𝕎𝕙𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕋-𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕄𝕪 ℝ𝕚𝕕𝕖

4:23 AM. Getting dressed in the dark. The ritual begins not with leather or armor, but with cotton. The choice that nobody sees but changes everything.

I've got seventeen black tees in my closet. To anyone else, they're identical. To me, each one has a job. A purpose. A specific relationship with what goes over it and where we're headed.

This is about the layer nobody talks about. The foundation nobody posts. The difference between enduring the ride and becoming it.

 

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥 ℕ𝕠𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕖𝕤 (𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝔽𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕄𝕚𝕝𝕖)

Let me tell you something most gear reviews won't: your ride starts with what touches your skin.

I learned this the hard way, summer of 2019, stuck in traffic on the 110 heading into downtown. Full leather jacket. Synthetic athletic shirt underneath because I thought "moisture-wicking" meant something. Twenty minutes at a dead stop in 94-degree heat, and that high-tech fabric turned into plastic wrap. The sweat had nowhere to go. The jacket became a sauna. By the time traffic moved, I was so uncomfortable I couldn't focus on the ride.

Nearly got clipped by a Tesla I didn't see coming because I was thinking about my shirt.

That's when I understood: discomfort is distraction, and distraction is danger.

The right tee isn't about looking good when you take your jacket off (though that matters). It's about disappearing. About being so right you forget it exists. About creating a foundation that lets everything else work.

ℂ𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕟 𝕧𝕤. 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔼𝕝𝕤𝕖: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕣𝕦𝕥𝕙

Here's what the performance fabric industry doesn't want you to know: cotton still wins for most rides.

Not all rides. Not all conditions. But for the urban explorer, the dawn patrol rider, the coffee-shop-to-canyon runner—cotton is king. Here's why:

Natural fiber breathes in ways synthetic never will. Yes, moisture-wicking poly dries faster. But it also holds onto stink like it's personal. It also feels like garbage against your skin after hour two. It also melts into your flesh if things go wrong (ask me about the scar on my forearm).

Weight matters. A heavy cotton tee (6oz+) doesn't just feel substantial—it adds a micro-layer of protection. Not much, but when you're wearing a light jacket or armored hoodie, every layer counts. It's the difference between road rash and bruising.

The aged factor. A cotton tee that's been washed fifty times moves like silk. It knows your body. Synthetic never gets there—it just gets gross and gets replaced.

But here's the nuance: merino wool base layers for winter. Bamboo blends for extreme heat. The right shirt changes with the season, the ride, the mission. Dogma is death. Adaptation is life.

 

𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℙ𝕤𝕪𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕃𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕣

Your shirt is the last thing you put on before armor and the first thing you feel when you move.

I've got a '98 Sturgis rally tee, threadbare and holy, that I wear for significant rides. First rides on new bikes. Rides to say goodbye. Rides that matter. It's not superstition—it's psychology. That shirt carries twenty-six years of rides. When I wear it, I'm connected to every mile it's seen.

Then there's the brand new GritPalm "3AM Angels" tee. Crisp. Black. Unproven. I wear it for night rides, for pushing boundaries, for rides where I need to feel sharp instead of nostalgic. The new cotton still has structure. It holds its shape under armor. It reminds me to hold mine.

Your shirt sets your mental state. The baggy comfort tee says one thing. The fitted fresh black says another. Know what you need before you choose.

Some days you need the tee that makes you feel invincible. Some days you need the one that reminds you you're not.

 

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 ℕ𝕠𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕋𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕤 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥

Real talk about keeping your foundation right:

Rotation is survival. Three identical black tees minimum. One wearing, one washing, one waiting. More is better. When you find the perfect tee, buy five. Future you will thank present you.

Wash cold, hang dry. The dryer is where good tees go to die. That perfect fit? Gone. That ideal length? History. Heat is the enemy of cotton architecture. I hang mine in the garage. They dry smelling faintly of oil and gasoline. Perfect.

The replacement schedule. When the collar won't come back. When the pits are permanently darker. When it's thin enough to read through. That's not when you throw it away—that's when it graduates to different duty. Shop shirt. Workout shirt. Emergency backup shirt that lives in your saddlebag.

Pre-ride inspection includes your base layer. Loose threads catch on jacket zippers. Holes become bigger holes. A failing shirt fails when you need it most. Check your foundation like you check your tire pressure.

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥-𝕥𝕠-𝕁𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖

This is the advanced class. How your shirt works with what goes over it.

Leather jacket days: Slightly fitted cotton, never synthetic. You want something that moves with the leather, not against it. The cotton absorbs moisture and releases it slowly. The leather can breathe. You stay regulated.

Textile jacket weather: This is where synthetic can work, but only if the jacket has serious venting. The two materials need to work together. If your jacket doesn't breathe, your shirt better.

Armored hoodie setup: Heavy cotton tee, every time. The hoodie's already casual—don't go thinner and lose what little protection the system offers. This is where that 6oz cotton pays dividends.

The denim decision: Light cotton or bamboo blend under riding denim. You're already limited on protection. Don't add heat stress to the equation. This is where comfort keeps you alert.

Summer crisis mode: Merino or bamboo under mesh jacket. Yes, I said cotton wins most times. 102°F in stop-and-go traffic isn't most times. Know when to break your own rules.

 

𝕄𝕪 𝔸𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝 𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕖𝕣: 𝔸 ℂ𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕪

Let me open my dresser. Top drawer, left side. The foundation department:

• 5 black heavyweight cotton tees (GritPalm, independent brands): Daily rotation
• 3 grey cotton tees: When black's too hot or too much
• 2 white cotton tees: Never worn riding, always packed (emergency clean shirt)
• 1 merino wool base layer: December through February
• 2 bamboo blend tees: July through September heat waves
• That '98 Sturgis tee: For rides that matter
• 3 synthetic athletic shirts: For the gym, never the bike

Each has a purpose. Each has earned its place. None are fashion. All are function.

 

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋-𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥 𝔸𝕤 𝕀𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝔸𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕣

Here's what nobody admits: sometimes the shirt matters more than the jacket.

When you pull up to a spot and the jacket comes off, what's underneath? Are you wearing some garbage tee that says you don't care? Or are you wearing something that continues the story?

At GritPalm, we make tees for riders who get this. Not because we want to sell you shirts (though we do), but because we understand the shirt is part of the system. It's the transition layer between who you are and how you protect yourself.

The shirt is what you wear into the bar after the ride. It's what you're wearing in the photos that matter. It's what you sleep in at the motel. It's what gets handed down or stolen by someone who wants to remember the ride.

Your jacket protects your skin. Your shirt protects your identity.

 

𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔽𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕤

Two years ago. Long ride back from San Diego. Hour three, my shirt—a cheap synthetic I grabbed without thinking—had turned into a torture device. Every seam was chafing. The fabric was bunched and twisted under my jacket. The sweat wasn't going anywhere.

I stopped at a Target in Oceanside. Bought a three-pack of Hanes black tees. Changed in the parking lot. Threw the synthetic in the trash.

The next two hours were perfect.

That's when I learned: the wrong foundation ruins everything above it. No amount of expensive armor or perfect leather can save you from a shit base layer. Start wrong, stay wrong.

 

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕀𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 ℕ𝕠𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕖𝕤

Good tees aren't cheap. The ones that last, that perform, that become part of your story—they cost.

But here's the math: A $30 tee that lasts 100 rides is 30 cents per ride. A $10 tee that's garbage after 10 rides is a dollar per ride. Plus the cost of discomfort. Plus the cost of distraction. Plus the cost of not feeling right in your gear.

Invest in the foundation. Nobody will notice. Nobody will compliment your excellent base layer choice. Nobody gives a shit about your t-shirt.

Except you. Every mile. Every stop. Every transition.

 

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕆𝕟𝕝𝕪 ℝ𝕦𝕝𝕖: ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕤 𝕊𝕒𝕗𝕖𝕥𝕪

Forget everything I just said if it doesn't make you comfortable.

Maybe you run cold and synthetic works. Maybe you're allergic to wool. Maybe you've got that one lucky tee that's held together by hope and history. Wear what works.

But understand this: the foundation layer is the first decision that affects every decision after.

Too hot? You'll rush. Too cold? You'll tense up. Wrong fabric? You'll fidget. Poor fit? You'll adjust. And every moment you're thinking about your shirt is a moment you're not thinking about the ride.

The best t-shirt is the one you forget you're wearing until someone asks about it when the jacket comes off.

 

𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥 ℝ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥, ℝ𝕚𝕕𝕖 ℝ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Tomorrow morning, when you're standing in front of your closet, about to gear up, remember this:

The ride doesn't start when you fire up the engine. It doesn't start when you put on your helmet. It starts when you pull that first layer over your head.

Choose with intention. Choose with purpose. Choose like it matters.

Because twenty miles into the ride, when everything else is working or not working, when the sun's beating down or the fog's creeping in, when you're flowing or fighting—it all started with the shirt.

The foundation nobody sees. The choice nobody talks about. The difference between enduring and enjoying.

At GritPalm, we make tees for riders who understand that every layer is a decision, every choice echoes, and the best gear is the gear that lets you focus on what matters: the ride.

Your jacket might save your skin. But your shirt saves your sanity.

Choose accordingly.

What's your foundation? Drop your base layer philosophy in the comments or tag us in your pre-ride ritual. #GritPalmFoundation

Show us the shirt that's seen the most miles. The one that started it all. The one you'd grab if the house was burning.

Because in this Collective, we know it's not just a t-shirt. It's the beginning of every story that matters.

 

Start right. Ride right. End right.

—The GritPalm Collective

Next time someone asks why you're particular about your t-shirt, just smile. They either get it or they don't. And if they don't, they've never really ridden.