I’m not one to be very conscious of the world of haute couture or those certain articles of clothing which might be worth more than my college tuition. In fact, I’m quite the opposite, but mostly out of necessity. I have student loans to repay, and my general proportions and demeanor are appropriately masked and amplified by one of the only cosmetic choices that I choose to affect - my ever-lovin’ t-shirt. My adventures don’t take me to anyplace that requires any higher state of refinement, so it’s usually me and my t-shirt against the world. And because of this, I have about a katrillion of ‘em. The nerd banner for the new millennium. And, well, millenniums past. However long they’ve been putting Captain America on t-shirts. That’s how long.

I wouldn’t normally classify my shirts as a collection, except for the fact that I possess an excess of them beyond any practicality. I could wear the same three t-shirts and be perfectly content from here until the apocalypse, but society at large tends to shun those people whose attire is as constant as that of a cartoon character. One wonders if Charlie Brown actually had more than one zigzag shirt, or if his state of perpetual morbidity prevented him from ever even changing his clothes, because really, what’s the point? What the hell is the point?

For the past year or so, my wardrobe has been composed of almost entirely shirts purchased from Threadless, a designer T company that I first became attracted to when I learned that all of their designs are user-submitted and audience-voted creations. This ensures a variety of ideas and designs among their products, and very rarely does a snide and pseudo-witty slogan besmirch the canvas of their otherwise intelligent and beautiful shirts. My philosophy on t-shirts matches that of my philosophy on coffee mugs - because of their ease of production, it’s a world populated by foul, unattractive denizens, and you have to dig deep to find something that isn’t outright embarrassing to anyone with an IQ over 70, but Threadless pulls it off.

Of course, I must admit to a biased opinion. Especially about Bone Gramophone, which I’d designed for a contest and subsequently placed third in. These user-submitted designs, once selected through a process influenced by audience voting (but ultimately, resting heavily on the shoulders of the site’s young and entrepreneurial proprietors), win a significant chunk of cash and mini-fame, so there’s scarcely a party who does not benefit from the arrangement. Their catalogue spans a vast array of choices, so there’s something for all ages and senses of humor and beauty. Their attention to the artistry of design has led them to treat their shirts as objets d’art, actually giving them editions which increase as the shirt’s popularity demands that it be reprinted. With shirts being seen as status symbols, a first edition shirt says ‘I was there WHEN!’, if you ever find yourself in a group of people so self-conscious and arrogant that you need to prove yourself in such a way. Me, I resort to a ninja-kick and ducking around a corner to cry, but you can do it your own way.

Personally, I’ve been absurdly in love with my Dark Side of the Garden shirt, as it appeals to both a strong sense of design and my passion for all things Vader. My love of vinyl and design is also fairly exemplified in The Outdoor Mix. Piece of Meat is another favorite, as I can proudly display my much-maligned omnivorism. There’s no shortage of robots or squid either. There are a lot of shirt sites out there, as shirt printing has become a very accessible technology, but there are few that really possess this much goodwill and Web 2.0 awareness. And if you love your shirts? Submit a photo of yourself wearing it and they’ll give you a buck or so off of your next order. Submit a winning design and get a ridiculous number of free shirts along with your cash prize.

(My most recent self-portrait submission)

Outside of Threadless, no truly useful t-shirt collection would be complete without at least one Fantastic Four shirt (courtesy of Graphitti Designs, fine purveyors of nerdware) and at least three shirts that were clearly given away as free promotional items at conventions. Throw in a few shirts from Goodwill that say things that are completely unrelated to you, like ‘Tuscaloosa Women’s Volleyball Team 1982’ or ‘Slim’s Microwave Repair’ for some hardcore indie cred. And please, for the love of all that is holy, exclude any shirts that have a necktie and tuxedo printed on them, or anything that says ‘princess’ in sequins. Those things don’t even work in a ‘so ironic it’s cool’ way.

Because it’s really not.

A good t-shirt won’t last forever if it’s good enough to wear, and the best ones won’t last very long at all. I’ve accepted the transient nature of the t-shirt - the unraveling seams, the unattractive bleach stain from where you grandmother went crazy in the laundry room, that little pinprick hole from the cat’s claw that never went away - but more than other ‘collectibles’, these things have a timeline and memory because of their active involvement in daily life. I don’t remember when my Red Son Batman action figure arrived in the mail, but I remember the comments that I got on my Basement of the Alamo shirt, or the shirt with the big ol’ Bizarro insignia. Many crafter-types have given a second life to shirts in disrepair also, in pillows and handbags. I recently used an old t-shirt to sew some extra awkward tentacles and a face onto squid plush I was making, and that’s some soft stuff.

So it doesn’t all have to be advertisements splashed across attractive chests - no, your bosoms, be they masculine or feminine, can say something meaningful. Let them say it proudly.