Dear grey marle T-shirts of the world,
Hey there! I’m not sure if you remember, but we’ve met before. Quite a few times.
In fact, some of you are balled up in the bottom of my wardrobe right now, sandwiched somewhere between a few inside-out pairs of jeans and my top with Ryan Gosling’s face printed all over it.
By way of re-introduction, my name is Kahla and I’m a big, big fan of yours. OK, more truthfully, I am stuck in a lifelong unrequited love affair with you.
Sorry to make things awkward here, but just wanted to get that out of the way.
You see, I've admired you for a long, long time. I just love the way you look, whether it be teamed with a leather jacket, jeans and a punchy red lip or tucked into a pleated, super-feminine skirt.
I see you all the time on the likes of Alexa Chung and Kendall Jenner and never cease to marvel at how simple and classic yet impossibly cool you look. Less severe than the black tee; more interesting than the plain white version.
I've bought so many versions of you over the years in the hope of emulating this look, yet every time I wear you I've been confronted with a situation celebrities, fashun bloggers, and stylish ladies I see on the street never appear to.
Sweat patches. It's sweat patches.
Why oh why, grey marle, do you insist on showcasing to the world every single bead of perspiration that escapes my pores?