One-Man Book Club: This Is Not A T-Shirt

There’s a thing I love about the local library – I’ll find books there that weren’t even on my radar. I’m a longtime non-fiction guy and love the new releases shelf. It’s pretty much guaranteed that every time I walk in I’ll find something incredible that I didn’t even know existed.

I consider myself pretty well versed in pop culture. Being around 16-year-olds 180 days a year has that effect. But I had never heard of The Hundreds. (Although it’s been a thing for the entire time I’ve been teaching). Streetwear-wise, I knew Supreme, my youngest is a shoe guy, and my boys and some of their friends are/were into Zumiez, but I’m glad the cover of This Is Not A T-Shirt caught my eye.

This Is Not A T-Shirt

Bobby Hundreds (aka Bobby Kim) tells his tale of rising from an artistic nerd, bullied in his hometown of Riverside, CA to a jet-setting, fashion-making star.

Meeting his business partner Ben Shenassafar. Attending Loyola Law School. Starting up a t-shirt business and setting up plastic folding tables on the outskirts of trade shows, trying to get noticed. The Black Tarp Trick. An intern/fanboy named Scottie. Learning about fabrics in Hong Kong. Collaborating with brands from Disney to adidas to Casio to the estate of Jackson Pollack. Nearly selling his brand to Tommy Hilfiger. Setting up elite brick-and-mortar stores in LA, Santa Monica, New York, San Francisco.

And a summer spent in Los Angeles Superior Court learning from a dying research attorney that changed the trajectory of his life forever.

The book opens with a tale of Bobby’s interaction with a fan via Twitter.

What's Wrong Dude

“Hi Derek. What’s wrong, dude?”

As soon as I read that I knew I had a teacher book on my hands.

Of course I layer all of this over teaching. Because when all you have is a hammer, every problem is a nail. And when you’re a teacher, every book is a teacher book. I’m not necessarily sure there’s anything for me here in terms of lesson design or delivery. But what stood out to me was how Bobby Hundreds continuously assessed himself, challenged himself, worked to improve in his areas of interest, and actively looks to mentor other designers and entrepreneurs coming up behind him.

Kim knew from a young age he was skilled as an artist. He relates how his classmates (who typically shunned him, one of the few Asian-American kids at his school) would fall all over themselves to add him to their groups because they knew he could add a graphic punch to their displays. Eventually he grew to learn that his art would not be exhibited on canvas but instead on cotton. His advice to his readers: Figure out who you are first:

Find your thing


Finding your thing is one thing. Doing it is another. Sometimes we need a push. Bobby Kim got his push from Abe Edelman, a research attorney in the Los Angeles Superior Court, assigned to Kim as he interned during the summer after his first year at Loyola Law. On their final day of working together, Edelman showered Kim with praise.

“Bobby, In all my years of doing this, you were one of the best interns I ever had. You’re going to be a successful lawyer. You’re going to have it all – the cars, the houses, the women…”

And then, the turning point of a life, and a brand (people before things, right?):

“But you should never be a lawyer. You don’t love this. Being skilled and being passionate are two different things. Look. What do we talk about at lunch every day? Do we talk about memoranda and statutes?”

Kim had to admit, as the mentor and mentee ate tacos in the food court at the civic center daily, he would show Abe his design idea doodles, his plans for a website, marketing ideas, branding concepts.

“Your heart is with The Hundreds. Do that! I have no regrets! I was the best at what I do, and I loved every second of it. And now look at me. How will you feel if you wake up one day and you’re forty and you’re dying of cancer? Will you be able to say you lived your life doing what you were meant to do?”

Oh man. I felt that in my chest.

And it reminds me that my students have skills and talents and interests way beyond my class. Yeah, I want them to do my math and do it well, but I especially want them to be great at the things that are really, really important to them.

In the epilogue, Kim relates his philosophy of work to surfing, the way seasoned riders will patiently wait for a wave while newbies frantically paddle to chase every ripple, usually missing out. He says ups and downs are inevitable.

“The secret: knowing when and where to position yourself when the pendulum swings your way and the moment hits. You can’t control the cosmos, but you can study and get in position for its curveballs. This is an education culled from time and experience and patience – those very things that neither money nor Instagram followers nor power can buy.”

He closes with a FAQ section. This might have been my favorite part. I imagine a kid with a dream, getting a chance to pick the brain of a guy who rose from humble beginnings to run multi-million-dollar, multi-national business. And Kim is very real, and at the same time, very encouraging:

Hundreds FAQ 1

Hundreds FAQ 2

I feel a little bit like that following the lives of some of my former students on social media. We got along well enough back then for them to connect with me on FB or Twitter down the line.(I’m pretty sure Snapchat is not for me). I enjoy when they share their great joys, the challenges and rewards of parenting, their work lives, their chances to travel, and opportunities to do great things and small things in their lives.

It makes the world feel smaller and more relatable. And yeah, it never gets old.


Art Wishes It Could Imitate Life

Just your garden-variety sunset on New Buffalo Beach. Where it all started.

We were leaving the Vigil Mass at St Paul’s on Saturday afternoon, where Mrs. Dull was manning the EDGE display board at our parish’s annual Ministry Fair. She was talking with an acquaintance she’d attended a retreat with some time ago, and you know how that goes. Sisters in Christ for life, right? We were halfway across the parking lot when Cath looked up and said, “where did we park again?”

Distracted by the conversation, we were going in exactly the wrong direction. We shared a laugh and I said, “but, hey, it’s good to have an actual conversation with an actual human person sometimes, you know?”

I get reminded of impostor syndrome often. It’s an affliction that affects so many of us who spend a lot of time online. And it happens to the best of us. And then one day I saw it a very explicit way.

Bugsy Sailor’s twitter bio describes him as “Ambassador of the Upper Peninsula at @UPSupplyCo.” He’s really into being from the 906.  He’s embarked on a project this year to photograph 365 Lake Superior sunrises. If you’ve been, you know. A July sunrise can be glorious. A January sunrise can be pretty much a rumor. I’m a four-seasons-Lake-Michigan-beach-guy, so I get it. It’s beautiful all the time. Just maybe not Instagram-filtered, colors-popping, oil-on-canvas beautiful. Which is fine. It’s part of the charm. But if the sunrise p0rn of IG or Google images is all you see, who can blame you for being disappointed by reality?

I first ran into Bugsy (online) when I stumbled across his back of the envelope calculations on how long it would take to Zamboni Lake Superior, which turned into an activity in my class, which led to him replying to one of my tweets.

Which is to say, he’s real.

Mrs. Dull & I honeymooned in Northern Michigan and built in some Mackinac Island and UP time into our week. May is beautiful Up North, and we soaked it all up. We spent a day driving to the Soo Locks and hanging around Sault Ste. Marie, and I casually mentioned that the area seems to have kind of a morbid fascination with the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. The scars there are kind of raw from the Great Lakes’ most famous shipwreck, even almost a half-century later. It’s like the way folks around me recall the 1955 Standard Oil refinery explosion.
On November 10 each year the Mariners Church of Detroit hosts a memorial service for all those lost on the Great Lakes through the years. This year Bugsy Sailor attended. His thread included an interesting story which I hadn’t heard before:


The poetic license claimed by the songwriter undersold the reality. Detroit must be run-down, Rust Belt, and it’s sailors’ cathedral “musty”, right? Except the reality was much different. Lightfoot found it was glorious, to the point where he changed the lyrics to his own song once he knew.
There’s a “know better, do better” connection there for me I think.

I’m pretty provincial about the Region, and Chicago, and my lake. I feel bad for kids who wake up in Kansas and see no-water for as far as the eye can see. Lake Michigan is powerful and mysterious and life-giving and destructive and beautiful. I’ve sat on various beaches in various states that border the lake pondering all of this. I know I’m not the only one – one of my HMD teacher friends has quite the photographic eye for a Porter Beach sunset. And like a lot of us, I feel a connection across the ages when I sit there. I often wonder what the first people to see the lake thought when they saw its vast blue expanse. So when I read this over breakfast this morning, I felt it in my chest:

“My soul is buried out there somewhere”. Yeah.

I don’t think I feel that way about teaching any more. But I’ll always feel that way when I sit in the sand.

And I couldn’t miss the #MementoMori in Sailor’s tweet. “Did they know it was their last sunrise?” I’m almost certainly (like 99.9% certain) closer to the date of my death than to the date of my birth. The whole point of Memento Mori is that remembering your death helps shape how you live your life.

Was the sun visible that morning?

My best days in the classroom aren’t Instagram-perfect. My worst days make me want to quit, move to Cali, go live in a shack on the beach and open a margarita stand. But one day will be my last day. I hope I don’t miss the beauty worrying about whether I saw somebody else’s idea of a perfect sunrise.

Or a perfect anything.

My youngest, pensive, at sunset on Weko Beach, Bridgman, MI.