If you were a 6th, 7th or 8th grade boy in Tipp City, Ohio, in 1986, you probably wanted to beat this kid up on school picture day. Oh, yes, Captain Dapper suffered for his fashion choices.
I always looked forward to school photo day. My parents weren't really snapshot people and, as a vain kid I was happy to have at least ONE photo a year. That it was professionally shot with lights and a big camera made it an even bigger event! And if I was only going to get one shot per year, I was going to make the most of it. Every year, on the eve of school photo day, I would pull out the photo albums and look back at the previous years. I would look for ways I could improve over previous photos. I'd look back at past hair styles, smiles and, most importantly, my fashion choices.
In the summer of 1986, a few weeks before I started sixth grade, my mom and I made our annual shopping trip for my school clothes. Now, my parents have never had any interest in fashion or style. Literally zero interest. They've always relied on hand-me-downs and clearance racks, fit and fashion be damned. Shopping for new clothes meant a stop at K-Mart and a quick trip to mall. We mostly stuck to the two anchor stores at the mall, a Sears and a low price department store called Hills. I would look longingly at the specialty stores in the middle of the mall, but I was well aware that they weren't in our price range.
The minute we hit the boys department in Hills that year, I saw this shirt and tie combo on a plastic torso hung high out of reach. Below it, in a big bin, were rows of plastic-wrapped shirt and tie sets in varying colors.
"I have to have this," I told my mom, clutching one of the crinkling plastic packages to my chest.
"Really?" she said in disbelief. "But where will you wear a tie?"
"I don't know. School," I suggested, "or somewhere."
"Do you even know how to tie a tie?"
"Look," I pointed out, "I don't have to. It's a clip on."
That's right, a clip on tie. Captain Dapper's first official tie was a clip on. Hey, cut me a break. It was sixth grade.
"OK," my mother sighed, "we can buy it, but you have to promise me you'll wear it."
I'm sure I squealed. I probably did a happy dance. And then I chucked the shirt into the shopping cart before my mom could change her mind.
About a month into my sixth grade year, my family moved to a new town and I was enrolled in a new school. A couple of weeks later, picture day rolled around. I was still getting used to the new school and a different group of kids. I had to wear my shirt/tie combo to school. I was intentionally saving it for my sixth grade photo. After my Michael Jackson button faux pas a couple of years prior, I was going to look dapper this year!
I woke extra early on picture day. I dressed early and, despite being a clip on, I fussed with the tie repeatedly, trying to make sure it was absolutely perfect. And then I proudly walked to school, thinking that all the other kids would be impressed with my dapper duds and attention to detail.
That wasn't the first day that I became the target of every bully in the school, but it certainly contributed to my eventual branding as a fag and a freak. I spent the day fielding questions about my picture day ensemble. "Did your parents make you wear that?" "Why the hell are you so dressed up?" "Why are you such a faggot?"
I'm sure I learned very little that day. I spent every class period wishing they would call me to have my photo taken so I could take off the tie and be done with it. I spent my lunchtime trying not to stain my shirt and tie while being taunted by the jocks. I wasn't called for my photo until the end of the day. As I waited my turn in the gymnasium, I was relieved to finally get it over with. After a day of teasing, I no longer thought my look was cool.
I remember the photographer mentioning how nice I looked. "Like a little gentleman," she said. I took this as a great compliment, thinking myself a pint sized version of Bruce Willis (circa Moonlighting), until I hear the other boys laughing at the photographer's comment.
The minute I left the little makeshift photo studio in the gym, I ripped off the tie and stuffed in my locker. I worked the shirt into my weekly rotation but I never wore the tie again. Well, not until the band holiday concert when we were all asked to wear ties for the performance.
I guess if there's a lesson to be learned here it is this: You can't hold a dapper man (or boy) down.
Image: Jason Loper
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