I sit encased in a speeding train as I type this and the sun is blaring through the window making me feel like that Gremlin in the microwave. There’s a man sitting nearby with his dog. He has a tattoo of the name ‘Gail’. The man, not the dog.
It’s a day for t-shirts, or perhaps actual shirts. My problem with short sleeved shirts is they have a tendency to make me look like a mixture of Phil ‘The Power’ Taylor and your actual Dad. That says more about me than short sleeved shirts though. I have a very powerful upper body. Chips and drinks can do that.
Happily, this one from Cape Heights effortlessly avoids those negative connotations altogether. It puts me more in mind of one of those bronzed, athletics mountaineers with calloused hands like shovels made out of Californian moonrock, if there is such a thing. Yes, that’s why I like it. There’s even a pouch pocket on the front, ideal for concealing your intentions and/or secret stash of clarityn.
Get on these asap at Hip. Like, now.
