Obsessions: Hip-hop T-shirts
At Umbrella we appreciate the details. So we understand when our readers are into something – really into something. In this instalment of our regular Obsessions feature, Andrew Emery reveals his love for hip-hop T-shirts.
Outside a Public Enemy concert in Leeds, 1987. I’ve just been ‘taxed’ for the hat I bought from the merchandise stall inside by a group of lads who punched me for good measure. But there’s one thing they didn’t take. My pride? No, they definitely took that as I tried to weasel my way out of a beating. That’s long gone.
What they didn’t take was the Public Enemy T-shirt I bought and was wearing over the top of another tee. The Public Enemy shirt I had on when I pushed my way to the front of the show and got my hand touched by Flavor Flav and Chuck D. A shirt that still takes pride of my place in my ever-swelling hip-hop T-shirt collection nearly 30 years later.
Being a hip-hop collector – tees, records, posters, tapes, stickers, press shots, you name it – in the UK is not easy. You’re struck by geographical limitations as all the US collectors get first dibs. You’re hampered by financial considerations as Japanese hoarders with deep pockets outbid you on eBay. But still, I plug away. Every victory seems the sweeter for the struggle. From the Luke Skyywalker T-shirt I’ve been after for 20 years to that Poor Righteous Teachers tee I didn’t know existed until I swooped and bought it recently. And I can take it on the chin when my richer best friend simply goes online and drops $400 on a rare Diamond D promo shirt I can’t quite bring myself to spend this month’s mortgage payment on.
There’s regret, too. The T-shirts I gave away or shrank in the wash. The clear-outs to make space in poky London flats. Ones that I’d love to wear now, ones that I know would fetch a lot of money. As a hip-hop writer in the ’90s I was drowning in black XL Hanes and Fruit Of The Loom tees with crappy logos on, a time of plenty I thought would never end. And when it did, inevitably, end, I found I’d given a lot of it away. The complete range of Rawkus Records tees I was allowed to help myself to for free in their New York stockroom, the Loud Records x Helly Hansen coat of such an awful yellowness I stuffed it into a bin on Briggate in Leeds.
When DJ Ross One published his brilliant Rap Tees book in 2015, my obsession took a new turn. There was jealousy at some of the incredible T-shirts he’d put together. There was annoyance at myself for having had some of these over the years, carelessly discarding them. And there was the pleasurable reinforcing of my collecting instinct: this book was proof that not only was I not alone, I was right. I even felt, with some justification, that the book would have been a smidgen better if they’d borrowed some of my shirts. And my Rap-A-Lot Records game is very, very strong. Ross One’s book has increased the clamour for rare tees, sent bids on eBay through the roof, but I’m still hanging in there. Nothing gets thrown out anymore. Time to find a bigger house.