polo zoology

Weird Al Yankovic is not someone I ever thought would inspire me to deeper thought. Make me laugh, yes. Send me into a frenzy of research not assigned by a professor? Most definitely not. But, I must concede, his poetic ballad "Buy Me A Condo", has raised a burning philosophical question for me. The lyric "I gonna get me da T-shirt wit' de alligator on" really sparked my interest in an aspect of the prepster lifestyle often gone unnoticed: Why are the preps obsessed with tiny animal emblems on their clothing? Lacoste has the alligator, Brooks Brothers the sheep, and Vineyard Vines the pink whale (along with the rest of the animal kingdom in fantastic colors). Is it some sort of secret society symbol? WASPs and PETA unite?
Being from southern California, I really thought I'd encountered every stereotype you could possibly imagine right outside my door (and a couple inside the door as well). Surfers, hippies, yuppies, soccer moms, gangsters, Hollywood insiders, Hollywood outsiders, hipsters, scenesters....But it was only when I came to GW that I realized the notable absence in my hometown: the prep. There are no boat shoes, no pink polos, no summers at the shore or winters at the lodge in the City of Angels. For those of you from L.A., picture a regatta passing the Venice Beach drum circle, rasta men cheering them on as they float down the hepatitis-infested L.A. river. Imagine trying to wear a cable knit sweater on a 65 degree Christmas Day, or a set of pearls with your wetsuit in April.
So I'm not a scholar of the WASP traditions, but I'm a keen observer of their practices here in the borderline south, and while the culture as a whole puzzles and intrigues me, this zoo of animal logos is one that seems to have no consistency, no root in their monogrammed past. So I did a little digging, and have constructed the Non-Prep's Guide to Polo Zoology, for all those as fascinated with the WASPs as I am.
Brooks Brothers had the first animal logo in the prep kingdom, and (not surprisingly) the one that makes the most sense. The "golden fleece" or "magical flying ram" had long been a trademark of the British wool merchants, who jacked it from Greek mythology. Brooks Brothers stuck it on the tag of every blazer, and thus begins the textile domestication of animals.
But, as we can glean from history (and fashion) the seasons change, and as they do, animals emerge from hibernation and migrate out into the open. Animal insignia migration patters suggest that at this point in history, they moved from their hidden lair on the tag, to a place prominently stitched over every prep’s heart. The first to make its way there was the alligator.
Rene Lacoste, nicknamed "The Alligator" after losing a tennis match and an alligator suitcase along with it, invented the polo in 1933. Tennis-garb was generally hot and uncomfortable, and Lacoste developed a light, loose-fitting shirt that maintained an air of class while on the court, and decided to trademark the shirts with his own alligator symbol. While there seems to be an internal debate at Lacoste whether it is a crocodile or alligator, the little green guy has appeared on the polo ever since as the first example of prominent label display.
Twenty-two years later, Minneapolis-based Munsingwear (an underwear and military supply company) introduced a similar design, called the "golf shirt" to the American public, through a line called "Original Penguin". Their excuse for having an Arctic creature as their mascot is rather morbid: a Munsingwear salesman saw a flock of penguins in a taxidermist's window, and bought one on a whim, taking it back to the office with him and affectionately naming the stuffed thing "Pete". Everyone took such a liking to the animated little guy, they glorified him on every golf shirt in America.
Next up we have Mr. Ralph Lauren. After leaving Brooks Brothers, he realized that in order to successfully make a mark in the prep fashion collection, he needed one thing and one thing only: his very own animal. But without a tradition, a nickname, or a cute story, Mr. Lauren was at a loss. However, with his astute marketing sense, and a love for homonyms, Ralph decided to take the easy route: put polo on the polo. And so it came to pass, the tiny polo player and his horse to sit upon our shirts. Let’s ignore the fact that polo players only started wearing polos after a few years of envying the comfortable tennis clothes (although I’d argue that polo isn’t going to be a comfortable sport, clothed or otherwise). We’ll dismiss the notion that he has violated what seems to be an "animals only" rule in the prep logo world by putting a player upon the horse. All those blatant offenses aside, he succeeded in creating the most recognized fellow with a mallet that could ever appear on your chest.
At this point, over population and mutation fostered deviation from the standard animal/prep kingdom. Vineyard Vines, a popular Nantucket-based clothier, appropriately chose a whale for its mascot….and turned it pink. J. Crew, not being able to commit to one creature, decided to let the zoo loose on everything, stitching pants with ducks and dogs, crabs and lobsters, trout and foxes. Some mutants branched off and devolved, birthing the unwanted step-children of the prep collection, Abercrombie & Fitch and American Eagle.
While I have yet to discover the greater answer to why exactly they chose animals and not hieroglyphics, my study of the WASP tribe will continue in earnest. Now educated in polo zoology, all I need is a Cuisinart and some wall-to-wall carpeting, and Weird Al and I can stir gin in the bath and quibble over which yacht to take to the vineyard, with our trusty alligators over our hearts.