Ms Nina Simone, Mr Richard Pryor and Nipsey Hussle all sat on my couch, staring at me. Well, not them, but their faces rendered in living colour on three black T-shirts. Nina wore pearl earrings, a short afro; her eyes saying, “Pick me or don’t, I don’t care.” Richard sported a larger afro, his gaze cast upward, as if in conversation with God. And then there was Nipsey the Great, snapback turned around, mouth half-opened, ready to dispense a gem or two. This was February 2021. I’d become a published author and New York Times bestseller the month prior, but in that moment, I was just a guy trying to select a T-shirt to wear for a virtual event. The kicker here being that whichever shirt I selected was going to be worn under a sweater, so no one, except myself, would even know what it was.
from Mr Porter - The Journal https://ift.tt/poWm5jS
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from Mr Porter - The Journal https://ift.tt/poWm5jS
via IFTTT