I 👋 Massachusetts. That's it. That's the shirt. No "love," no "heart," just a wave, because Massachusetts is the state you say goodbye to and then immediately think about for the rest of your life. It's the wave from the Amtrak window. It's the wave from I-95 southbound in February when you finally admit you cannot do another winter that starts in October and ends whenever it feels like it.
Or maybe it's a hello wave. Maybe you're waving at the Citgo sign, at a large iced from Dunkin in a snowstorm, at a guy in a Brady jersey screaming at a rotary like it personally wronged him. Massholes contain multitudes. The wave works both ways, and honestly that's the most Massachusetts thing about it.
Cut from soft, broken in fabric that holds its shape through every wash, and built with stitching that won't quit on you. Comfortable enough for a dive bar, a beach day in Gloucester, or standing in line at the Registry for three hours.
