Father of All T-Shirts.

The story between this T-shirt and man points us eastward, to the Mediterranean, where sailors and fishermen have worn snug short-sleeved shirts like this one for centuries.

I thought the oyster shuckers in Baltimore were fast until, in Piraeus, I saw a man wearing this shirt use a shucking knife; he was faster.

On the banks of the Seine, lots of students and tourists hoping to be mistaken for natives, lots of blue-and-white striped shirts but that deckhand over there, throwing a hawser out to a tour boat, hes wearing this shirt.

In Bilbao, I observed a crew of moving men uncrating a giant piece of highly advanced sculpture. They were built like great sagging old bulls; in this shirt, they looked formidable.

Father of All T-Shirts (No. 1305). In a soft, very stretchy jersey knit that fits snugly. (Makes you feel like a healthy animal.) Tapered sides. Finely ribbed neck, not big and clunky.

The sleeves have a way of gathering emphatically at the top of a mans arms, even if he is the sort of man who rarely lifts more than a fountain pen. Imported.