The T-Shirt’s Last Day

I imagine Echo and the Bunnymen’s Nothing Lasts Forever has sound-tracked the end of many a relationship. Today it reminds me that clothes – like people – grow apart. Or fall apart in this case.

It wasn’t until I caught the reflection of myself in a cafe window that it hit me: this was the last day I would ever wear my favourite blue t-shirt.

As I sat on the train I wondered how on earth I hadn’t seen the signs of wear and tear sooner. Or better yet, why my mirror failed to warn me of its demise. I had been cheated by my own visage.

For years, this blue Supreme tee and I had been an ideal match that never required much in the way of critical reflection. People often told me we looked great together and that we were the perfect fit. It had become a staple and looking good in it was a given. And over the last four years it sure did serve me well, outliving many of its contemporaries in the process. But it no longer fitted its Supreme label.

In fact, when I look back on moments of social success, so to speak, it wouldn’t surprise me if I wearing Ol’ Blue. Whether it was casual work drinks, a date, or even the prowess of company at a fashion show – the simplicity of my tee held its own.

Now that I think of, this probably wasn’t the case – but it was at least comfortable.

It was time to face up to the facts – Ol’ Blue was not in good shape. It hadn’t attracted a compliment in some time. It had let itself go, especially around the waist. Four years of wear, and wash cycle after wash cycle, had finally taken its toll.

Ol’ Blue now resembled a man of pore posture whose life had been run ragged. The neckline was unstable, slouching down low, and it was thinning up front. If you cared to look close enough you could even spot my chest hair poking through the strained fabric.

After realising how bad I’d let it get, I couldn’t wait to get home and take it off. I studied the judging looks from co-workers and clients alike while in a meeting. All of whom seemed to sneer at Ol’ Blue. I felt compelled to let everyone know that this was going to be its last day in the office, and we would not be holding farewell drinks for it at the pub after work.

Still, parting company with such a loyal garment wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe I’d keep it hidden away where it couldn’t hurt anybody, in a drawer behind those unused condoms. No. It had to go. It had to. Katie from accounts confirmed it with a withering stare. But I couldn’t ignore the memories that lay within its very fabric.

I’m sure you can sympathise. We’ve all allowed clothing items to outstay their welcome as trends left them behind. Maybe it’s a camo print, early 2000’s stained denim, or that pair of Adidas button up tracksuit pants you’re holding on to. It’s emotional.

But I was farewelling this one thing that transcended time and trends. It didn’t bear the scars of bad screen-printing or hideous fluoro. It was cool – plain and simple

Come to think of it, my Ol’ Blue tee didn’t outstay its welcome.

It simply outwore it.

Chris is currently interviewing new t-shirts. He is a mens small, enjoys a fitted feel and durable heavy-duty fabric. He’s taking recommendations here: quasitis@gmail.com

Pokémon Goes Out of Control

Remember when we’d stalk the streets and pile into parks searching for Pokèmon? When the cops would ask you what you were doing hanging around outside a stranger’s home at midnight and you could explain that you were just on a quest? Or when a slim chance of catching a Vaporeons was worth stopping traffic and risking your life for? Good times.

But as popularity for the app wanes, Pokèmon have gone from being the most hunted species on the planet, to a damn nuisance. They’re fucking everywhere. The last remnant of sad Pokèmon master trainers are said to be outnumbered 7000-1.

Parks (‘GYMS’) have become breeding grounds, and our streets are at risk of being overrun by these pests once thought cute and fun. And now our native wildlife are suffering. Poor street rats are being forced out of their natural habitats behind Chinese restaurants. Not to mention, the damage being done to our property. Just recently, a car in Brooklyn was set a blaze by a rampant Charizard.

But it doesn’t end there. While walking my dog this morning, I happened to step right in Pokèmon poop. Sure, it may be invisible to the naked eye, but it’s safe to say it was probably there. I mean, let’s face it, based on the sheer numbers of Pokèmon roaming around, we’ve probably all stepped in their shit. Go on, check your shoe.

My question is: how long before a mother claims that a Diglett took my baby?  What we must do is simple. We need to dust off those cobwebs from our Pokèmon Go app (or re-download it in most cases) and take action! But this time, we gotta catch and kill ’em all.