The Weight of the First Object

Every house has a first object. Ours is a tee, and that is a deliberate refusal to begin with spectacle. The tee is the piece a wardrobe is actually built on — the thing worn under everything and, on the right day, worn alone.

We settled on 240 grams. Lighter and the garment drapes without conviction; heavier and it becomes a costume of weight. At 240 the cotton holds a boxed shoulder, falls straight, and softens over months into something that reads as yours rather than ours.

On the back, an edition mark: the object's number, and the year in Roman. It is not decoration. It is a record — a way of saying that this was made at a particular moment, in a particular count, and will not be made that way again.

The object comes first. The campaign, the story, the price — all of it arrives afterward. That order is the whole idea.