by Zach Przystup
As middle age looms, some shell out for a new watch or car or boat or private island or rocket ship. Me? I just bought my first Dad Polo — I’m talking the gold standard, the Rolls-Royce of Dad Polos: The Dad College Alumni Polo (henceforth, “Dad Polo”).
I’ll be honest, the fit is not great. The shirttail is a tripping hazard, and the sleeves are cavernous — they would make Dwayne Johnson feel insecure. But at 50 bucks it’s a whale of a bargain for a midlife crisis.
Plus, there’s just something about a Dad Polo. It’s hard to put into words, but at a certain age, a certain stage, it just feels right to throw one on. That’s aside from its many virtues.
First, you need to understand one thing: The Dad Polo isn’t a shirt; it’s a time machine spun into a synthetic cotton-polyester blend. To onlookers, it says: When you see me now, just imagine me then. It does this with a wistful smile and shake of the head, maybe a little chuckle, as if to say “Boy, I was really somethin.'” In fact, that’s exactly what it says.
Those donning Dad Polos announce that they’ve got at least one foot planted firmly in the past, and they ain’t budging. I wouldn’t say that Dad Polo wearers live in the past, but they’ve definitely got a nice cabin there.
On versatility, the Dad Polo is truly in a class of its own. It’s business casual, it’s athleisure, it’s the golf course, it’s lawn mowing, it’s game day, it’s the Zoom conference call, it’s church, it’s poker night, it’s the kids’ soccer game, it’s the pool, it’s pickleball, it’s the backyard barbecue. With a Dad Polo, you can be mowing the lawn by 10, nodding off at church by 11 and grilling by noon.
A warning: Dad Polos talk. And with just a couple drinks, they can get pretty obnoxious. Generally speaking, there are three groups of Dad Polos to look out for.
First there are the National Champion Dad Polos, which practically chest bump you: “WOO! I just won The Natty! Sure, I stake my self-worth and emotional stability on the athletic performance of illegally recruited 18-year old kids on a weekly basis. BUT I’M A CHAMP BAB-AY!” Tell one of these types, “Congratulations on the championship, sir” or “Great season, sir,” and I promise you you’ll never see a happier man in all your life.
Next we have the Ivy League Dad Polos, which state simply, smugly, snidely: “I went to Harvard/Princeton/Yale … Ever heard of it?”
Above all, though, beware the Dad Polos repping schools that excel in academics and athletics; they’re a special case. I’m talking about Duke, Michigan, Stanford, Texas, UCLA, Wisconsin, my alma mater, Notre Dame (Ever heard of it?), and a handful of others. I could barely bring myself to type the names of some of these schools. Drunk on their well-roundedness, they thumb their noses at everyone, including the Ivies.
The rest of the Dad Polos? Salt of the earth.
Lest you think the Dad Polo is all middle-age self-congratulations and passive-aggressive flexing, they do have a contemplative dimension as well. That’s because the Dad Polo reminds you of where you’ve been, where you thought you were going, and then asks how the heck you ended up here. Those who frequently harbor self-doubt should avoid the Dad Polo for the time being.
Importantly, you do not have to be a dad to wear a Dad Polo. While some in their early 30s can pull it off, the Dad Polo has been engineered specifically to meet the needs of men 35 and over. We will wear it until we die, or purchase Dad Polos of schools that our children attend.
They say that with age comes wisdom. I don’t know about that, but it should definitely come with a Dad Polo. So wear it often, wear it proudly, but remember to wash it infrequently — a good Dad Polo should smell like a mixture of sweat, charcoal, and grass. And don’t even get me started on Dad sneakers.
