How my attachment to an old T-shirt made me rethink the value of what we possess.
Lea Krusemeyer (she/her) // Sports Editor
Kyla Seguiban (she/her) // Illustrator
“Out with the old, in with the new,” is the epitome of consumerism; a mentality that encourages us to buy the latest shoes, shirts or phones, not because we need them but because we can. I am no stranger to this way of thinking. Countless trends have come and gone in my life, and I have been more than willing to keep up. So, imagine my surprise when I found an item I simply could not let go of.
It was not some new phone or designer purse. It was an ugly old T-shirt with a tacky ‘80s design. Picture teddy bears dressed as sailors positioned proudly on tiny sailing ships. It was objectively hideous. Yet somehow, this piece of fabric held a power over me that made my usual hunger for the pretty and trendy mindset crumble.
I found the shirt when I was about 14, during a summer at our family house in Italy. This house was more than just four walls, it was a museum of memories for me. Generations of women in my family had owned it, each leaving their mark, and every creak of the beams felt like a whisper from the past. Somewhere in that house, tucked away in a forgotten drawer in my grandparents’ bedroom, the T-shirt waited. It was not new or trendy. It looked like it had lived a hundred lives, worn by just as many people.
At first, I picked it up out of necessity. I had run out of shirts and needed something to sleep in. But something about that T-shirt spoke to me. It was unassuming but comforting, and after that first night, I never wanted to take it off.
From that moment onward, the shirt became my nighttime uniform. There is something special about wearing an old shirt to bed. It is soft in ways new clothes can never replicate, and it seems to wrap you in a maternal safety. I had done this before with other shirts, like my stepdad’s oversized tees, but none ever made me feel as grounded as my sailing teddies did.
I would consider myself a hugely sentimental person and as such I look through my phone galleries often, especially Snapchat because in there my pics go back all the way to 2016. While scrolling, I find myself wearing the sailing teddies in Kyoto, Japan during the summer of 2017 and it reminds me of the adventures I had exploring this new country. A little further down I found a video of my friend Caro wearing the shirt while singing Katy Perry in my living room, and immediately I’m catapulted into that wonderful memory again. The teddys on board the sailing boats have been with me on multiple continents, through turbulent times of teenage angst, the horrors of young adulthood and the excitement of my early twenties.
They saw me at my best and worst. With time, the fabric grew thinner, seams stretching as if they were ageing alongside me.
Eventually, the inevitable happened. A small hole appeared near the hem. Over time, the tears grew larger, spreading along the seams. One day, I picked it up to put it on and it just fell apart. My roommate took one look and called it a rag, and I must admit, he had a point.
From a logical standpoint, it was time for me to let go. It was old and barely functional. Tossing it out should have been easy, but I could not bring myself to do it. That shirt was not just fabric; it was a link to my history, that house in Italy and a version of my family I was not ready to lose.
Instead of throwing it away, I repurposed it. The answer came from another lifelong companion: Bella, the stuffed animal I have had since I was three years old. Bella’s fur has grown a little less plush, her ears droop now and her eyes have dulled, but she has never lost her sparkle. Bella has always been a constant in my life, and now, she has a little shirt to call her own, stitched from my beloved T-shirt.
Did keeping that shirt and turning it into something new really help me? Or was it just a placebo from believing in its sentimental power? To me, the answer is irrelevant. Sentimentality is not about logic or practicality, but connection.
Now, when I look at Bella wearing her little sailor-teddy shirt, it hits me how some things go way beyond their material worth. That T-shirt was never about the fabric or the weird design, but the memories stitched into every thread. Summers in Italy, karaoke nights with Caro, late-night chats in bed. It’s a reminder that some objects aren’t just things; they’re anchors. They hold us steady in the chaos of life, keeping us connected to who we’ve been and what we’ve lived through. And honestly? That’s worth holding on to.
In a world that often pushes us to move on and let go, there is something powerful in holding on. Some objects deserve to stay, not because they are useful or expensive but because they remind us of the people and places that shaped us. That shirt may no longer be whole, but its spirit is stitched into my life, proving that old and new can coexist beautifully.
