I 👋 Iowa. Not "I love Iowa." Not "I hate Iowa." Just a wave. A polite little "hey there" as you cruise past on I-80 at 79 in a 70, corn on your left, corn on your right, corn in your soul. Iowa is the state you acknowledge. You nod at it. You tip the brim. Then you keep driving.
And honestly? The wave is peak Iowa behavior. People here wave at strangers from their trucks. They wave at you from the porch. They wave through windchill that could snap a fence post in half. Whether you're waving hello to a pork tenderloin the size of a hubcap or waving goodbye after the Hawkeyes blow a fourth quarter lead again, the gesture stays the same. Iowa nice, baby.
Cut from soft, broken-in fabric that holds its shape through tailgates, gravel roads, and the annual six-month freeze. Stitched to last longer than your commitment to that gym membership.
