"I White Heart Maine" Sweatshirt

Nothing says Maine like a heart that's been frozen solid since early November. That's not sadness, that's just what happens when you spend six months scraping windshields, shoveling a driveway that fills back in by lunch, and pretending you can still feel your toes inside two pairs of wool socks. The white heart isn't a mood. It's a snowbank. It's the sky from December to April. It's the color your face turns waiting for the coffee shop to open at 5 a.m. so you can thaw out before work. Wear it loud for everybody who thinks this place is all lobster rolls and charming little harbors. Sure, in July. The other ten months you're dodging potholes the size of a moose, swatting black flies, and arguing about whether that was a flurry or a storm. It was a flurry. Soft, roomy, and built to survive the washing machine on repeat. Breathable enough for a humid August, cozy enough to layer when the wind off the water starts getting personal.