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Stacks upon stacks of vinyl records, so many I'll never listen to them all; books I've read and probably never open again; a jumble of magazine clippings; countless short pencils, worn down to the point they no longer fit in any sharpener. All of these things just kept piling up.
T-shirts are also among them, and they naturally pile up there too. They're cheap, so whenever I see an eye-catching one, I buy it right away. People from all over the world send me new t-shirts, I get commemorative t-shirts every time I run a marathon, and when I travel, I often choose to buy a few extra instead of bringing spare clothes. That's why the number of t-shirts in my life has skyrocketed to the point where there's no more room in my closet, and I have to store the overflowing pile in cardboard boxes and stack them on top of each other.
Whenever I'm in the United States, after leaving the airport and settling into my accommodation in the city, I always want to go out and eat a hamburger. It's a natural urge, but you could also consider it a kind of special ritual for me. Either way is fine.
Ideally, I'd go to a hamburger shop around 1:30, after the lunch crowd had left, sit down at the counter, order a Coors Light and a cheeseburger. I like my meat medium-rare, and I always opt for raw onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and pickles. Add a serving of fries and a coleslaw. The essential accompaniments to all of this are mustard (it has to be Dijon mustard) and Heinz ketchup. I'd sit there, quietly sipping my Coors Light, listening to the chatter of those around me and the clinking of dishes, intently taking in the atmosphere of this different land while waiting for my hamburger to arrive. That's when I'd realize, yes, I'm actually in America.
This t-shirt has a very blunt message: "I'm pouring ketchup on top of ketchup."I put ketchup on my ketchupAnd that's the statement from someone who absolutely loves ketchup. It's a bit of a jab at Americans for drizzling ketchup on everything, but I find it interesting that one of the companies making this shirt is none other than Heinz. It's self-deprecating humor, but you can't help but feel the American spirit in it—the optimism, the fun, and the lack of deep thought: "Who cares about fashion and style! I'll just do what I want!"
When I wear this shirt and walk around town, sometimes Americans shout, "That's a great shirt!" These people usually have that "I love ketchup" look on their faces. Sometimes I want to reply, "Hey, don't lump me in with you guys!", but usually I just cheerfully say, "Yeah, pretty good, right? Haha." This kind of t-shirt-based communication makes things so much more lively. You'd never see that happen in Europe. Because, generally speaking, Europeans almost never eat ketchup.
This shirt is from Ventura Surf Shop, in Ventura, a wealthy surfing haven near Santa Barbara. Sounds pretty good, but would going there actually improve your life? I wouldn't dare say.
Whenever I go to the United States, I drink a lot of Heineken beer. In crowded, noisy bars, you have to shout to order, and I discovered that there's one brand whose name I can pronounce quite well: Heineken.
To wear a car-themed shirt, you have to be very brave. It's hard to say when I'll wear this Shelby Cobra shirt, but I think it would go well with a Comme des Garçons jacket.
This shirt is from the British magazine The Economist. The message is stylish, but it's still just a T-shirt, and it left me wondering how to react to such an unexpected and challenging quote.
When I attended the Reykjavík International Literature Festival, I gave a talk at this university. The total population of Iceland is only 350,000, yet there were 10,000 students there. That's a pretty impressive percentage.
I bought this Ramones t-shirt at a secondhand shop called Bookoff in Kyoto. But I can't wear it out in public. There are so many restrictions when you're over 70 years old.
