Though the individualistic teenagers I teach might be loathe to admit it, they all wear the same clothes. Oh sure, they all find ways to express themselves, but self-expression via nonconformity in clothing has been de rigueur for adolescents since they first gained a sense of purchasing power in the 1950s or 1960s. They may all say they aren’t one of the sheep-like masses, but look in their closets and you’ll find a hooded sweatshirt, a pair of stretch leggings, and a beat-up pair of jeans in the same way my generation had an array of flannel shirts, alternative band T-shirts, a beat-up pair of jeans, and the Lands’ End Squall Jacket.

First introduced by the Dodgeville, Wisconsin-based clothier in 1983, the Squall is a medium-weight nylon jacket with a fleeced lining that is suitable for the majority of autumn, winter, and early spring when the weather is cold but not the Ice Station Zebra conditions that make you bust out your Lands’ End parka. The company says that it “best exemplifies all of our know how. Popular for its classic style and versatility, it’s reliably warm, and made from durable windproof waterproof fabric.” That definitely appeals to the parent in me who wants to make any $50-100 jacket last as long as possible, and Lands’ End definitely knows I want dependability when it comes to my purchase at least according to their explanation of why the jacket is called “Squall”:

Reminiscent of our nautical past, the word ‘squall’ usually defines a sudden gust of wind bringing on storms of rain, snow, or sleet. Not the most comforting of images, is it? But at Lands’ End, Squall has come to define dependable warmth for generations … you might not be a captain sailing a ship through the choppy ocean but you certainly weather your fair share of storms throughout the day. Unlike a typical squall, our winter jacket may not be the cause of the storm will certainly be there to keep you cozy, dry, and protected from whatever is brewing on the horizon.

(source: Landsend.com)

I know that’s a lot to say about a jacket, or any article of clothing for that matter but the Squall jacket earned that pretense. My parents bought me my first Squall jacket sometime in the fourth or fifth grade; it was blue and I’m pretty sure that my sister got a red or pink colored one, and they were pretty much permanent fixtures during the transitional seasons all the way through high school, not just in my house but in my school and town as a whole. It was, in a sense, part of the suburban uniform of the 1980s and early 1990s. Those of a certain vintage and upbringing may remember going outside in the late winter and early spring, riding around on your bike in search of a friend to play with, and once you found them trying to figure out what to do because both of your moms kicked you off the Nintendo and out of the house. Sometimes, you got a bunch of other people together and played a rough game of touch football; other times, you just kept riding around while carrying on a conversation about whatever kid or teen topics came up. The specifics really didn’t matter, to be honest; you just remember that you were wearing the jacket.

Take a walk through any elementary or junior high school and you would see them must about everywhere–sure, some kids never owned one, but they certainly remember seeing them around. In fact, I’d say that it was a low-key status symbol, because while it didn’t have the coolness of a Vision Street Wear logo or the cache of something purchased at The Limited, the jacket was expensive enough (it currently retails for $119.95) to signal that your parents were comfortable enough to afford it. Plus, while it definitely put you in the realm of established conformity, the jacket was comfortable enough s well as innocuous enough that even the most rebellious kids sometimes wore them. No, really–I remember a guy at my high school but stop whom by his junior and senior years had gone full “alternative punk”. His wardrobe consisted of black jeans, Nine Inch Nails T-shirts, dyed black hair, piercings, and eyeliner, but on cold mornings he would wear a compass red Squall jacket.

I was less of a contrast in styles when I wore mine, as it completed my “good kid” look, which was mainly the style of fitting in and going unnoticed. I’m not sure that Lands’ End would approve of my assessment that this made the Squall jacket iconic, but it truly did. Even now, when I flip through an old yearbook and see the occasional picture of a classmate wearing a Squall jacket, I can picture their life even if I knew little about it–a clean room with the same wallpaper that’s been there for years (and I bet the bedding has been as well), maybe even some posters they haven’t bothered to take down, a CD collection that has selections everyone was listening to, a bookcase that hasn’t been culled since junior high, and a stack of honors homework on the desk. And while yes, that was pretty much my room, it was so many of my friends’ rooms as well. As teenagers, we all kind of layered our present on top of our past, although I don’t know sentimental we were about said past. in my case, I only cleared away the old stuff when I needed to use the space.

Most of my adolescence felt like being suspended between the past and future and as a result, I spent much of it wrestling with awkwardness and self-consciousness. If you asked, I probably would have told you who I was or wanted to be but even that was fueled by what I saw as the expectations of the adults in my life. Deep down, I had no idea and was freaking out. Had I known that fitting in was not supposed to be the ultimate priority in my life and that I could like what I liked and been myself, I probably would have been able to breathe easier. But this was high school in the suburbia of the early ’90s, which still had the residue of an ’80s teen movie. I got judged–and judged others (because I’m not completely innocent) on what I listened to and wore, so I did what I could to make sure my Walkman was properly stocked (and often failed especially when I got really into my mom’s copy of The Righteous Brothers’ Greatest Hits) and changed my look to appeal to … well, I don’t know who. I guess I wanted to make sure I was doing it right even if I had no idea what “right” was. And that was why the Squall jacked fit perfectly; everyone wore one, so when I put it on, I was significantly less vulnerable.

I am not sure what happened to my blue Squall jacket. Most likely, my parents donated it to the church during their many cleanouts after I moved away, and I never did buy another one to replace it, opting instead for a North Face fleece or Nike hooded sweatshirt over the shirt and tie I wear to teach high school. Seeing the jacket in the most recent catalogue brings up images of walking home from high school in my button down shirt and antique washed jeans from the Gap, leaves crunching underneath my Reeboks, listening to my Walkman. The palate of that moment is the rust, yellow, and browns of the fall, with the feeling of crisp air and the approaching gloaming of twilight. Those are some of the suburban moments I still cherish the most where I could take time to enjoy what was around me and just be.