I Own Seven White Tees. Two Still Have the Tags On.

The wardrobe staple that's actually a $370 existential crisis.

$74 is the going rate for the white tee

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.

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.

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.

Rani Monson