My obsession with band tees formed when I was about 7 or so and my dad threw me in his John Denver shirt to sleep in. My addiction formed early and hasn’t seemed to relent. This shirt I got in a boutique in West Hollywood, Ca. Now, here’s the thing: I HATE fresh band tees. Hate them hate them hate them. They look too crisp, too clean, like something you’d get at Forever 21 without even knowing the band. Everything anti-rocker and anti vintage. So this one I had my boyfriend spill coffee on, threw in the wash about 8 dozen times and poked little holes in. Pink Floyd deserves nothing but the best.