Yesterday, I slogged through my closet in search of any clothing drenched in hearts, cupids, and related Valentine’s Day iconography.  Luckily, my search was fruitless, so ‘Sunday Staples’ saves being guillotined from that holiday.  Instead, and on an unrelated note, I’ll praise a piece with sprawling sartorial roots: the vintage t-shirt.

That’s vintage, to reiterate, not vintage-looking. So your buddy’s comment about “The bong water stain makes my polo totally worn, brah!” doesn’t belong in the same smoky breath; ditto for a faux-weathered Urban Outfitters tee repping Led Zeppelin, The Who, and especially (especially!) Joy Division.  The authenticity’s lacking, and so the ‘vintage’ of your shirt, just like the grainy pic on your Jimi Hendrix “concert” tee “from 1969″ (as I once owned, from KOHLS), is faded.

But, more importantly, the vintage tee’s representative of heritage and pride. Not to mention it’s a shortcut to paying homage to your father, sans actual face time: you might not want to go to Plaza Lanes with him, so wearing his league tee from the 80s will suffice.  Yes, it smells like a bowling alley itself, and has minor holes and frayed stitching, but there’s hardly a nobler pursuit than visibly honoring the man who toiled hard once a night in the lanes and five in the cubicle to provide for your cushioned, comfortable life…all so you could wear his ratty clothing.

A bowling league jacket from the 60's. Conventional wisdom, and your girlfriend say "no." Instincts: "yes."

(above image source)

Integral to the importance of the vintage tee is its ease of accessibility.  Freshman year of high school, my friends and I were elated at the discovery of ValueWorld, a colossal warehouse purveyor of ultra-cheap used clothing, the t-shirt selection being the most highly coveted of departments.  To date, my most cherished find remains a mustard-yellow tee from a local high school’s track team (the 1998 season, too boot); though in no capacity affiliated with the Milford High running squad, I am regardless enthused to partake in a random individual’s experience (even though, since the shirt was donated away, it presumably produced a meaningless memory).

And while Value World proved fruitful in finds, the vintage tee on which I most ardently wear my heart is one void of any monetary transaction: a white shirt with a striking cartoon rendering of Scotland’s biggest star: the Loch Ness monster (also referred to, and as billed on my shirt, “Nessie”).  When worn – as I have since childhood, but sparingly as the years have passed – the green baroness of the sea slinks across my chest, delegating its owner (me) the powers of a mythical, dragon/eel hybrid- or at least a powerful feeling akin to that; namely, I think, the nostalgia and warmth that comes with wearing a relic from yesteryear.  Moreover, the irony of wearing a shirt with the Loch Ness monster is so thick that it translates into coolness; this point being further accentuated by the fact that wearing the shirt in grade school brought to me an unhealthy onslaught of rude nicknames.  Given enough time, then (enough to be labeled ‘vintage’), the vintage tee can rightly rectify the geek into chic. A little, at least.

Not that my Nessie tee is teeming with neighbors from its era- I’ve transitioned to more subtle, modern garments, and my “ironic” period phased itself out a while ago. Still, owning at least one vintage tee signals familial values, a shred of humor, and the gall to poke fun at yourself, and adds punch to what’s otherwise a mundane mix of oxfords, sweaters, and the like.  Raiding your parents’ closet for their forgotten tees translates into your gain, be it in the form of “Little Sisters of the Poor Bake Sale, ’88″ or “M*A*S*H.”   Such was my joy after finding my father’s old “Hudson Hornet National Meet” shirt, until I saw him wearing it on the treadmill.  And using it to buff his car.

I’m out a shirt.

C'mon, make it an original.

(above image from Palmer Cash)