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Nantucket: Nice Pants and an Attitude to Match
by James Lairdo

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Nantucket: Nice Pants and an Attitude to Match
by James Lairdo

The city of Boston is brilliant. Fine restauraunts, great nightspots, good people, and (finally) sports teams to be proud of. It is truly a classic city, an honest city. Boston doesn't go much for the hype, the glitz and the galmour so often associated with big city life. That's New York, not us. We like substance, raw substance, and lots of it. We'll be the first to tell you that while Antoine and Paul are great, they're not worth anything until they bring home a ring. Jermaine Wiggins is our hero. Local boy does good. Yeah, good. As cities go, they don't get any classier, any more wholesome, or any more unique than Boston.

But as alluring as it is, there lies an even greater prize in Massachusetts — a prize greater than the mighty Fenway, the immortal Foxboro, and the eclectic Harvard Square — for those willing to believe in it. It's a little, oddly-shaped island some 40 miles off the cost of Cape Cod. No, not Martha's Vineyard, the well-known retreat of the rich and famous. I speak of Nantucket. Nantucket is Massachusett's island. Martha's Vineyard is too high on itself, always threatening to go off and join Connecticut if we don't pamper it just right. Martha's Vineyard is royalty, but we don't have time for royalty in Massachusetts. The Patriots are our royalty, and they're hard working, blue collar, and tough. Go join Connecticut and see if we care. Nantucket is our island. Nantucket is our love.

Maybe it's the seafood. Maybe it's the waves. Maybe it's the town center packed with all its unique arts, crafts, and character. Some believe it's the fog, and it could definetely be the brewery. But truth be told (and no one familiar with the island can deny the fact), it's the pants. It's all in the pants. Nantucket Red was, at first, a minority symbol, a symbol of true taste, class, and originality. It has grown up into a symbol of everything that is right with our world. It is faded, distressed-looking, beat up, and mysterious in many ways. Yet it is elegant, charming, and oh-so-versatile. You can wear it to the beach, or throw on a blazer and sport it at the next country club event. It's hard working, and you will always feel you got your money's worth out of a pair of Nantucket Red pants. It's the symbol of Nantucket, representing the beliefs of the island on a larger scale.

But the island is about more than pants. It's not just a destination, a fad, or a hot spot in summer. It's a lifestyle. People from Nantucket are different. Martha's Vineyard is glamorous, high profile, and talked about. Nantucket is low-key, relaxed, and laughs at itself when it becomes too serious. Rustic is one word to define the island known by many, but understood by few. The only way to truly experience the magic is to personally visit. It's far different from the Walt Disney World magic, but if it's meant for you, you'll feel it the moment you get off the ferry. You'll feel different. You'll feel reborn. You'll feel special--it's a special place to be.

And it's a cozy island, perhaps more than anywhere else. I've lifted weights next to Bill Belicheck, seen my friend's plane parked next to Jimmy Buffet's, and walked past the house of designer Tommy Hilfiger enroute to dinner. So yes, Nantucket does get its fair share of celebrity, but only to outsiders. On Nantucket, the idea of celebrity does not exist. Everyone and everything is taken at face value, for what it is. There are no paparazzi, no autograph hunters, no overambitious Hollywood-wannabes trying desperately to mix with the stars. In fact, I would go so far as to say that this article is the island's greatest plug ever, not because it's a brilliant piece of writing, but because people hardly ever talk about Nantucket. Inside, they love their island. They're so damn proud of it. But they'd never dream of shamelessly promoting it like this. It gets its due in their mind, and that's enough.

But I'm selfish. People recognize Boston as a unique, classy, and original city, and they recognize the Vineyard and the Cape as super chic. But Nantucket has always been the child never picked for dodgeball. Not because he wasn't good enough, but because no one knew who he was. In many ways, I hope Nantucket never gets picked for the team. I hope I never see a Vanity Fair writer on the island. I don't think I will, no matter how greatly I promote it. It's not for them; they wouldn't like it. They'd find it boring, useless even. But the college crowd who goes there in the summer loves it as if it were a keg of Budweiser. The old folks, who walk the beaches out of season and enjoy the sunsets from inside (god bless 'em), love it too. It's impossible to put into words the love that exists between Nantucket and Nantucketers. In many ways, I am going against the true spirit of my beloved island, disrespecting it even by giving it this plug. It doesn't need this. This doesn't help it. So I'd like to say that I'm sorry, Nantucket. I'm sorry, to the waves of Nobie, the quahogs in the chowder, and the fog that greets the believers every morning. But you deserve it, Nantucket. You're just too great to accept it.