In Defense of the Chads: A Rebuttal

I read Mrs. Coffin's recent column about "the Chads" with great interest and, I'll be honest, some disappointment. My friend Baxter texted it to our group chat (we call it "ACK Attack") and the reaction was swift. Hunter was like, "bro, this is literally us," and yeah—it kind of is. But that's not necessarily a bad thing?

Let me explain.

First, Some Context

I've been coming to Nantucket since 2009. That's fifteen years. I was fourteen years old the first time I stepped off that ferry, and something just clicked. The cobblestones. The lighthouses. The Nantucket Reds my mom bought me at Murray's that first day. This island is in my blood now.

So when someone like Mrs. Coffin—who I'm sure is a lovely woman and whose family has apparently been here since the whaling days, which, respect—writes a column essentially calling me and my friends "chaos gremlins," it stings a little. We're not tourists. We're summer residents. There's a difference.

On the Name Thing

Mrs. Coffin made a big deal about our names. Chad, Brad, Thad, Tucker, Hunter, etc. She mentioned "one guy everyone calls Moose."

First of all, I know Moose. His real name is Montgomery, and the nickname is from lacrosse. He's a great guy. Works at Goldman now. Would literally give you the Patagonia vest off his back.

Second, these are family names. My name is Prescott because my grandfather was Prescott. His grandfather was Prescott. We're the fourth generation of Prescotts. The nickname "Trip" comes from "triple"—I'm the third Prescott who goes by a nickname. It's not pretentious; it's heritage. Mrs. Coffin, of all people, should understand family legacy.

The Economic Argument

Mrs. Coffin acknowledged this in her column, but I want to emphasize it: we spend money here. A LOT of money.

Last summer alone, my family's household spent—and I had my assistant run the numbers—approximately $47,000 on the island. That's restaurants, retail, boat maintenance, club dues, the charity gala, and yes, approximately $400 at Cisco Brewers across multiple visits. That money goes into the local economy. It pays salaries. It keeps businesses open.

When Hunter orders four drinks at once "for the table," he's not being irresponsible—he's being efficient AND supporting local business. That's just good economics. I would know. I work in venture capital.

On "Bro" Culture

Mrs. Coffin described our greeting call—"BROOOO"—as something that can be "heard up to half a mile away." Okay, first of all, that's probably an exaggeration. I've never measured.

But here's the thing: "bro" is a term of endearment. When I see my friend Tad for the first time after a long winter apart, and I yell "BROOOO" across the Steamship terminal, that's joy. That's authentic human connection. That's months of texts and group chats finally becoming real, in-person friendship.

Maybe year-rounders greet each other differently. Maybe a quiet nod is more their style. That's fine. But don't judge our enthusiasm as somehow lesser. We're just happy to be here.

Because we are. Happy to be here. Every single summer.

The Range Rover Situation

Mrs. Coffin didn't specifically mention Range Rovers, but I've heard the criticism before, so I'll address it preemptively.

Yes, the island is flat. Yes, it's mostly paved. But have you tried getting to Great Point? You need four-wheel drive. It's basically essential. And once you have a car with four-wheel drive, why wouldn't you drive it everywhere? It's called amortizing your investment. Again: venture capital. I understand these things.

Also, the Range Rover fits all the beach chairs.

On Being "Loud"

I'll admit: we can be loud. When we're at a restaurant talking about the market, or when we're at Cisco debating whose boat is better for the Figawi next year, our voices might carry. But that's passion. That's engagement with life.

My father always said, "If you're not excited about something, why are you doing it?" We're excited. About the island, about each other, about the opportunities ahead. If that excitement sometimes manifests at 140 decibels, well—that's just the sound of people living their best lives.

The Real Issue

I think what Mrs. Coffin is really saying—underneath all the jokes about our names and our pants—is that the island is changing, and change is hard. I get that. I really do.

When my family first started coming here in 2009, it was different. Quieter, maybe. Less crowded. I remember when you could get a table at Cru without a reservation. (Just kidding—my mom always made reservations. She knows people.)

But change isn't bad. It's just different. And we're part of that change. We're investing in the island—literally, in some cases. My friend Palmer's family just bought a property on Hulbert Avenue, and they're planning a very tasteful renovation that will absolutely respect the historic character while also adding a pool, a pool house, and a small wellness pavilion for Sloane's yoga things.

That's not destroying the island. That's enhancing it.

A Proposal

Here's what I'd suggest, Mrs. Coffin: let's grab coffee sometime. I know a great spot—the Downflake. I hear you're there most mornings? I'll buy. We can talk about the island, its history, where it's going. I think we'd find we have more in common than you might expect.

We both love this place. We both want what's best for it. We just express that love differently.

You express it by remembering the past. We express it by yelling "bro" really loud in public and spending a lot of money at restaurants.

Both are valid.

In Conclusion

To my fellow Chads, Brads, Thads, and yes, even Moose: don't let the criticism get you down. We belong here too. Our families have invested in this community—some of us for almost two decades now. That counts for something.

And to Mrs. Coffin: I hope you'll read this rebuttal in the spirit it's intended. Not as an attack, but as an olive branch. Maybe even a conversation starter.

My family's been coming here forever. Well, since 2009. But in our hearts? Forever.

See you at Cisco.

Bro.