And Probably Always Will
For as long as I can remember, I’ve gravitated toward black t-shirts. What started as a simple preference evolved into a habit. Over time, it became a kind of personal uniform. Today, black t-shirts aren’t just part of my wardrobe. They’re a reflection of how I live, think, and move through the world.
A Personal Story
I started wearing darker t-shirts over two decades ago. I run hot. With a fast metabolism and an active lifestyle, sweating was inevitable. White t-shirts quickly betrayed every mark.
What began as a straightforward fix became something more. I remember finding a particular Polo branded black v-neck that fit perfectly. I bought several of the same one. Not out of obsession, but because it worked. Over time, I grew self-conscious about appearing repetitive. So I started mixing brands and subtle logo variations to keep things interesting without losing the formula.
Eventually, even that felt unnecessary. Prints faded from fashion. Clean, unbranded staples took their place. That’s when I found my ideal t-shirt. A $9 crew neck from Uniqlo. Minimal. Durable. Cut just right. I could buy it anywhere in the world. I phased out the branded versions and bulk-bought the one that simply did the job.
Now, getting dressed requires no second thought. I throw one on and look, and feel, sharp. Without the noise.
Covered in tattoos, I already stand out without trying. The black t-shirt acts as a counterbalance. I’m not a goth. I’m not trying to be mysterious. I’m just comfortable being myself.
I’ve worn these t-shirts on stage, in my videos, at the gym, and in boardrooms packed with executives. Always the same. Plain black. Flawless fit. No logos. Easily replaced. Consistently sharp.
The Industry’s ‘Uniform’
It turns out, I’m not alone. Black t-shirts have quietly become the unofficial uniform across creative industries. Design, tech, media, advertising. In places where expression matters but decision fatigue is real, black becomes a kind of silent badge of belonging.
In the film industry, it’s almost a joke. You can always spot production crew by the sea of black. It is tactical. Black doesn’t catch stage lights. It hides stains. It lets the work, not the wardrobe, take centre stage.
Across creative and production circles, the black t-shirt is more than a trend. It is a tool. Whether you are a designer, a director, a developer, or a producer, a black tee says: I’m here to build, not perform. It is neutral. It is functional. It is part of the unspoken language of people who solve problems behind the scenes.
Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg understood this intuitively. Jobs’ black turtleneck. Zuckerberg’s grey t-shirt. It wasn’t about fashion. It was about protecting focus. Minimising the trivial. Maximising the important.
Others have embraced the same idea. André 3000, once known for bold style, now lives in uniformed dungarees. A reflection of his evolution. Matt D’Avella, the filmmaker behind Minimalism, adopted a personal uniform and even extends it to his newborn. Same outfits. Fewer decisions. More focus on what matters.
Interestingly, while Zuckerberg once championed simplicity, he has lately pivoted toward a more colourful wardrobe. Some see reinvention. To me, it reads closer to midlife restlessness than useful evolution.
Even in science fiction, uniform dressing isn’t accidental. Think of Star Trek’s iconic uniforms. Clarity. Identity. Order. In real life and fiction alike, uniformity reduces distraction and sharpens collective focus.
Why It Works For Me
I know myself. I’m a creature of habit by design, not by default. I value efficiency. I believe that starting the day without wasting energy on trivial choices is a quiet form of discipline.
It is a tactic against decision fatigue. The mental drain that comes from making endless small decisions. James Clear, in Atomic Habits, talks about reducing friction to improve incrementally every day. Wearing black is my personal version of that. One less decision. One more edge.
Minimal. Clean. Casual. Functional. Sharp. That’s my style. I don’t need loud brands or showy logos to feel confident. Being in shape, I don’t crave extra attention through clothing. I often see loud fashion as less about personal taste and more about flexing supposed wealth.
True wealth, the kind that doesn’t shout, has always done it differently. Those with old money don’t plaster themselves in other people’s brands. They wear well-constructed, beautifully tailored, quietly confident pieces that speak for themselves.
That’s the ethos I believe in. Confidence should radiate naturally, not through stitched-on labels.
I blend in when I want to. I stand out, paradoxically, by not trying to. A black t-shirt lets me move through different worlds. Boardrooms. Studios. Gyms. Without losing myself.
Reining It In (Or Not)
The rest of my wardrobe evolved the same way. Traveling through Southeast Asia sharpened my eye. Clothes needed to be versatile, lightweight, and enduring. Black became the natural answer.
I also realised how much clothing we accumulate and barely use. It is wasteful, financially and environmentally. That insight changed how I buy.
Today, I invest only in pieces that are built like tools. Engineered. Technical. Purposeful. Outdoor gear like Terrex by Adidas. Durable, functional warmth like The North Face. Pieces where every stitch has a reason and earns its keep.
My wardrobe today is deliberate, not accidental. Everything works together. Everything is used. Everything has a reason to be there.
That said, I do feel the occasional pull toward more colour. I used to mix it into sneakers, trousers (never denim), and hoodies. There is still room for evolution.
But when the dust settles, simplicity always calls me back.
The Bigger Picture
This was never really about clothes. It has always been about making life simpler, removing unnecessary choices, and focusing on the things that actually matter.
Wearing black makes my days easier. It saves energy for the work I care about. It keeps me consistent without feeling restricted.
It fits who I am, how I live, and how I work. And after all this time, I still wouldn’t change it.