Member-only story
Painting Fractured Memories
I bought it years ago, in-between fashion identities and the never ending quest to articulate to the world who I am. A goofy t-shirt I’d always wanted, harking back to an era of outdated aesthetics. I refer to it as my “neckbeard” era, and it pops up from time to time. Despite being a somewhat independent, well-groomed woman and (at the time) approaching my 40s at a rapid pace, I’d fallen in love with the aesthetic of greasy young men that had, according to broader society, failed to launch and instead relished in the comfortable world of anime, Magic: The Gathering, video games, and other “beardy” interests. It’s an oft-maligned and misunderstood segment of society most often jokingly associated with Hot Pockets, Mountain Dew, a love of Rick and Morty, and living in your mom’s basement. Whether or not you’ve had the aesthetic described to you, it’s instantly recognizable in a you-know-it-when-you-see-it kind of way. It’s perpetually modern and yet somehow chronically suck in the 90s. Gross and yet at the same time, endearing.
Fast forward several years and the image on the shirt has worn away to the point where it’s unrecognizable to anyone except those who were already familiar with the image. In case you couldn’t tell, the shirt originally depicted a popular design referred to as “Three Wolf Moon.” For me, the cheesy design holds a special place in my heart as a passing flash of memory.
