tom & his comfort shirt

In November 2022 Tom happened to be present for a talk I gave about my research, unaware of its topic. At the end of my presentation he raised his hand and told the audience that he was on the autism spectrum and had lived within problematic clothing sensations all his life.    

We arranged to meet the following week in a local cafe. I arrived a few minutes late due to a snow storm. Given the weather outside, it was quite peculiar to be greeted by a bottle of sunscreen placed in the middle of our table. Tom explained that as a fellow researcher he thought it would be helpful to begin with an abstract of sorts; an executive summary of his sensory dislikes. These were embodied in the bottle of sunscreen: perfumed smell, coldness, slimy texture, someone else has to touch you to put it on your back.

Prompted to tell me more about his sensory preferences, Tom pulled out his “comfort shirt” from one of the carrier bags that he had brought. He explained that he wore it, at home (not in public), when he was emotionally overwhelmed. Through the memories he shared I learned that overwhelming didn’t always equal a negative emotional experience: asking his wife to marry him, waiting to hear that his PhD thesis could be defended. In both cases he was certain the answer would be yes. He was not anxious or fearful but was anticipating the explosion of positive emotions that could be difficult to process.

My first reaction was that the shirt is very basic, almost underwhelming. It is a shirt someone might wear to an office, not casual but not too smart. The striped pattern and grey colour palette suggests that it is somewhat dated. I can’t quite pinpoint why, as it does not resemble any noteworthy trend. Perhaps the slim cut has triggered some tacit knowledge I have on past fashion trends. I think it looks cheap. An overlocked edge is peeping through, the sheen of the fabric suggests it is made of synthetic fibres. It indeed turns out to be cheap. Tom tells me that it was purchased circa 15 years ago from a UK supermarket chain for around €5. It was not a considered purchase. The main purpose of these stores is to sell groceries. The clothing is something you throw into your cart, almost unconsciously, as you pass by on your way to the fruit and veg. This method of attainment is convenient, time efficient and the low price adds little to your weekly food bill. Without much thought, Tom knew it would fulfil the social function of blending in with his office colleagues. He is not concerned with being trendy. He doesn't spend too much time contemplating his image. The purchase suggests the wearer invests a very limited amount of money on their clothing. However, the more I learn about Tom I can tell that he is not frugal. He has very expensive special interests. Although he is particular about his clothes they are not something he has prioritised in his monthly spending. However, the richness of our conversation suggests he has spent a lot of time reflecting on his clothes but he is illiterate on fabrics and cuts. The vocabulary I use is foreign to him. I get the sense that the limited financial investment on clothing comes down to confusion on what he is investing his money in. Which is smart. Why risk investing in something you don’t understand? But he understands the experience of the clothing, just not the composition of elements that contribute to that experience. I realise that I need to tease out these elements of composition with Tom and he is an eager student.  

Tom checks the care label. It informs him that the shirt is 100% polyester and can be washed at 40oC. The lack of wrinkles, despite Tom having transported the shirt in the plastic bag, demonstrates it doesn’t require much care. As Tom looks at the label I can see that the seam is a combination of an overlap seam and a flat lock which, as the name suggests, lies flat against the body. Although a more expensive shirt would traditionally have felled seams, Tom says the shirt’s construction method allows very little opportunity for irritation. Tom points out how the fabric has started to wear at the corners and edges, particularly along the placard of the cuff. Of the bottom three buttons, one is missing, another has noticeably been reattached on several occasions and one does not match the other buttons suggesting it has been replaced. There is a snobbishness in me that would describe a €5 synthetic shirt as poor quality, yet it has held up surprisingly well given its age, frequency of use and Tom’s fidgeting habits. 

I am less than enamoured by the aesthetic of the shirt but as I hold it in my hands it melts like butter. I understand the sensory appeal for Tom. It is smoother on the outside than against the body. I begin to imagine how satisfying it is to rub one’s fingers along its smoothness when worn on the body. Under my fingers it feels like silk. As I start to move it between my hands, imagining how it is for the body to move in it, the silkiness dissipates. There is a resistance that is not present in natural fabrics. The weave is fine but the polymer fibres create a more staccato movement than silk. When I express this observation Tom points out that he doesn't move so much in it. It is not a requirement when resting at home, but contemplates that it might encourage him to wear it outside the home if he could move more freely in it. I suggest it is not very breathable. Listening back to the recording of the interview I can now reflect that this suggestion is triggered by my personal memory of wearing a similar fabric. Tom says he isn’t sure because he doesn’t wear it in “sweaty situations” but he is open to any suggestion I have that might enhance his wearing experience. I am becoming increasingly conscious that at times the line starts to blur between what Tom tells me are his needs vs what I project that his needs are as a fashion designer that “knows best”. Despite all my fashion knowledge, there were more magical qualities hidden within this shirt that I needed to listen to. However, I had reached an impasse in my sensory understanding.

After the interview some musings began to form about what I could learn about Tom’s old shirt by making him a new shirt. Tom and I meet a month later. He has started a new job where he says that he needs to express a more professional image than his previous job. (Over the next year we go on to dissect what are his personal desires, the image he wants to project vs his anxieties around how others perceive him). Tom had bought some new suits at the weekend and wanted to tell me about his traumatic shopping experience. He could not find any shirts. The fabrics on offer were stiff. Everything was displayed to show-off the outside, but he had to turn everything inside out to detect the potential sensory discords. He couldn’t even try them on, what if they felt bad? And they would be touching the back of his neck, which we had already established as his most problematic region. Visibly upset, Tom told me that the whole experience had sent the message that there was something wrong with him.

Tom needs shirts. I can make him shirts in the name of research. Tom will gain shirts that suit his sensory, physical and emotional needs. More importantly, he will be included in a design process in which these needs are acknowledged, deciphered and celebrated. In return, I gain access to a person’s psyche that a fashion designer rarely accesses. I become part of their lives, their monthly routine. Individually, in between fittings, we cannot help but reflect and form new thoughts and questions on sensations, the practice of wearing and design processes. We come back together to unravel these through dialogues that neither of us have ever been privy to before.

This is an extract taken from a PhD which will be published in late 2024