True Prep

by Lisa Birnbach

  But we’re sounding cranky and hypocritical, after all Logan, we have killed quite a few hours watching MTV, Bravo, Lifetime, Oxygen, TLC, and whatever channel Hoarders is on (reminds us of our distant cousin Maldwin).

  Of course, watching reality shows is a bit like defiantly sticking a piece of Juicy Fruit up around your top molars when you’re walking outside. We know it’s disgusting, but it can be irresistible. Still, we believe that one day, no matter what machine we watch, we will be able to see a well-written sitcom about a nice family in Connecticut who forgot to buy a beach pass until the town hall ran out of them. Hope springs eternal.

  If we have an opportunity to travel, we seize it. We have had passports since we were babies. The hand of our nurse, Hilaria, is larger in our first passport pictures than our little heads. Having been bred for it, we fly and sail and drive and take trains and ferries. We once rode a donkey up the cliffs of Santorini with a guide’s hands on our, um, flanks. Believe us now?

  Europe is somehow still the most important destination, but not all countries are equal in the prep travel lineup. England, France, Italy, and Switzerland are 1, 2, 3, and 4, respectively. But it’s preppier to go somewhere far for a quick trip. You are no longer a sightseer; you have to visit friends, or go to a wedding, or get married, or go to see Wimbledon or the French Open or to an antiques show, or to the couture shows or to the Cannes Film Festival. (Do not go to Cannes unless you or your partner have a movie screening there. Otherwise, you’re just a tourist.)

  We don’t want to be thought of as tourists. They go in groups and have to wear name tags or put stickers on their bags. They have to eat in big touristy restaurants and not discover little corners of their own. Plus, we’ve already been to the Tower of London, the Eiffel Tower, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We’re towered out, in fact.

  Preppies have taken on the world. We go to India and Bhutan. We go on safari in Africa. We go to the Galápagos to play with turtles and blue-footed boobies. We go to Bora-Bora and New Zealand. We take the train across Namibia. We go to Tokyo on business. We go to Sydney for surfing. We go to South America for hiking and fishing. We go to Spain to eat at I Bulli, before it closes. We will travel for an incredible exhibit, at the Moderna Museum in Stockholm, or the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, or an opera at Glyndebourne or at La Scala. The Edinburgh Festival. Two days of theater in the West End. Skiing in Austria. To meet the Dalai Lama in Vienna. We go to Turkey to buy rugs. Anything that sounds special and exclusive and … special. And really, really exclusive.

  If we are young preps in our twenties, we will go to music festivals—South by Southwest in Austin. Coachella in Indio, California. Burning Man. The New Orleans Jazz Fest. Ultra in Miami. Sacred Music in Fez. Bonnaroo in Tennessee. That music festival in West Africa. These adventures combine our very favorite things: friends, travel, music, drinking, photographs, and souvenirs.

  When a preppy heads to a career in medicine, very often it’s to surgery—specifically, orthopedic surgery. Your patients need you, but they aren’t sick. Your work is fun and manual, like shop class or woodworking, with higher stakes. Admit it: It’s a little bit macho, figuring out how many knees you can replace or how many spines you can fuse in a year. One of the other aspects of being an orthopedic surgeon is your annual medical convention in … Las Vegas. This is our introduction to Las Vegas.

  According to every travel site you can find, the two most popular travel destinations for Americans are, in fact, Las Vegas and Orlando, Florida (Disney World and Universal Studios theme park). We find this fascinating because without our medical conventions (a two-day stay in Las Vegas, maximum), preppies might never experience the Strip. And Orlando! A once-in-a-lifetime (two, if you have children from two different marriages) experience. There are no two destinations of less interest to preppies. But before you feel too guilty and too un-American, remember that you do travel widely in America … to New York and Vermont, Colorado, and Washington, D.C., and you’ve been to New Orleans and that lake in Wisconsin. You’ve been to Toronto/Halifax (oh, wait, that’s not America). You’ve been to Palm Beach and Hobe Sound but not to Orlando or Las Vegas.

  Las Vegas would love you to visit. In addition to being a city with legalized prostitution, it has decided that it is a family destination with such family-friendly features as twenty-four-hour everything, slot machines everywhere (including the baggage-claim area of the airport, to give you a taste even before you’re officially there), and smoking is permitted indoors. In addition to providing the thrills of overseas travel (To Paris! To New York! To Venice! To the pyramids of Egypt!), Las Vegas is the new Broadway, where you and the kids can catch up on those musicals you missed last time you were in New York. Las Vegas has lured the world’s great chefs to open outposts, so no longer do you need to go to Paris to be fed by Guy Savoy and Joël Robuchon, or to New York for Daniel Boulud and Jean-Georges Vongerichten.

  The other theme-park destination is Orlando. You only go there because your children have begged you to, and because there are so many commercials for it on TV (duh). A word of caution: Wait until your youngest is five years old; otherwise, he or she will have no memories of the magical trip (while you will have many memories of your migraines, the shockingly overpriced souvenirs, and the real Americans with whom you stood on lines for hour after hour).

  People sail for sport or pleasure but rarely anymore for commerce. The end of sail-borne trade could have meant the end of sailing itself, but sailing, of course, survived. Yet, today there are those who say that sailing is dying, that it is no longer relevant. On the contrary, not since Columbus set off for the Orient has sailing been more relevant as a response to the maladies of an era. In a time of complexity, here is simplicity. In an era of individualism, here is community. In an age of artificiality, here is nature. In a life of automation, here is responsibility. And in a climate of financial and environmental crisis, here is an activity dedicated to efficiently harnessing the world’s cleanest, freest, and most renewable energy source: the wind.

  From the time I was a small child—and not coming from a sailing family—I stared out endlessly at boats in the harbor. I was as ignorant about my passion as I was hooked. But my skills have developed, and it has defined my life in the most personal and even in a professional way. I have made lifelong friends of whom I have no clue what they do “on land.” Living on board is like having fifty summer homes. You are a nomad who drops in on other people’s lives—you might even add some excitement without their ever having to don Top-Siders. Sailing affects the way I think, the way I process what’s happening in the world, and it is a place to retreat to at times. It’s a skill, a survival skill, and has the most pleasant moments with the thrill of a sail or a sky that has just cleared. It is nature at its finest.

  —CHARLIE DANA, GUNNERY(X), NORTHWOOD(X), CHESHIRE, UNIVERSITY OF DENVER

  A few “musts” for any respectable yachtie:

  Center console RIB as tender

  Tervis tumblers (plastic insulated glasses with yacht club or pvt signal)

  Yachting pillows (think…“Captain’s Word Is Law”)

  Propane grill (hideous, but they all have them)

  Phone directories for Dark Harbor (Islesboro) and Northeast Harbor (Southwest Harbor, Seal Harbor, Cranberry Islands)

  Enough Mount Gay to circumnavigate the globe

  Leatherette on settees, navy Sunbrella piped in white cushions on deck

  Helly Hanson “foulies”

  Croakies for those expensive Kaenon sunglasses

  Sperry Sea Boots

  Towels with boat name: Ariel

  Carved model of previous boat, Bikini, prominently displayed for all to see how you have “upgraded”

  America’s Cup Jubilee 2001 Participant

  Polarfleece blanket with Ariel

  Folding bicycle

  Nantucket Reds

  Almost anything that will fit in an embroidery machine to stitch your boat’s name —C.D.

  The debate ov
er the relative merits of L.L. Bean’s Maine Hunting Boot vs. the L.L. Bean Boot vs. the L.L. Bean Duck Boot is one we could spend hours reading on the Web. Non-preppy hunters, non-hunting preppies, and preppy hunters have devoted themselves to arguing and proselytizing on this very topic. In fact, it may be one of our favorite hobbies: passionate debates about all things (especially those the size of a breadbox) that preppies care about. Pull up a chair.

  There are discussions about which sole makes less noise while walking on twigs (so prey won’t hear you stalking them). Discussions of how comfortable the rubber base feels after a long day on one’s feet. And of course, the pricing.

  L. L. Bean—the man—a hunting enthusiast from Freeport, Maine, designed boots with rubber waterproof bottoms and breathable leather uppers in 1912. He somehow procured a list of all hunting permit holders and sent them a little mail-order piece advertising the boots. He sold 100 pairs, 90 of which were returned for a full refund. He fixed the problem and was back in business. The hunting boots, as they were originally called, have always been among the store’s best sellers. In 1980, they cost $42.50. Now they range from $69 to $164. Today there are twenty styles for men and seventeen for women, and a new style, with waxed cotton uppers, designed for Bean’s more fashiony Signature line.

  Which we’ve photographed here. Vive la différence.

  It is important to make real eye contact when meeting someone for the first time. A good, firm handshake cements your initial impression and lets the other person know that you are really there. This applies to women as well. If germs are your weakness, please do not resort to a fist bump or rub antibacterial lotion on your hands just after shaking them with a stranger. Bear with the handshake, and head to a bathroom as soon as is socially feasible.

  If you are greeting a friend and you are moved to do so, a kiss is also perfectly fine. This means, in most cases, a peck on the cheek or near their cheek in their general vicinity. Try not to aim at their ear. More and more, the cosmopolitan world is used to the two-cheek kiss, which is also fine, particularly if you are saying hello to a European friend. Sometimes people will suggest, “Let’s do both cheeks, the European way.” We suppose that is fine, but it seems like a lot of bother to make this announcement. If you’ve just returned from your Junior Semester Abroad or an assignment at the bank of more than three months in Europe, go right ahead. It is your privilege and signals you have become even more sophisticated.

  If you are a man under the age of sixty, do not kiss women on the hand unless they ask you to kiss a boo-boo on their finger. Men over the age of sixty may kiss a woman’s hand, but be prepared to defend this action. If you meet the Pope, you may kiss his ring.

  Some friends will say hello by kissing on the mouth. This happens particularly when the people in question used to be romantically involved. Your tongue must remain firmly within your own mouth, and your lips should remain closed.

  Even as we age and marry or remarry, preppies like to kiss. Preppies can even be sensual kissers; no oxymoron there. Alas, despite pleading females, prep men still call it “making out,” “swapping spit,” or whatever term they heard when their experience of kissing began. It’s as if they were hit on the back of the head at that moment, and instead of becoming stuck in the cross-eyed position as legend had it, they stayed adolescent. Thus (and we apologize in advance) “sucking face,” “tongue sushi,” and so on never quite die. You fellows risk losing a date to the vulgar terminology you first thought cool in eighth grade.

  We endorse kissing, if for no other reason than it helps the emotionally stunted among us to express emotions. It is also a wonderfully efficient way to divine interpersonal chemistry. But do not forget the rush of endorphins, dopamine, and oxytocin which result from a warm exchange of smooches. There is an expectation that a satisfying kissing experience will result in a future kissing experience, and certainly a chance to get to know each other better. Be of sound mind when you begin the flirtation of kissing. While you are at it, public slobbering is gauche and unamusing and unattractive. If you are moved to express your love in public, choose a darkened doorway or a relatively quiet street, in order not to create a disturbance. Words work, too.

  Never skimp on introductions. This is key. You may introduce two people who will never see each other again, but it is flat-out rude to stand with an acquaintance (new or old) and not introduce him or her to your friend who joins you at a drinks party. And while you’re at it, please give us a tidbit that will help us remember the new person.

  Did you go to school together? (Were you friends at Exeter?) Or did you go to school together? (Did you attend Exeter at the same time but not really know one another there?) Or, perhaps, did you go to school together? (Were you at the University of Virginia in the same dorm?) Maybe you went to school together? (A finance class at Amos Tuck?) Or maybe you go to school together. (Do your children both attend Wheeler School?) All of this specific color will help distinguish one shiny face from another when yet a fourth person enters your cluster.

  Depending on the situation—life is not all about parties all the time, alas— you may or may not need a full name to make these introductions. “Anne, this is Blake. Blake, meet Anne. I know Anne from school; we crewed together. Blake is my neighbor in the country. I had no idea she knew the Armstrongs! What a small world!”

  When one of the strangers in a group is well known, one must acknowledge that by using the full name. “Governor Weld, this is Cap, I mean, Casper Higginbottom, who also works with me on the Annual Fund.”

  One of the pleasures of being an inveterate introducer is that you soon discover that, yes, Caldwell, it is a small world. As preppies (and non-preppies alike) discover, the older we get, the more the people we know know the other people we know. You know? We realized this before the invention of Facebook.

  In a perfect world, we love to connect to and for one another. We love to know that your future squash partner was the guy we introduced you to at the Kleins. We are proud that your daughter got an internship at Foreign Affairs because we both sat next to the Ambassador. We are tickled that you dated Baxter Thorndike because you met him at the book party. We think these connections help pave our way to—if not heaven, at least a long weekend on Nantucket.

  Preppies, so rarely accused of overdoing it, can sometimes be guilty of underdoing it. When is a hostess gift called for?

  If you’re invited to a dinner party, you are not obliged to give the Stones, your hosts, a gift, unless: a) They brought you a gift when they came for dinner chez vous, b) They feed you all the time, c) You have been remiss in managing this friendship and feel a little something is in order, or d) You always keep scented candles in your gift closet, and this is as good a time as any to give one away.

  You most certainly do not bestow presents in order to have them bestowed back to you. That’s primitive thinking. Sometimes, though, a gift is just too much, and can have the undesired effect of an excessive payback. In this case a charming handwritten note will suffice.

  A charming handwritten note will always suffice in any case. If you and the Johnstons are very close and cozy, and you have what we’d call an “informal relationship,” you may occasionally send an e-mail thank-you note instead, but don’t make a practice of it.

  Dear B&B,

  Fab time last night! Can’t wait to do Thai with you soon!

  Love, A & E

  If you’ve been invited to a big event, say, a wedding, a debut, a black-tie Christmas party, a bar mitzvah, a formal christening, or anything ceremonial, you may—wait for it—call your host the next day to chat with him or her or them. This is called the Postmortem. You are allowed, in this personal conversation, eventually, after the inevitable praise (“And the blue satin set off Laura’s eyes so beautifully”), to gently make more honest (i.e., critical) comments about the event (“And who does Kipper think he is with that earring? Keith Richards? And why was Ames not wearing her big stone? Trouble in paradise?”). This does not excuse your o
bligation to write a more formal handwritten thank-you to your hosts.

  In the right hands, the simple thank-you note is a work of art. Your penmanship doesn’t count, as long as it is legible. We don’t need to mention it, but obviously an ink pen is used, never a pencil. A fountain pen is nice, but it is an unnecessary affectation.

  A thank-you note may not be generic. You must thank your benefactor for his gift but never without identifying that gift.

  Thank you so much for the fantastic oar! I don’t know how Bly and I ever lived without it! We can’t wait to take it out with us this summer at the lake. And the green stripe will look terrific with our canoe! It was great to see you at our [fill in the blank] OR We were so sorry you missed our [fill in the blank], and/but we hope to see you again soon.

  Lots of love, Hooper.

  Dear Corny,

  Your tea party yesterday was divine. I’ve never had such sublime cucumber sandwiches, and I’ve eaten cucumber sandwiches for at least twenty years! I can’t wait until we see each other for a long catch-up!

  Xoxoxo Page

  As real PDA (prep display of affection) is frowned upon, and outward manifestations of genuine affection are as rare as a five-leaf clover, adult preppies, dipping into their childlike wells of enthusiasm, proffer lots and lots of love and hugs and kisses as their sign-offs, male and female alike. In this way they are compensating for a life of not so much love and hugs and kisses.

  Hi Genevieve,

  I found your library book behind the dog bed in the mudroom. Come and pick it up whenever.

  Xxxxxooooo love, Biv

  You may read the personal into all this extravagant love, but there’s a small chance, a teeny possibility that Biv became distracted while writing that last note, and forgot to whom he was writing or why, and just enjoyed the making of the x’s and o’s. But that’s us: Affectionate on paper, distracted in person.