Lately, however, dark forces have convened to upend our tradition. There are flocks of snooty, wretched souls—through their miserable #500FashionFridays campaign—who seek to jorts-shame us into wearing bespoke suits and polished Alden wingtips whilst melting in NW Vista. They want quote-unquote “upscale” fashion trends because they find Big Johnson tank tops distasteful. Bollocks to that! These narrow-minded nerds seek what they cannot see, for they are blind—blind to the cutting-edge, haute couture, runway-ready styles hiding atop the dignified, sunburned shoulders swaying in the Turn 2 pee troughs or passed out in the 8th fairway or smoking mulch among the mounds on the back straightaway.
There is beauty in the simplicity of Race Day Chic attire. There is majesty, even. Assuredness wears many outfits, and for one day a year assuredness can dress in nothing but a vomit-tinged Derrick McKey jersey (he’s like the original Lance Stephenson, only 1,000 percent less unhinged, millennials) and a Wild Turkey jock strap. This is the majesty of the Infield. The #DressUpForThe500! snobs speak ill of us and cast aspersions, but they know nothing of our art.
So take a trip with me, madam, as we analyze and critique the fashionable wares of Race Day Chic.
Taken apart, these garments would stand poorly on their own in nearly any social situation imaginable. However, taken together as an ensemble, they flourish! They inspire! They soar! This getup gloriously invokes the alluring aura of Turn 3: that fierce awareness of the power of truth, creation, and sweet Oakley wraparounds. The push-and-pull of textures and colors and cutoffs create an optical explosion of debonair delight. And also mescaline.
Take note of the minimalist, precise tailoring of the tube top seen here and how it embellishes our heroine’s greatest trait: confidence. The confidence to bong Fireball by the gallon in what amounts to a glorified swimsuit. Powerful, really. The sumptuous absence of contrived, unnecessary nuisances like sleeves or straps leads to a striking visual of exuberance and vitality, where cosmic energy and getting black-out drunk inescapably intertwine.
Notice the sheared denim-jacket sleeves and thus the creation of a lean silhouette, playing on the volumes that make him look and feel all at once noble but not standoffish, strong and yet of a poetic nature. The genius of the fanny pack—aside from the obvious—is its delicate dance with these blue Tracy McGrady Adidas T-Mac 2s, their lively rhumba filling the weed-tinged air with primal sensations that speak directly to our collective consciousness.
#DadWear is always welcome on Race Day, and it always will be. Here, Dad sits, comfortable and maybe asleep, unbothered by our fashion-conscious society and its aversion to brown hiking shoes with black Nike socks. With his tucked-in IZOD and trusty ballcap, this real-as-hell ensemble quietly lectures your eyeballs on the importance of contributing to your SEP-IRA. This fashion bravery is of the most stylish kind: raw authenticity—something that contemporary, mainstream fashion is unwilling or unable to achieve.
The innovative artwork penned by our hero takes us back to lonely worlds of memories, reminding us of scenes soaked in perfect remembrances. It takes us back to when the world made sense, when life was simpler and there were merely metaphorical boxes to check off one at a time. Paris and Milan can have their finely pressed linens and not-homemade Hanes shirts, for they lack the conviction and .026 BAC required for such masterworks. Perhaps Karl Lagerfeld could use a bit more of this “SEE ALL THE T—S” mentality in his next Fall collection.
Notice our subject’s perfect encapsulation of the Race Day Chic mentality, both refined and free, yet unmistakably disciplined enough to sacrifice himself upon the altar of sartorial magnificence. The headband-and-cutoffs combination screams “dignified,” but the Bud Light says “I am here to enjoy myself as well.” This is perfection.
What beautiful fashion choices will the youth and young-at-heart make this year? Only time will tell. Happy Race Day, Indy!