Good Charlotte. Aeropostale. White Trash. Libra.
What is the common denominator, folks? Give up?
T-shirts, Benjamin, T-shirts.
Anyone out there with an eye and a focal point will have caught that those six words are big on clothes. And not just those words either. Lately, random words and phrases have been popping up on all kinds of clothes, ranging from cheapie Wal-Mart tees to wildly expensive haute couture.
And I have to wonder, why?
Yes, band tees have been around forever, and fashion houses have been using John and Jane Public as billboards for decades, but lately, I’ve found it’s become hard to walk around without seeing some really stupid shirts. And when I say stupid, I mean stupid.
Take for instance an example I saw earlier this semester. A guy walks by me in the hallway, wearing a shirt that has a picture of a horse and the words “I’m a stud” or something to that effect.
Uh-huh, if you say so.
What took the cake, however, was that the shirt was bright pink and skin tight. Now don’t get me wrong, if constricting neon does it for you, go right ahead and wear it, but do you really need to say you’re studly in it? Because to be perfectly Randi (as opposed to Frank, who I am not) “stud” was not the word I would have chosen to describe this person. I think my word would have fallen on the other end of the language spectrum, but that’s neither here nor there.
Moving on.
There are, of course, the usual “hottie” and “princess” shirts, rarely worn by either, and the requisite “your boyfriend wants me” tees, flaunted by socialite trash everywhere. I’m not sure I understand the value in wearing a shirt that is supposed to, I assume, strike fear into the hearts of committed women. I’m sorry, why would anyone’s boyfriend want someone that shallow?
And why would you want him as a boyfriend if he did?
But my new favorite is “my boyfriend is out of town.” That’s a winner I think. I really want one myself — I feel it’s always good for a relationship to own clothing promoting one’s availability for specified days of the week.
If you want random “I saw your shirt, wanna go make-out?” attention, don’t have a boyfriend in the first place. Not hard, really, just stay single. But then I guess the Zen thought of the shirt would be moot and the wardrobe would be painfully decreased.
Now, I did see a shirt the other day, in a preview for “White Chicks” of all things that I found amusing. “Dude where’s my couture?” I laugh inside every time I think of it. Not because the shirt itself is funny, however.
The idea that the words “dude” and “couture” appear in the same sentence is nerve-grating, and it goes to show the level to which society’s elite have fallen. I can’t begin to imagine Coco Channel or Audrey Hepburn asking this and it cracks me up, because it shows money can’t buy class. Not that that’s a big shocker.
And, speaking of money not buying class, Britney Spears, oh I’m sorry, Federline, has been wandering around in a shirt that proclaims “I am the American dream.”
Since when has being a trashy, popular-with-no-one-but-dirty-old-men, singer been the American dream?
I’m an American. I have dreams but that’s not one of them.
I don’t know too many people who have ambitions to be married at 23 to a back-up dancer with two children of his own and no talent to speak of.
Rich and famous, maybe people want that, but the rest of what Mrs. Whateverthehellhernewnameis has isn’t the American dream, it’s the American reality in half the country. A reality I don’t particularly think is worthy of T-shirt space.
We need a shirt that says, “I am the American mediocre.”
That one would rake in the big bucks and would be so much more apt.
So I could go on and on forever about stupid shirts, god knows I’ve seen my share, but I think it’s best if I just quit before we get too immersed.
In closing, I want to say that I bear no ill will toward T-shirts with sayings on them.
I too own some, and maybe someone else will find one of mine stupid one day.
In fact, I guarantee you someone will.
But just know this – you will never find me in a “Boys are stupid” shirt, nor will you catch me sporting a “Kabbalists do it better” tank.
I won’t buy anything that proclaims my love for Chris (because really, does anyone else care?) and I’m not about to spend my cash on something that describes my physical attributes or astrological sign.
Because folks, they’re just not my style. And honestly they shouldn’t be yours either.