But irony isn’t for everyone. Most of the guys I spoke with came by their love of graphic T-shirts earnestly. Whether in an effort to emulate an older brother by repping his favorite heavy metal band or to signal solidarity with fellow skaters via Supreme tees. “Each community has its own symbols,” says Bijan Shahvali, owner of Intramural Shop in New York City. “When you see someone from your tribe, quote-unquote, wearing this very specific niche graphic, you understand them pretty quickly,” he says, referring to the Supreme shirts he wore and spotted on others growing up. “If I see you wearing a box logo shirt in 2006, I’m like, ‘This guy gets it.’ But if I see you wearing, I don’t know, something like Balenciaga, it just doesn’t mean anything.”
He’s admittedly skeptical of irreverent designs, citing the cultural hollowness of 2010’s popular “Spiritual Gangster” shirts and referring to Abercrombie & Fitch’s brand of cheek—which, in the early aughts, included several racist slogans—as “the worst kind of graphic tee.” When scouring flea markets and vintage bins for rare finds, Chad Senzel, owner of an eponymous vintage store, says he skips items that are too silly: intramural sports shirts and family reunion memorabilia, specifically. Senzel also tends to toss tees with team logos, a genre of shirt Fracher similarly finds uninteresting. “I think sports are the lowest common denominator of clothing,” Fracher says, but admits that sentiment might be biased given that he doesn’t “think sports are that cool, generally.”
Donning popular iconography can have the adverse effect of flattening one’s personality. As Emelianov said of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album cover, “They’re at Walmart now, so it doesn’t really hit.” Or Fracher’s assessment of seeing someone in an Urban Outfitters NASA tee: “[It] says that ‘I don’t give a fuck about clothing.’” Likewise, the trend of giant brands partnering with the estates of beloved artists from Van Gogh to Keith Haring. “It’s like the importance of Keith Haring has been tainted by the fact that his art is printed on so many Uniqlo T-shirts,” Senzel says.
Altering an iconic (if not overplayed) logo is a delicate balance, but can effectively combat its oversaturation if done correctly. Consider Milton Glaser’s I ♥ NY design. Most New Yorkers wouldn’t wear it, though they can recognize the design’s ingenuity. But taking the same I ♥ formula and applying it to a city that isn’t as powerful as New York feels subversive. A few years ago, my girlfriend visited Thailand. She brought back a perfect white tee that read, in the same typewriter font, I ♥ BANGKOK. It’s one of my favorite shirts. I’ve since bought an I ♥ MALTA tee and am currently on the hunt for a Cuzco iteration.
One way to signal your admiration for a popular artist without recycling the same imagery is to zero in on a specific moment in time—a particular tour stop or a limited exhibition run. “Nobody that I know is ever going to own a Picasso, a Matisse, a Pollock, an Andy Warhol,” Senzel says. He’s particularly skilled at finding vintage museum merchandise. “It feels attainable, and in many regards, just as cool, to wear a T-shirt from a David Hockney retrospective at LACMA in 1987. It feels almost as good as having a David Hockney on your wall.”