An ode to the fracket

The fracket never gets the credit it should.

Usually a bomber. Usually from H&M or Forever 21. Usually black. Usually was on sale.

Wherever your fracket falls in the Venn diagram of characteristics, it performs an essential service.

My personal fracket was born on Halloween my freshman year. I had an awesome Cornell windbreaker I bought for myself on Cornell Days. It was a badge of pride that I wore through my senior year of high school and into my first few months of freshman year. In a matter of moments, however, this symbol was taken from me.

This was the moment I recognized the necessity of a fracket. I did not yet know the word, but I knew the idea. I asked myself, “What is the cheapest, semi-warm, fashionably passable outer layer that would not be missed should it disappear?”

I have learned many tricks about how to keep your jacket from being stolen: shove it behind furniture. Tie the arms with a friends jacket. Find a guy who will let you stash it in his room.

However, when it comes down to it, the best way for your jacket to not be stolen is simply to have the cheapest, oldest, most unfashionable jacket there.

By creating a clear distinction between your beloved jackets and the fracket, you ensure that you can save your beautiful leather jackets, expensive down coats, and trendy furs for a more worthy occasion than a sweaty bar or frat party.

The beauty of the fracket is its undesirability. That’s what makes the fracket wonderful.