"An open letter to grey marle T-shirts: why are you SO SWEATY?"

Dear grey marle T-shirts of the world,

Hey there! I’m not sure if you remember, but we’ve met before. Quite a few times.

In fact, some of you are balled up in the bottom of my wardrobe right now, sandwiched somewhere between a few inside-out pairs of jeans and my top with Ryan Gosling’s face printed all over it.

By way of re-introduction, my name is Kahla and I’m a big, big fan of yours. OK, more truthfully, I am stuck in a lifelong unrequited love affair with you.

Grey marle; why do you forsake me so? (iStock)

Sorry to make things awkward here, but just wanted to get that out of the way.

You see, I've admired you for a long, long time. I just love the way you look, whether it be teamed with a leather jacket, jeans and a punchy red lip or tucked into a pleated, super-feminine skirt.

I see you all the time on the likes of Alexa Chung and Kendall Jenner and never cease to marvel at how simple and classic yet impossibly cool you look. Less severe than the black tee; more interesting than the plain white version.

Alexa Chung and grey marle get along famously. (Getty)

I've bought so many versions of you over the years in the hope of emulating this look, yet every time I wear you I've been confronted with a situation celebrities, fashun bloggers, and stylish ladies I see on the street never appear to.

Sweat patches. It's sweat patches.

Why oh why, grey marle, do you insist on showcasing to the world every single bead of perspiration that escapes my pores?

Each time I optimistically pull you on, I hope to look something like Miranda Kerr in her H&M campaign:

Miranda Kerr wears grey marle with ease. (Image: H&M)

Yet almost without fail, especially on a stupidly humid summer's day, I end up looking like another Miranda altogether:

No disrespect to Miranda Hobbes. (Image: HBO)

What's your problem, huh? My other-coloured T-shirts don't do this to me. I've even nicknamed you 'sweaty grey' due to this ongoing betrayal of yours (and to think, I've spent all that money on you...).

The problem with unrequited love, however, is that as mad as you make me, grey marle, I'll always seek a way to make it work.

Which explains why almost every year I shell out for yet another grey tee, telling myself that 'this will be the one' — the precise mix of fibres or cut of sleeve or shade of grey that'll allow me to perspire a little more discreetly. (Post continues after gallery.)


Occasionally, very occasionally, you love me back (oh you heartbreaker, you).

On a mild, low-humidity autumn day, you let down your defences and allow me to wear you without putting up a fight.

Remember how we enjoyed a lovely boat ride together through Central Park in New York in the fall of 2015? Remember that?

You, me, and the Wall Street Journal. That was a good day.

Anyway. I'm not going to spend any more time pining over you, because I have far too much dignity for that, grey marle T-shirts. I'm dusting myself off and walking away.

(...OK, OK, I don't mean it. See you tomorrow morning when I optimistically pull you out of my wardrobe yet again.)

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