The French Tuck

Simple, sneaky, and apparently only French in spirit.

I didn’t even know this was a thing until recently. I know my way around the French menu — fries, dip, dressing, and yeah, even the kiss. But “tuck”? Didn’t ring a bell — though, to be fair, my French vocabulary’s what you might call menu-based.

Turns out, the French tuck isn’t just a thing — it’s a trend. Been around for years, apparently. Nobody told me, which is fine, because I’m about as fashion-forward as a pair of Chucks at a black-tie wedding. But I do try to keep up.

I know what works on me — and, more importantly, what doesn’t. So imagine my confusion the first time I noticed one of the Glover Park Brewery crew with the front of his shirt tucked into his pants like he’d been interrupted mid-tuck and just went with it. And turns out, it wasn’t just one guy — there were several.

Since then, I’ve had multiple sightings. Enough to make me ask questions. So one early afternoon — and yes, before you say anything, my clan of merrymakers likes to day-drink — I finally asked one of the keepers of the beer taps why he does that.

He tells me, dead serious, “It’s called a French tuck.”
I nodded like I knew what that meant, but inside I was thinking, I just figured you were trying not to pee on your shirt.

Apparently, that’s not the case. It’s fashion. A trend. A thing. He said it like he was quoting scripture, and I just stood there trying not to laugh — because I’m still picturing it as a safety mechanism for bladder control. Then he goes full Vanna White on me — demonstrating with flair, turning sideways, giving us a profile view like it’s Fashion Week at Home Depot. And it was a deep tuck, too — like maybe he was looking for something he hadn’t seen in a while (his own personal junk drawer to fish around in). And I know more than a few of you just laughed out loud, didn’t ya?

You know how sometimes you hear a song and get an earworm? And sometimes you see something you hadn’t noticed before — and then you keep seeing it everywhere. Like while you were napping, the world suddenly went all-in on too-tight polos, fake lashes, and belly-button visibility.

So I’m watching a cooking show the next night (yes, I cook… sometimes), and the chef’s doing it too — a neat little front tuck, like the recipe said so. Because apparently, it does now.

Then, not even 24 hours later, I’m at a department store and see a young couple — both rocking the French tuck. Matching. Apparently, we’re twinning now.

And listen, when I first heard “French tuck,” I thought it meant something entirely different — something not suitable for Sunday brunch conversation. But I was relieved to learn it’s just a glorified half-tuck and not… whatever else my mind came up with. Let’s leave it at that.

Funny thing is, it’s not even French. Somewhere in France, I bet a guy named Jacques just spit out his espresso hearing his country blamed for this nonsense.

Anyway, being the curious creature that I am, I decided to try it. But I’m not doing it out in public — I’m not ready to be that guy, and the public ain’t ready to see that guy. You know the one: the dude in cargo shorts with one hand on his waistband trying to “fix it,” but it only gets worse? Yeah, that guy.

So I tested it on one of my hikes around Kennesaw Mountain. Out there, nobody cares what you look like. Everyone’s sweaty, exhausted, and rethinking their stance on cardio.

Guess what? It worked. Kept my shirt from flapping around or sticking to me like cling wrap. Functional fashion — that’s my lane.

But here’s my take: unless you’ve got that magazine-cover body — you know, lean, tan, not carrying last night’s nachos — maybe skip the French tuck. Otherwise, you just look like you lost your keys and went searching in all the wrong places.

For me, I’m keeping it for hikes and yard work. Function over fashion. The French tuck might be trendy, but for me, it’s less runway, more weed-eater.

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The Condition — where real life meets real laughs (and occasionally real elastic waistbands).

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Sometimes fashion trends should come with a warning label — especially if you spend more time lifting pints than weights.

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