Orange heart because red felt like too strong a commitment and gray felt like a lie. Kansas is a solid, dependable, slightly smudged orange: the color of a sunset that goes on for 45 minutes because there is nothing in the way, the color of the sky right before the weather radio starts yelling at you, the color of barbecue sauce dried onto your knuckles at a gas station that somehow serves elite brisket.
This is for people who will defend the flyover state to anyone with a mouth, while also admitting the wind is personally out to get them and the drive across is a legally recognized form of endurance sport. You love it here. Not loudly. Just enough to wear it on your chest.
Cut from soft, mid weight fabric that holds its shape through tailgate season, basement tornado drills, and nine consecutive wears without a wash. Stitching stays put, print stays bright, and it keeps getting comfier every time it comes out of the dryer.
