On any given day, a glance around campus reveals a plethora of Chadwick teachers stylishly cruising the lawn and hallways in today’s trendiest faculty uniform: the vest. The “Chadwick Vest” has officially become a phenomenon that is part mountain expedition, part Swiss Army knife, and entirely torso-focused. If you’re not on board with the trend yet, it’s time to zip up.
According to many vest-wearing teachers, there are many motivating factors for this sleeveless obsession, the first being a deep-seated concern for the temperature of the human trunk. Why waste precious insulation on the forearms when the vital organs are where the real academic magic happens? As Ms. Segal eloquently noted, “The addition of a vest adds a layer of warmth to protect your vital organs,” which is crucial with climate change always messing with the temperatures around here. Ms. Santana notes that vests allow her “arms to live their best lives,” while Mr. Park agrees that the layer keeps him “warm, but also not too warm.” Meanwhile, Mr. Miho appreciates that a vest keeps him looking svelte rather than “bulky.”
For many teachers, the vest isn’t just clothing; it’s a high-capacity storage unit. Ms. Tabor and Ms. Peterson have effectively turned their torsos into mobile supply closets, hauling whiteboard markers and snacks across campus while remaining aerodynamic enough to “write a lot of math problems.” Imagine the disaster if they tried to teach while trapped in the restrictive cages of sleeves. Mr. Nordlund even manages to fit a phone, wallet, keys, a snack, and three markers into his. APUSH students, fear not: Nordlund is prepared for any historical crisis, all thanks to his zippered utility hull.
While the overwhelming majority of respondents were “vest-positive,” a few outliers view the sleeveless life with existential dread. Mr. D admitted to a crushing case of “Patagonia Paranoia,” fearing that by donning the fleece, he would become indistinguishable from the hundred other clones roaming the quad. Ms. Hill finds them “bulky” and misses the comfort of tucking her hands into the sleeves of a sweater (isn’t there a song about that?). Ms. Cermak seems to agree, suggesting that vests are a regional necessity reserved for the Midwest, a fate she is glad to have escaped. Ms. Donovan even bravely voiced the concern that the look leans a little too “tech-bro” for her Head of School aesthetic.
But for every skeptic, there is an extremist. Take Mr. Dëma, who owns a golden vest that makes him feel like he “slew a dragon for its treasure.” Or Segal, who champions the endless “flair” options: collars, lapels, zippers, buttons, ties, pockets, flaps, and the untapped potential for pins and pocket watches.
Perhaps the most poetic argument for the vest comes from Nordlund, who described the vest as the “mullet of outerwear: business casual on the arms, mountain expedition on the chest.” It’s a bold lifestyle choice that signals to students: “I am old enough to be cold, but young enough to pretend my biceps are impervious to the elements.”
If you’re still a vest-skeptic, I don’t blame you; I pity you. As Mr. Donnell suggests, the anti-vest crowd is likely just suffering from a lack of exposure: ”I have to imagine that anyone who has something against vests simply hasn’t had a chance to discover how great they are yet.”
Go forth and discover, Chadwick. Your core will thank you.
