Once upon a time, just like everybody else, I had a long running list of things that I would have liked to have seen on a shirt at some point. Not on a shirt that I would wear, but on a shirt that I would like to see someone else wear.
I used to be a plain-clothed rapper, my time in restaurant kitchens had me wearing repeatable white t-shirts under chef coats and black pants day after day. White shirts so that I didn’t look like an a-hole where you could see a print underneath my chef whites, black pants because that was part of the uniform.
I tried to be plain. I tried to keep it simple. And I did. And it WORKED. For many years, in fact. White T-shirt, black pants, no problem. In the morning, pants on. In the nighttime, pants off. Shirt goes on too, then off. Just plain. Black socks and uncomplicated shoes.
Inside I have always been tempestuous. Perfect for kitchen work. In the hustle and bustle and rush, lots of time to myself in my head, dreaming ideas and worlds to create. Awesome songs like ‘Breakfast Imposters’ written while setting out my mise-en-place.
Images of paintings and hilarious musings flashing through my head as order after order comes in, laughing maniacally inside while banging it all out outside, plate after plate in white t-shirts and black pants.
The list gets longer. ‘Go big or go home or get paid.’, ‘Give me more football or give me more money!’, now I’m really laughing! That was about time then to move to Seattle and keep cooking but also keep making. Making music, making art, making funnies. All in ordinary clothes.
Then I’m probably figured it out one day after Covid, I can do this – let me watch a hundred ‘how to POD’ YouTube videos and invest a ton of time in opening up an Etsy shop. And did. But this path is no path to quick riches.
I can’t write the sassy stuff that people want. I can’t release another ‘But first, coffee’ shirt into the world. Not while it’s raining in the forests.
I write the songs that make the whole world skip to the next track.
I make the shirts that make the whole world confused.
Somebody will get it though. Some little kid or sullen teen. He’ll see me wearing a shirt that says, ‘They told me I would NOT like Jamiroquai. they were RIGHT.’, and he’ll get it. He’ll get that little chuckle. He’ll go tell all his friends and school the next day and all his friends will be like, “Who the fuck is Jamiroquai?”