For most of my life, I never made much of the simple white t-shirt. I began wearing t-shirts with a singular devotion by the age of ten, when my mother realized no amount of fight could get me into a frilly frock. T-shirts, I found, were a window into my soul, and as such, there was nothing plain or simple about them. One t-shirt I owned exclaimed "DESTROYED" (which now, older and wiser, seems questionable) in an explosion of purple glitter set on white, another favorite, this one in black, read "french connection" but what I wanted it to read was "FCUK". As a teenager, deeply steeped in a love affair with Limewire, I wore punk-adjacent t-shirts with anarchist or anti-christ manifestos printed down the front and Blink-182 men's shirts altered to fit my teenaged frame. I placed these orders with my father, who would unquestioningly go to Hot Topic during trips to America for his residency to purchase them on my behalf, which is quite possibly the absolute antithesis of punk, or that in its un-punkness it is actually quite so? I never disregarded the plain white t-shirt, it's just that I was unsure of how to be myself in it.