Opinion

Is the high school letterman's jacket a sign of the patriarchy? A perspective on the teenage rites of passage donning one's letterman's jacket

In ABC's "American Housewife," Season 3, Episode 2, Kate Otto rips into Taylor for wearing her boyfriend's jacket, a sign of the patriarchy. (Image is from the opening of the episode, aired October 3rd on ABC, credit Kapital Entertainment and ABC Studios) less In ABC's "American Housewife," Season 3, Episode 2, Kate Otto rips into Taylor for wearing her boyfriend's jacket, a sign of the patriarchy. (Image is from the opening of the episode, aired October 3rd on ABC, ... more Photo: Kapital Entertainment And ABC Studios Photo: Kapital Entertainment And ABC Studios Image 1 of / 22 Caption Close Is the high school letterman's jacket a sign of the patriarchy? 1 / 22 Back to Gallery

Has the American teenager's once ubiquitous cloak of status and personal achievement been relegated to the Goodwill rack of history?

The letterman's jacket has been the uniform of American boys-turning-into-men, simultaneously a rites of passage and a way to literally wear one's achievements on your sleeve for decades.

But, this month, that garment became a symbol of the patriarchy — an insult to decades of social progress.

Watching "American Housewife," from October 3rd, Katie Otto (Katy Mixon) viciously tears into Taylor (Meg Donnelly) for wearing her boyfriend's letterman jacket.

"You take off that jacket and give it back to Trip," Katie said.

"But all the girlfriends wear their boyfriends' jackets," Taylor said.

"Not you.... You are your own person," Katie replied. "Take it off. ... Your whole life cannot be about some boy."

For Kate, the jacket symbolized submissive dependence on domineering men.

For me, becoming a teen in the late 80s, the letterman's jacket indicated achievement and societal acceptance.

On Friday nights, impressionable freshmen watched roving hordes of massive 18-year-old senior "men" stride out after the football game, muscles straining against their now-too-small jackets, glistening with bars and pins and layers of letters indicating their prowess in football, basketball, and track. They were the idols to emulate.

And, when the captain of the cheerleading squad wore her boyfriend's jacket? The epitome of high school royalty.

Even scrawny, geeky kids like me who spent more time writing for the school newspaper than being outdoors could earn one. I went out for cross country because it was the quickest way to letter your freshman year. I didn't letter that fall, but I did letter in track-and-field that spring and went on to the varsity team.

When my jacket arrived? I was no longer the nerd, the outcast, the new kid. I was one of them. The day I got my jacket — the letter "G" proudly sewn on the left chest — was more monumental than when I got my driver's license, or got accepted into college. I mean, let's be honest. Everyone expected me to get into college. They didn't know if I'd ever actually "letter" in a sport.

I failed to see at the time that I was buying in to the same hyper-masculine culture. I didn't realize that a girl wearing a guy's jacket was more than the chivalrous act of keeping her warm. My myopic mind just saw it as fitting in.

Today, as I beg my 14-year-old son to please go to his high school's homecoming game, I realize how different society has become, at least in the San Francisco Bay Area. I have not seen a single letterman's jacket at his East Bay school.

Perhaps today, we need a letterman's jacket for academics? Big, varsity letters for AP English, or straight A's? Many schools have been awarding letters for the yearbook team or the school paper and other non-sporting events. Some, I found, award letters and subsequent pins for a 3.0 GPA.

And perhaps the very term — letterMAN — is an embarrassment to our egalitarian ethos. LetterPERSON? LetterKID? LetterTEEN? Maybe just Letter Jacket. Searching online, that term does show up more now.

And the letter jackets are being worn by both women and men, as a way to show school spirit, in addition to touting one's teenage resume. It just doesn't seem to be the sartorial rites of passage anymore, at least not in the Bay Area.

Maybe that jacket's time has indeed come and gone. Maybe this is an obituary for the letterman's jacket. But just like the protagonists from some John Hughes movie, to 16-year-old me, there was still nothing cooler than walking into a room with your friends, and your girl is wearing your letterman's jacket. Looking back, though, my enlightened girlfriend never showed any interest in wearing my jacket. She was far more progressive than I.

While it may be — and may have always been — a symbol of the patriarchy, it just felt like belonging.

Belonging to a group, and belonging to a part of Americana.

There's nothing wrong with celebrating athletic accomplishment, but I do look back now at that idealized "letterman jacket" culture I aspired to join and realize it was not always aligned with my ideals of celebrating intellect, woman's sports, individualism, and self-expression. Having a girl wearing your jacket seemed so essential then but now seems so anachronistic.

My jacket is still hanging in my attic, sealed in a garment bag in case I ever go back to my alma mater for some 30-year reunion, where I can put it back on and show that I too achieved some modicum of athletic achievement.

But will my son ever wear a letter jacket? Not likely.

Will my daughters? Maybe, but I doubt they'd ever let their boyfriend wear it.

Should anyone? Celebrating achievement and showing school spirit? Yes.

Each school and peer group and subculture will decide if the representation of all those ideals can evolve into a modern societal meme or if it is time to discard the old one and its baggage for something new.

Maybe laptop stickers showing your accomplishments.

They just won't keep you or your partner warm on a foggy fall evening watching the homecoming game.

Brandon M. Mercer is the executive manager of SFGATE. Read more stories and perspectives on his author page.