Look, nobody moves to Rhode Island. You're born here, you complain about it for 40 years, you die 12 minutes from where you were born because that's the maximum distance anything is from anything. This shirt is for the people who genuinely love this weird little clam-shaped afterthought and also want to lie down in the middle of Route 95 every time someone asks if it's part of Connecticut.
The 😔 covers a lot of ground: the Patriots being technically from another state, a beach season that lasts nine days, coffee milk having to explain itself at every party, and the fact that our biggest cultural export is a giant blue bug on a roof. We love it. We're also tired. Both things are true.
Cut soft and built to survive a Del's-and-wiener bender, it's the kind of fabric that hugs back when Providence parking does not. Holds its shape, holds its color, holds your general sense of quiet resignation through wash after wash.
