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I first saw the shirt of my dreams at Eight One, a boutique in Houston, this past August. I was visiting my then-boyfriend and we were punchdrunk and roaming the block to sober up. Some sneakers caught his eye, so we swung through the store as it was closing. I couldn't take my eyes or my hands off this Akomplice T-shirt in a size XL. I told my boyfriend "If I had this, I'd never be uncomfortable again."
I couldn't get the shirt out of my head, so I hunted it down online a couple days later. About a month after that, my boyfriend dumped me from 1,200 miles away, and I felt sure the shirt would make for good wallow-wear.
It lounged around the house with me while I binged on butter noodles and Scandal, and I'd throw on a belt and black tights and heels when I realized I was late for a friend's show or drinks with colleagues. A stranger once stopped me solely to compliment this outfit; I normally recoil at unsolicited attention, but this felt more game-recognize-game than a come-on (we high-fived). Folks sometimes celebrate the idea of clothing as armor, but the idea of clothing that changes its wearer rings especially true for me.
What I am telling you is this shirt is magic. You can absentmindedly wipe your Cheeto-dusted fingers on it as you would denim. The edges of the sleeves and hem and neckline curl as the shirt ages, which is immensely satisfying to a woman whose cut-up sweatshirts only ever unraveled in those same places. If you don’t like dresses, you can wear it with pants. If you don’t like wearing pants, or really, wearing clothes at all, you can throw this shirt over your bare body and slide into some flip-flops for a latte and the barista will say “God, I love that tunic!”
And if, like me, you’re prone to self-flagellation over your self-absorbed pity parties, you can rest a little easier in this shirt. Akomplice routinely partners with environmental and social justice organizations that’ll help make the world a little brighter while you’re holed up.