Born into a humble village of goat herders and kipfler potato farmers, my life was a simple and peaceful one.
That was until the day the raiders arrived, raiders who tore into my village with a cold-blooded fury. As my home burned against a blackening sky, and what remained of my family screamed for mercy, I was suddenly struck by a life-changing thought: “Man, these raiders look like shit”.
And it was true.
Bedecked in mauve chinos and shirts with little or no thought given to design or fit, these raiders were the epitome of douche. Of all the unspeakable atrocities committed that day, this was the worst.
From that point on I committed myself to unbending principles of quality and style – looking sharp would be my ultimate revenge. I swore a blood oath that I would create a line of shirts made with the finest cotton, focusing all my energy on fresh designs and excellent service.
The day would soon come when my tormentors would cower before me, uttering the words I had long sought to hear:
“Hey, great shirt – where can I get one?”