Cooper.

What the t-shirt puts on your chest is the face: a koala with big ears, looking straight at you, shirt on. What doesn't fit on cotton is the attitude. In his story, Cooper plays whatever music he feels like on the town radio at six in the morning, and if a song doesn't do it for him, he won't spin it even if ten people ask. He's got his chair, his spot, his taste, and he doesn't trade them to go with the flow.

He's not a herd guy. He does his own thing, with his own voice and his own way of doing it, and it suits him fine. For someone just starting to figure out what they like and what they don't, a koala who copies no one is good company on a t-shirt. If you're itching to know what that koala sounds like, it's all there in Cooper's life.

So why does a koala fit so well with doing your own thing? Because in the wild the koala really is a solitary animal: each one has its own territory, communicates mostly by scent and by bellows, and doesn't move in a group. It's not sadness; it's just its way of being in the world. Cooper inherits that wiring: a broadcaster who talks to the whole town and who, at the same time, goes completely his own way.

On the t-shirt that turns into something simple: a calm creature, in his flowery shirt, who doesn't need to make noise to get noticed. It works for everyday wear, for school or for going out, and it holds up to washing like any t-shirt that gets a lot of use. You'll find the sizes and exact measurements in the purchase listing; what I'm giving you here is the koala.