From eighth until twelfth grade I had a strict dress code. We could wear khaki or navy pants, but they couldn’t have cargo pockets. They also couldn’t drag on the floor, and if you wanted to wear shorts? They had to be no more than three inches above your knees. There was also a uniform skirt that could be worn: the boring ol’ plaid type thing.
As far as shirts went, we had to wear white, navy or yellow collared shirts. They could be polo shirts, or button downs. Shirts had to be tucked in, and they could not show your stomach. “No Midriff” was the rule.
We even had to wear white or navy socks, and only black, brown, white or navy solid-colored shoes. Hair color had to be “natural,” as did any makeup worn. Talk about boring. Especially when you are a teenager.
Wearing the same outfits year in and year out really got to me. I hated khaki pants. I could not stand polo shirts. By the time I graduated, the thought of putting a polo shirt back on my body would literally make my stomach turn.
But then time went on.
I grew out of my hatred for all things khaki, all things collared. In fact, I love polo shirts and I adore oxford-style shirts.
And I love nothing more than to dress my son in total prep attire.
Seriously, little tiny prep boy clothes make me so happy. The little polo shirts, the little plaid pants and shorts, the button downs? Be still my heart.
And, yes. Sometimes I even pop his collar.