According to Irish lore, cable-knit sweaters bore patterns distinct to each family, enabling those who pulled fishermen’s corpses from rivers to identify the departed. A depressing fashion, to be sure, but not as groan-inducing as the T-shirts reading, “I’m seeing Dublin!” and the countless other — less droll — garments on display at the Chicago St. Patrick’s Day Parade.
Amid the waves of Kelly green that washed over city streets were boas and sunglasses, sombreros and Spock ears, Afros and eyelashes and underpants. Green shamrock antennae have become as Irish as red hair and fair skin.
Here is Ted Mace, 22, of Traverse City, Mich., wearing a kilt and a T-shirt reading “Lush of the Irish.” And underneath? “The traditional no-wear,” he says. “And it’s really cold.”
Not far behind is East Lansing’s Sami Aljallad donning green suspenders equipped with shot glasses. “Buy me a shot, Irish or not” read the tiny plastic cups.
John Hansen makes the curious fashion combination of a T-shirt bearing the iconic image of Che Guevara beneath a green blanket worn as a cape. His buddy Charlie Dwyer, 22, of Wrigleyville, is quick to drop his pants to reveal green nylons.
Sarah Brist, 20, of Chicago, with her green pants, green shirt, green shamrock sunglasses and plastic marijuana leaves hanging around her neck, looks as though she’s descended from an Irish galaxy far, far away.
Need an Irish pimp hat? Stop into one of the bustling novelty shops along Michigan Avenue, where those dressed normally rush to remedy that. The top seller in one store is “Irish Yoga,” featuring a picture of a man bent backward over a chair.
The Barnum clan of suburban Lansing is here, with girls Riley (13) and Callie (11) donning huge beer-stein hats and even bigger smiles. But none seems as giddy as the rowdy crowd that gathers for photos in the shadow of the Bean, including Doo Hee, in a T-shirt reading “Dublin Vision,” and Seok Won, whose shirt declares: “Made in Ireland.” (He was made in South Korea.)
This holiday has clearly grown beyond its Gaelic, Catholic roots. One of the only mentions of faith this reporter spotted was the shirt reading, “I swear to drunk, I’m God.”
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ctc-tempo@tribune.com
