The Tank Top: Solid Staple or Cop-out?

I'm over the undershirt. There, I said it. What might not read as a particularly controversial statement to most normal denizens of the world is actually quite the provocation when you’re living in cities like Berlin or New York — places where the white ribbed tank top is a rare point of consensus among all genders, sexual orientations, and political camps.

I get that there is a level of convenience at play that supersedes aesthetics. For hot days, there really isn't an alternative for guys that’s as light in textile yet still as widely accepted as proper garb (versus undies). My question, then, is whether a tank top can truly count as a sartorial statement. Isn’t it kind of a cop-out? But from what I can tell by this early stage of spring already, men are treating the tank as a top in its own right again, whatever the literal weather.

For the most part, I find this a regrettable development. Once strictly relegated for wearing beneath a button-up, ribbed undershirts are now affixed to the fashionable fuckboy's uniform, along with flared Acne jeans and those inescapable Our Legacy boots that I keep shading but secretly love. Maybe it's not that I'm bothered by the tank as much as by what I've been projecting onto its wearers? Despite my issues, I can acknowledge that there is an art to mastering the white tank and embracing this top’s accompanying symbolism. The differences between styles are as subtle as they are significant, wherein the tiniest details are capable of totally altering the resulting outfit's message.

With its unusually high-sitting neckline, for instance, COS’ cotton hourglass tank looks more intricate and sophisticated than your average basic (the women's equivalent takes this to even chicer extremes). Elsewhere on the odd decolletage front, Lululemon's squared collar nicely frames the chest, in a material blend composed of wood, no less.

SKIMS carries one that has nearly spaghetti'd its straps, sensually circumventing the male shoulders, ever so boat-shapedly. Meanwhile, Tom Ford's clubby $600+ mesh version brings an element of raunch to the fore that'll white-out the white tank’s origins as a mere base layer. The relaxed cut of this Sunspel “vest” will do so, too, albeit by leaning into the opposite direction and teetering between standard tank and what's better described as sleeveless tee. And last but not least, there’s Pharrell Williams’ and Hugh Jackman's favorite: Zimmerli, a Swiss loungewear and sleepwear label that’s credited for knitting the unassumingly famous “Richelieu” tanks, seen on many an iconic actor in many an iconic role, from Sylvester Stallone in Rocky, to Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny Cash for Walk the Line, to Die Hard's Bruce Willis.

In ruminating over this tank-related trivia, the option pool, and my beef with the titular clothing item, it has dawned on me that it's the associations I have with the white tank top that irritate me, not the item on its own. Despite all efforts at its modernization, there remains an ancient, off-putting type of masculinity innate to the male tank — as alluded to by its dreadful “wife beater” nickname and its ubiquity in certain corners of Berghain — that quite literally reeks of a machismo I don't subscribe to.

What I'm also noticing, however, is the potential for quiet rebellion in how, where, and by whom these pieces are worn and designed. As a garment as old as the concept of modern clothes itself, neither the tank nor its appearance across a wide range of consumers is revelatory, really. So it is and isn't that deep. But in an age of a so-called “sex recession,” an uptick in Puritanical views, and deepening conservatism among young people, there remains real political merit in flaunting one's arms, chest, and body hair. And here I was, about to convince you — and myself — that tanks are boring.