There’s a saying here on Martha’s Vineyard that anyone wearing a jacket and tie is on his way either to court or a funeral. The point is you rarely see anyone on the Island who’s dressed to the nines – or even close to a three or four.
Casual is an understatement when describing how people here attire themselves. If you show up at the post office shaved and showered and wearing a pair of jeans without holes in the knees, someone is likely to ask: “What, heading off-Island?”
True, for a hundred years or so the Vineyard has been a place where people came to escape their white-stockinged, gartered, corseted, and – today – power-suited city lives. Not only is the power suit unknown here, even underwear is optional in some circles – all the better to enjoy the Island’s gentle summer breezes, whether walking the beach or riding above decks on the ferry.
Of course, long before the summer folk started arriving, the Island was home mainly to farmers and fisher folk, neither of whom had much time for getting gussied up. The Vineyard’s agricultural and maritime heritage has as much to do with our sartorial informality as its history as a resort Island.
There’s a difference between mainland casual and Vineyard casual. We see plenty of visitors here who are dressed informally. But they stick out like sore thumbs. There’s something a little too crisp and shiny about their efforts to
look laid-back. Who do they think they are, incidentally, with their fancy washing machines and irons? By comparison, we Vineyarders are un-tucked, wrinkled, stained, mismatched, and color-uncoordinated.
Today, it seems, many wear their slovenliness like a badge of honor. Even the Island’s wealthiest residents are not averse to sporting frayed collars and patched pants. Disheveled announces “I live here.”
Some like to wax lyrical about “Vineyard style,” which, as far as I can tell, involves jumping out of bed and selecting one item from your closet, two items from your laundry basket, and a wildcard-bonus item from your kids’ selection of Halloween costumes.
You can easily slip into the habit of not caring how you look because no one else seems to. It’s not long before your desire for comfort overtakes any interest you have in looking your best. Where once you might have had a haircut every couple of weeks, now you stop noticing you’ve been looking pretty shaggy around the edges for several months. Then it’s a slippery slope to dreadlocks and Grand Funk Railroad-style facial hair.
Of course, all of this causes problems when you have to make a trip to the mainland. Because, of course, you’ve completely lost perspective of what’s appropriate to wear in polite society. You leave the Island feeling like you cut a dashing figure, but upon arriving in the city realize you look pretty tatty compared to your buffed, polished, crimped, and primped town friends. You stand out like an Island bumpkin, a hayseed blown onshore.
For this very reason it’s always a relief to get home. If I’ve had a meeting in Boston, during the drive back to the ferry I’ll find a place on the side of the highway to slip into something more comfortable. As the ferry rounds West Chop to make its approach into Vineyard Haven harbor, I’ll be grateful I’m returning to a place where a man is judged not by the cut of his clothes but by the content of his character. A place where clothes don’t make the man and where you don’t dress to impress. A place where the dress code is almost always “Come as you are.” A place where . . . oh, boy, that breeze feels good.
