By Dalhousie Gazette Staff
It is currently Sunday evening and I have just completed three loads of laundry. One thing that surprises me is that I have 67 T-shirts. What is more surprising is the break down of what these T-shirts consist of. I own six Gap V-necks, three polos, 10 skateboard T-shirts, one Mickey Rourke T-shirt an ex-girlfriend gave me, and about five of those terrible video game shirts Bluenotes markets towards all those nostalgic nerds out there who miss their Super Nintendos.
If you’ve been counting along, that’s only 25 T-shirts. That leaves 42 other shirts. Those are all band shirts.
It started when I was in grade 10. I had recently got into all of those punk bands people get into after realizing that Blink 182 and Moneen can only be enjoyable for so long. I worshipped The Clash, loved The Sex Pistols and tolerated the MC5. Lucky for me, a store in Toronto known as The Black Market printed “vintage” tees for all of these bands and many more. After a few allowances, I was walking through my Fine Art Theory class looking like The Shit.
Soon, people caught on. Everybody going through the same transition I was had a London Calling shirt and all of a sudden I felt less individualistic. I also felt less cool. This wouldn’t do.
My taste changed. I began listening to college rock and the hunt for obscure band shirts began again. A Radiohead shirt from their Skydome performance. A Beastie Boys shirt from their Air Canada Centre performance. I even purchased one of the most uncomfortable T-shirts I’ve ever worn, in a parking lot after seeing The Cure. It has Robert Smith’s face on it.
Then my T-shit habit got out of control. By the time I was in university, anytime I went to a concert or went shopping I’d grab one. Tupac, The Go! Team, The Mars Volta, The Strokes, three Led Zeppelin shirts! It was beginning to be too much.
This past summer I went to England and Iceland. I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t spend hours in Manchester trying to find a shirt with Morrissey’s face on it.
At some point recently it occurred to me that I originally bought band T-shirts in an effort to show my personality by displaying what musicians I enjoyed. I’d go into class, someone would notice my Ramones shirt, and we’d strike up a conversation. It kind of defined who I was. At least I thought it did. It got to the point where I started having certain band shirts I’d wear to bed – I sleep a few nights a week with a Dog Day shirt I purchased impulsively at Virgin Fest. I had to stop.
These days I mostly wear plain T-shirts. That and nice jackets. It’s hard to ignore two drawers filled with cool designs and band names, but I manage.
Occasionally I’ll put on an item that has some sort of deeper meaning. The Joy Division shirt I found while shopping for prom. The Dinosaur Jr. shirt I got at Value Village. An Aemenia shirt I picked up from one of the members of Sigur Ros that looked way better on one of my girlfriends.
I’ve owned a lot of band T-shirts. I’ve found they drain your fashion sense rather than enhancing it. The few special ones that take you back to a certain place are the ones you need to hold on to and cherish. Or do what I do and wear them while working out, because nothing makes you look more like a hipster than completing a 20 kilometre run in a Plants and Animals shirt.
A piece from Matthew Ritchie’s Band Shirt collection can be seen this fall on fellow Arts Editor Laura Dawe in the form of Guns N’ Roses vintage.
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