Basement Whatever

I rarely wear T-shirts or any other apparel that advertises my involvement in the hobby – at least not publicly. I do own a handful of such things, of course, but I mostly wear them as sleep shirts. This isn’t out of embarrassment. If I were embarrassed, I probably wouldn’t have spent so many years publicly documenting my thoughts on obscure RPGs, old AD&D modules, or the ins and outs of Tékumel. At my age, I’m quite comfortable with who I am and how I enjoy spending my free time. Even so, I don’t define myself by my hobbies, let alone feel the need to broadcast my interests in them through textiles.

This is a personal preference, of course. But I do find there’s something just a bit strange and even a little off-putting about wearing one’s enthusiasms like a uniform. It can feel, at times, like a kind of branding, as though we’re walking billboards for our subcultures. I understand the appeal: there’s comfort in signaling shared interests, especially in a world that, particularly in recent years, feels increasingly fragmented and alienating. For many people, these shirts and hats and pins are conversation starters or community badges, small ways of affirming, “These are my people. I belong here.” I can respect that. I really do. It’s just not for me.

This set off a great conversation in the comments, and it applies to many hobbies today.