I Own Seven White Tees. Two Still Have the Tags On.
The wardrobe staple that's actually a $370 existential crisis.
There’s a bakery near me that has delicious little cookies: 3 for $1. My mom loves them, so for her birthday, Radio and I paid her a visit at work with a boxful. I wore cute pants and a brand new white tee, pristine, tags just removed. Seeing her requires the full works – makeup, jewelry, all of it. It’s less hassle than if I don’t.
Parked, with an excited Radio by my side, I went for the cookies and somehow knocked over the iced coffee in the center console. It spilled on the box and splashed on my new shirt. But luckily at the bottom part, which I could tuck in. Faye appreciated her puppy kisses from Radio telling everyone it’s her grandchild. Seeing the coffee splashes across the white box, she laughed.
“I’d expect nothing less,” she said.
But it makes for a real struggle when the perfect white tee is supposed to be the foundation of every wardrobe, or so I’ve been told. It’s a staple and an investment piece. And the shopping gods decided $74 is the going rate for the white tee, and we’re told we need three.
The shopping gods decided $74 is the going rate for the white tee, and we’re told we need three.
That means dropping $370 on white tees, keeping in mind the $74 tee is just mid-level. The Great, AGOLDE or FLORE FLORE take you up to $100. Reformation, COS and Buck Mason drop you to $50.
It’s how I ended up with 7 in my closet: 3 sleeveless and 4 short-sleeves. Two still wear their price tags.
But none are the “it” brands. And while clearly my closet doesn’t need another white t-shirt, apparently my psyche does.
Because every time I see yet another white tee I don’t own, I send myself on a goose chase. Fearful I don’t have the “right” ones because they’re not from Leset, Perfectwhitetee or Goldie.
The only mental calculus a white tee used to require was at a concert merch table. Now the lifestyle these brands are selling require a consultation with your financial planner, first. Unless you’re making at least $500K a year. Only 1% of US households make that kind of money.
If you decide you can afford it, you have to get past the principle of it: $74 seems like an insane amount of money for a tee shirt. That could be an amazing sushi lunch, instead.
The white tee isn’t the problem — it’s the canary. The real question is who decided $74 is normal and why nobody is doing the math.
The white tee isn’t the problem — it’s the canary.
Yet every time another influencer shares “the” t-shirt your closet is missing, I start the doom scroll obsession. Reading about it, dissecting it, querying why everyone loves it. I know the white tee is a symbol – mine at least – of trying to fill an endless hole. But it doesn’t stop me from trying.
I know everything I’ve already spent is a sunk cost. If I were starting from zero, one or two of the good brands would’ve cost me less than this collection. But the hanging shirts haunt me.
How did we get here? Not to date myself, but I remember when a white t-shirt used to be ubiquitous and easy.
When I discuss it with my partner, who does the laundry and battles my stains, his response is the same: “Don’t spend a lot of money on white. You’ll ruin it.”
I know myself. I’ll buy the white tees.
And I still end up with my same problem: I spill and all white tees stain easily. It’s why I have a separate pile of white tees in the coat closet. With stains. Because my wardrobe staples will eventually become my happy place, when I tie dye them all.
Tell me which white tee you bought, kept, and would actually buy again. Brand, price & why it survived.
When life stops making sense, we shop. More soon.
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This past year I began cautiously adding white shirts into my wardrobe, having studiously avoiding them much of my life with full knowledge I magnetize spills to them.
There’s something about a white tee that both entices and worries me. When I buy them, I then fret when wearing them, particularly to events involving food, most particularly to bar-b-ques of which there are many here in the Midwest.
My strategy which somewhat works (depending on your definition of “works”) is avoiding all meats drenched in bbq sauce, choosing foods that don’t drip, including salads without dressing, and swirling white wine in my red Solo cup instead of luscious cabernets. When scouting a place to sit and enjoy my meal, I slide into a picnic table slot upwind of other guests, white tee shirt safe should a gust of wind pick up a small paper plate and send it my way.
On my recent trip to France, my new wardrobe color interest (a major shift from virtually all black and grey) was heightened by my dear friend who brought nothing on the trip but white tees, jeans and black leggings.
"It makes everything easy," she explained.
I looked at her white tees hand-drying on the rack off the living room area then glanced toward my bedroom and overstuffed suitcase. My outfits were "mix and match" for the most part but seemed complicated, requiring thought to coordinate.
I couldn't stop thinking about her simple (and much smaller) wardrobe once I got home. "Easy" was definitely the adjective I dreamed of using to describe my life. My obsession with white tops was fueled. It has not let up one iota in the months since I returned.
Yes, there have been spills but I took a different route than an obsession for the perfect “it” tee (with the corresponding perfect “it” price tag) at retail. I scour Goodwill, eBay and thrift shops, looking for 100% cotton not-stretched-out tees with no stains. I’ve managed to stuff my closet with good quality I can replace without deep regrets if stains find their way down the front.
So far I’m ahead in the stains: replacement ratio. All stains (of which there are few, given my hyper-vigilance about food and drinks and inability to simply wear white to any event without thought) have washed out. I'm happy about this for obvious reasons but also that I’ve not had to add cutesy patches or embroidery to camouflage anything--a strategy that seems great in my head but one it is highly unlikely I would ever get around to doing in real life.
I’ll report back on my first full summer wearing white instead of black as my wardrobe go-to after Labor Day rolls around. Thanks for confirming I am fine to indulge my new obsession, Rani!