The popular (senior) boys in high school were called The Crunchies. They were a mix of highly preppy, privileged stoners with major sideburns and long hair, though this was not the seventies, just 1998.
They listened to The Grateful Dead, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, Cream (and Eric Clapton on his own), and developed a love affair with Phish that they’ve sustained for life. They preferred bow ties and Nantucket Red pants.
The Crunchies were an interesting type of bad boy, and all of the freshman girls, including myself, were fascinated. The Crunchies, in turn, were fascinated with us. While we had the youth card to our advantage, we were our own off-the-cuff breed that diverged from previous generations of our prep school’s girls. We were loud and opinionated (and maybe, yes, cringe-a-little tacky), but we ruled.
Perhaps part of the appeal was the opposition. They brought introspective chill into our lives and we brought the festivity & flair into theirs.
The Kent Crunchies in their photo glory…