Raised on Sweet Tea. Running on City Time.

Southern raised, city living

I didn't leave the South. I just gave it a new address.

I grew up where the porch light was basically a second sun — dirt roads, drive-ins, church on Sunday, and a screen door that never quite shut all the way. Southern hospitality wasn't a brand to me. It was just Tuesday.

Then I moved to the city, chasing whatever it is city boys chase — the lights, the noise, the idea that bigger meant better. I traded the porch for a high-rise and figured I'd leave the accent at the county line.

Didn't happen. I still say "ma'am" to people half my age. I still think gravy belongs on more things than science can currently explain. Turns out you can take the boy out of the South — you just can't get him to stop talking about it.

Changing how people see the South

The South is the punchline. I'd like it to be the invitation.

Past the jokes, here's my actual point: the South gets reduced to a stereotype a lot — slow, backwards, behind. I grew up around some of the best food, music, humor, and hospitality this country's got, made by people who'll give you the shirt off their back and then make fun of you for needing it.

I'm not interested in defending the South. I'm interested in showing it off. Every shirt we print is a little bit of both things at once — the joke and the invitation. Laugh at the pun, then come see what we're actually talking about.