Ostensibly this will be an essay about fashion, but I like to think of it more of an essay about decisions that build community. About the joy of connecting with strangers and a celebration of silly, arbitrary karasses. Although all the main arguments herein are specifically about shirts with logos, they could just as easily apply to stickers on cars or water bottles, tattoos, patches on jackets or bags, whiteboard quotes, conversational topics, decorations in a house or office, social media posts, etc. But I’m getting ahead of myself, let’s start with defining some terms:
Shirt: n. T-shaped, torso-covering article of informal clothing.
Logo: n. Graphic, synecdoche or lettering that represents an organization or other cosmically meaningless association; the more intimate or specific the tribe the better.
Increasingly bland clothing seems born of two potential thought processes. Firstly, a signaled desire to be taken more seriously. A projection of maturation. All white or black or grey or blue t-shirts. Or a generic, geometric pattern of parallel or perpendicular lines. And once you put a creased fold in the neck hole opening, wowza! What a legitimate entity you think you are! Buttons! How can I send you money? It seems noteworthy that “collar” can also be used in reference to a restraint meant to assert dominance over an animal. Maybe the above examples are ephemeral fashion choices or trends. I admit that fashion is beyond my understanding, interest or expertise. However, the pitched-tent, leash-paths-of-legitimacy seem to be here to stay.
Secondly, a bland shirt signals a desire to be unbothered or to anonymously blend into the scenery. A belief that passive existence in a space constitutes community. That indifference is the same thing as belonging. That you can exist in a community without interaction. In the case of introverts, I can understand how any added, unplanned social interactions can lead to increased stress. To that straw man’s point, I’d counter that a logo on your shirt focuses and controls the potential ways that someone might approach you to strike up a conversation.
A bland colored or patterned shirt is incapable of providing evidence for any experience worth asking a follow up question about. An afternoon wandering a mall, an evening of idle scrolling through your phone or a sponsored social media post clicked on. What is there to delight in here?
A shirt with a logo evidences an experience. A concert attended, a team or college supported, a microbrew guzzled, a company patronized or a National Park vacationed to. It says “I did something” or “I support something” or “I believe in something.” An accessible way for a current stranger/future conversation partner to understand one element of the complex, interesting person you are. A wormhole into your brain. A signal of your interests or values.
The inefficient mechanism of having to wait in a line in the merchandise section before forking over $20 is, in the parlance of big tech, a feature not a bug. A shirt worth the money and time says something about your preferences. This inefficiency is the point. Voting with your dollar is a tentpole of economic theory, first popularized by James Buchanan (not the president of the same name) in Individual Choice in Voting and the Market. Value is defined as a dollar amount mutually agreed by a buyer and seller to be worthy of exchange for a good or service. This value is neither predestined nor permanent. Rather, individual players making infinite decisions create and thus ascribe value based on preferences. These preferences, in theory, are reflected by markets. Consumer behavior informs sellers how to best respond moving forward, bending the future to the will of the people in the marketplace. The invisible hand powered by choice.
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Idly standing around in line is one of the most egalitarian, unprejudicial, fair modes of modern human assemblage. Nothing matters besides the timing of your arrival. Any billionaire, superstar or fancy person must wait for whoever entered the queue seconds before her. Time in the realm of this pregnant, unassigned, public moment of our daily lives has known biases. Everyone waits until their turn.
Wearing a shirt with a logo (or otherwise outwardly supporting ventures you value) while idly standing around in an egalitarian human train invites comment. Maybe someone has a relative that went to that college or a story about that band on your shirt. Wearing a shirt with a logo is an invitation to connect with someone about something that you value. It’s saying “ask me about this thing I love. Do you love it too?” A wormhole into your heart.
A different-than-before straw man might argue that wearing a shirt with a logo might invite animosity. Sports, politics and other issues can be mighty divisive. To this I would counter that the cost of ignoring a shirt with a logo you dislike is essentially nothing. A random stranger in such a shirt is unlikely to invite conversation unless there were extenuating circumstances. Maybe they clearly need a hand with an activity, seem imerilled or possess knockout good looks. In such examples, an offensive rival team or college shirt probably wouldn’t outweigh the immediate, human considerations. You are thus in essentially the same situation as you would’ve been wearing a monotone, unaffiliated shirt. You’ve lost nothing by wearing a logoed shirt versus a blank one. The cost is miniscule whereas the benefits are tremendous. By wearing an affiliated, logoed shirt, you open the door for anyone who may be somewhat sympathetic to your karass to walk through. Logoed shirts are trying. Logoed shirts are a belief that a hitherto unknown stranger who shares your values and experiences might brighten your day in an unexpected way.
So please, next time you leave the house in a shirt can you check to make sure it has a logo? Someone might be out there wanting to say hello.
Essays by Cameron 