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THE IMPOSTOR IN THE POLO SHIRT

Aug 14
4 min read

Updated: Aug 22

By Nicholas Whittle


There is a gentleman on Instagram – and for the purposes of this argument he stands in for a considerable movement – who portrays himself a standard-bearer of something called The New Prep.

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He is photographed on the streets of New York in a quilted olive jacket over a plaid shirt, an orange bandana knotted at the throat, a patterned flat cap, long dark hair.

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The caption reads "PEAS &CARROTS –The hashtag reads #TheNewPrep.

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What he's doing has its own coherence and its own intelligence.

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The layering is considered.

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The colour relationships show a real eye.

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A second image doubles down: Breton stripe, wide-leg jeans, white sailor cap, the red bandana making a return appearance.

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Overlaid in bold: THE NEW PREP.

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If you called it downtown New York workwear with a nautical accent and a vintage sensibility, you would be paying it an honest compliment.

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The street style tradition it draws from is legitimate, and the eye behind it is genuine. 507 likes, and deservedly so.

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The problem is not the clothes.

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The problem is the hashtag.

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WHAT PREP ACTUALLY IS

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Photography: Teruyoshi Hayashida. From Take Ivy, powerHouse Books.
Photography: Teruyoshi Hayashida. From Take Ivy, powerHouse Books.


In August of last year, this column wrote about the intelligent insurrection at the intersection of Ivy League heritage and contemporary menswear – Beams Plus, Aim√© Leon Dore, the Japanese rediscovery of American trad that turned out to be more rigorous than the original.

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The argument was about seizing the establishment's own weapons and turning them against everything they

represent.

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That argument assumed the people doing the seizing knew what the weapons were.

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Prep is a specific tradition with a specific geography, a specific wardrobe, and a specific attitude.

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It emerged from the north-eastern American university system.

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It was transplanted to Japan in the 1960s, where a group of photographers documented Ivy League students in Take Ivy – a book so meticulously observed it sold for extraordinary sums when it finally reappeared after decades out of print.

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The Japanese, characteristically, understood it better than its originators. Beams, Ships, United Arrows have been the most faithful custodians ever since.

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Ralph Lauren did not invent prep. He mythologised it – turned a wardrobe into a world, a set of clothes into an aspirational universe. Not a small achievement. But it rested on a foundation that existed before he arrived.

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Photography: Teruyoshi Hayashida. From Take Ivy, powerHouse Books.
Photography: Teruyoshi Hayashida. From Take Ivy, powerHouse Books.

That foundation has specific components.

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The Oxford button-down – collar points fastened because polo players needed them not to flap.

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The natural-shoulder blazer – the shoulder falling where the man's shoulder falls.

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The chino, the loafer, the rep tie, the Shetland sweater, the cricket sweater worn with the same authority as a t-shirt.

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These are not random items. They are a system, each piece earning its place through utility, longevity, and indifference to fashion cycles.

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Prep is not about looking rich. It is about looking as though the question has never occurred to you– an incredibly sophisticated position to occupy.

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The worn-in quality is not manufactured distress. It is actual wear. The Nantucket red that faded to pink over a decade of summers. The boat shoe that has been on a boat.

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WHAT IS "THE NEW PREP" ACTUALLY

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Search #TheNewPrep and you will find: Breton stripes, baker boy caps, wide-leg jeans, bandanas, olive and khaki, vintage workwear.

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A perfectly coherent downtown New York street style aesthetic with a nautical accent and a vintage sensibility.

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It has nothing to do with prep.

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The Breton stripe is French fisherman.

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The baker boy cap is Edwardian working class. The bandana is American workwear and counterculture.

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All legitimate traditions – and worn with the intelligence our man on Instagram clearly possesses, they produce something worth looking at. They simply belong to a different story.

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What has happened is that "preppy" has become an Instagram mood tag – a shorthand for studied

casualness and vintage sensibility, heritage without the inconvenience of understanding whose heritage or what it means.

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This year's forecasters have declared prep the defining menswear movement of 2026. Search interest up 200%.

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One publication describes it as being about "ease,

individuality, and reinterpretation" – the language used when someone wants the cultural authority of a tradition they haven't bothered to read.

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The quarter-zip, for the record, is not prep. It is ski lodge circa 1987, corporate casual circa 1997, tech-bro uniform circa 2017. Its rehabilitation is welcome. Its conscription into the prep tradition is a misdemeanor.

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WHY IT MATTERS

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Traditions evolve. The best ones evolve because the people evolving them understand what they're

working with.

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The Japanese trad scene produced something more rigorous than the original because its practitioners studied the source material with scholarly devotion.

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Aimé Leon Dore produces something genuinely new because Teddy Santis knows exactly which rules he's breaking and which he's keeping.

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The difference between evolution and erasure is understanding.

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The street style tradition and the prep tradition are not enemies. They are different languages.

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A man fluent in both can move between them with the ease of a natural bilingual. What he cannot do

is call one by the name of the other and expect the confusion to be harmless.

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It isn't harmless. It evacuates the word of meaning, and meaning is precisely what makes the

tradition worth inheriting.

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THE ACTUAL INSURRECTION

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Last year's insurrection was real. It was good, and it remains so.

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What it requires, as all insurrections do, is knowing what you're rebelling against and what you're fighting for – the James Dean approach doesn’t cut it.

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When you seize the establishment's weapons without understanding what they were forged for produces not revolution but pantomime.

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The New Prep, as currently constituted on Instagram, is pantomime.

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Enthusiastic, well- photographed, occasionally charming – and in the case of its better practitioners, genuinely stylish.

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But the real thing is out there, quietly waiting. In the Beams Plus archive. In a Take Ivy reprint.

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In the roll of a collar on a shirt worn enough to merit its own footnotes.

Photography: Teruyoshi Hayashida. From Take Ivy, powerHouse Books.
Photography: Teruyoshi Hayashida. From Take Ivy, powerHouse Books.

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It is not in a hurry.

 
 
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