A Rainbow, Spiraled, XL Hanes T-Shirt

Search my drawers. I dare you.

In the bottom drawer, you’ll find my tie-dyed T-shirts. In the top drawer, my tie-dyed socks. The tie-dyed Converse are at the bottom of my closet, and the tie-dyed headband has a home on my shelf. Tie-dye isn’t just hidden in my drawers — it’s proudly displayed from floor to ceiling. The first thing you’ll see when you enter my room is a bedsheet posing as a tapestry, touting a rainbow bullseye that stares back at you. Before leaving for college, I spent hours in my dimly-lit basement with a dozen bottles of dye and that old sheet, breaking a sweat as I struggled to color every inch.

Tie-dye, with all of its playful enthusiasm, is a brand. It’s my brand, and it’s one that I’ve worked hard to create.

***

Middle school: a classic setting for unhappiness and misunderstanding. My memories of the time mirror many teenage movie tropes, featuring constant, needless embarrassment and the desire to blend in. Standing out was anathema, and muted blandness seemed like the best way to avoid it. The most obvious path to conformity was through the most unassuming clothing possible; my go-to outfit in the sixth grade was a plain T-shirt and jeans.

Entering high school did little to improve the situation. I often woke up from my daily bus-ride slumber with a start as we pulled into the school parking lot, panic spreading through my chest. I would look out the window at the stream of teenagers scuttling into the building like an army of ants marching to their destination, toting backpacks instead of morsels of food. I dreaded the endless socializing that awaited me. Would I say the right thing? Make the right joke? Would they like my outfit? Bowing to perceived social pressures once again, I traded in my middle school T-shirt and loosely fitting pants for an American Eagle sweater and skinny jeans.

***

The first time I tie-dyed in recent memory was the summer after 10th grade at Hippie Camp (not its actual name — it was really called “Odyssey Teen Camp,” but my campmates decided Hippie Camp was more appropriate). Hippie Camp was a wacky and magical grove of trees where I got to dance blindfolded in a wide open field, chant with a chorus of voices in a makeshift sweat lodge, glide through the pool in an iridescent pink mermaid tail I sewed myself, and wear, quite literally, whatever I wanted because there was absolutely no dress code. Hippie Camp was a place of most people’s childhood fantasies. A paradise, a wonderland, a dream — but a dream I wanted to wake up from. I hated it and went home early.

While I was immersed in Hippie Camp culture, it was all too much for me. The lack of daily structure stressed me out, and I may or may not have been close to fainting in the sweat lodge. But almost as soon as I left, my conception of camp morphed into an idealized world of freedom, acceptance, and unapologetic weirdness. I had never met teenagers like the ones who went to Hippie Camp. Infinite details about these people that left 16-year-old me in awe, but their clothing choices were something obvious and tangible that I could latch onto. Many of my Hippie Camp friends wore eclectic clothes (and sometimes nearly no clothing) that were so unlike the outfits I had seen people at school wear — and, to my surprise, I still thought they were awesome.

The one memento from Hippie Camp that remained with me was the XL Hanes T-shirt that I had tie-dyed one afternoon. At first, I didn’t wear it to school. It seemed too bright and too big to even be appropriate; it was a relic of a worldview that didn’t quite fit with the one that I was used to at school. Nonetheless, one day, I worked up the courage and slipped it on. I woke up from my bus-ride slumber as usual, swallowed by my multicolored shirt, and trudged off the bus to join the stream of teenagers scuttling into the building. Would they like my outfit?

Big surprise: wearing a tie-dyed shirt to school did not end up being that big of a deal. I received a few chuckles from my friends, and maybe even a few compliments. I had been nervous that my outfit would put me under a spotlight all day. But instead of suffering from stagefright, I felt brave. I felt fun.

Like the people I met at Hippie Camp, I was wearing what I wanted and I didn’t bother to care what people thought of it. This wasn’t something I previously knew I was capable of. It wasn’t an especially profound revelation, but a concept that most lucky people come to realize at some point in their lives. It just took an unhappy stint at Hippie Camp and a rainbow, spiraled, XL T-shirt for me to stumble upon it.

The summer after senior year was when my tie-dying obsession truly escalated. I spent hours in my backyard splattering color everywhere, even accidentally dyeing my cat. Tie-dye became the outward expression of my inward self-assurance. Tie-dye says I’m bold. It says I defy blandness and don’t tone myself down. It catches your eye and says that I am unafraid to be noticed. Tie-dye says I go outside. It says I leave the library. Tie-dye says, “I don’t care what you think.”

When I walked onto my big, daunting college campus for the first time last year, I was wearing my now well-worn Hippie Camp t-shirt. Many of my closest friends met me that day, when I was wearing that shirt. I like to think that might be the image they picture when they think of me — excited, scared, and eager, still sleepy from the early plane ride but wearing a rainbow shirt without hesitation.

— Magazine writer Maya H. McDougall can be reached at maya.mcdougall@thecrimson.com.