy, enviable preppiness. Tiktokers and Instagram influencers post OOTDS and Days in the Life with their hair “Dysoned” to perfection, their wrists jangling loudly from the never-ending stack of shiny gold bracelets. Their locations are conveniently just as manicured, the content filmed amongst sprawling houses and country clubs.
Preppy as a concept was solidified into the American culture vernacular in the 1980s. Through movies like Metropolitan and The Official Preppy Handbook, the American public was introduced to a world rich with old money and the scent of Chanel #5.
The Handbook promised readers an education on how to be “The Tradition,” guiding them through the right mannerisms, etiquette, dress codes, and family dynamics to become the ultimate WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant). Albeit meant to be a more satirical work than a biblical manual, the Handbook illuminates the social advantages built into the preppy lifestyle.
Decades later, it seems possible now to buy items from the preppy aesthetic, but it seems like a small chance that you can actually buy the privilege that is inherently tied to upper class, white America.
As Aniya Reynolds, a first-year Elon student who studies the intersectionality of race, gender, and privilege in Ralph Lauren advertising, explains, preppiness is the reflection of someone’s status.
“Preppy culture is all about being as exclusionary as possible,” she said. “Whether it's through their pricing, access to plus sizing, or even the models they use in their commercials or websites.”
From more established brands like Vineyard Vines and Lily Pulitzer to newer ones like LoveShack Fancy, Reynolds said that these companies place the white upper class, their target demographics, on a pedestal as the faces of luxury. For decades, the preppy industry has thrived on the sense of superiority that accompanies the large price tag. Purchasing an item of clothing is stimulating; the thrill of the chase now not exclusive to the dating world.
“It’s addicting to belong to a brand or ideal that some people will never be able to experience,'' Reynolds said. “It makes them feel like they’ve been chosen to engage in something meaningful.”
Our society’s participation in showing worth and wealth through clothing will never truly be stamped out. But in mainstreaming preppiness, maybe there’s a way to prove that this aesthetic can be manipulated, even reclaimed for a wider audience.