I Got a $14.90 Uniqlo Tank Top Tailored To Perfection
The rare occasion I bought something brand new....ok fine, I bought 5(!) of these tanks.
Last week, I was walking around in 80-degree weather in Soho, wearing a vintage silk leopard print Blumarine top that, quite frankly, was rancid. There is something about sweating in the dry-clean-only top that doesn’t feel actually clean; like swimming in a lingering film of filth. Horrified and marinating in this top, I made a rare pit (hah!) stop at Uniqlo. I needed something quick, basic, and cheap.
As I was bumbling around Uniqlo—a place packed like sardines—I spotted the quintessential basic among all the basics: a tank top with a boat neck that was a gotta-get-it $14.90. I immediately snapped it up in the palest of sky blues. (Needing to shed my festering Blumarine top, I waited for eons in the dressing room line to change into the tank.) That Uniqlo top was soldered to me for the next three days. On the third day, still basking in the top, I bought four more of these tanks in each color: black, white, light and precious baby pink, and Hershey brown. I loved the neckline and the fact that the fabric didn’t feel like one-ply toilet paper, but there was something irking me: the length was too long. I always dress to shorten my torso to give the illusion of having longer legs by tucking the shirt into the front of high-waisted pants. This time, I thought: Why not just tailor this piece so it will naturally sit at the brim of the pants?
The idea of tailoring something not only cheap but basic was novel to me. Usually, I reserve heading to the tailor for something technical, like a canyon gap in the waist of the pants, a moth-eaten hole that needs to be sewn up, or a sloppy pant hem that’s been dragging in street filth. But I envisioned this shirt fitting slightly differently…just abridging it a whisper so that if I raised my hand, I could reveal a paper-thin slice of midriff. The tailor agreed that the tank was too long and then went to town. A week later, I had five shorter tank tops. Note: Each Uniqlo tank initially cost $14.90, and the tailoring adjustments cost me $25, so I ultimately spent a rough total of $40 on each piece. The price tag pales in comparison to those triple-digit tank tops from, like, The Row or Khaite. And here was a $40 machine-washable Frankentank that I customized to my body to create a killer fit. A bargain!
After all, this Uniqlo tank top’s grip on me was tidal. It had a mid-to late-‘90s silhouette that reminded me of Gwyneth Paltrow’s character’s monied tank in A Perfect Murder (1998). For background, Paltrow plays Emily Bradford Taylor, the most incredible example of a WASP who lives a full, vibrant life. She works at the United Nations, lives on the Upper East Side, is married to Michael Douglas, has a bloated trust fund, and has the sexiest affair in Brooklyn. She casually rides her side piece—played by Viggo Mortensen!—while wearing a Cartier Panthère and two diamond studs the size of pencil erasers. Her epic tank top makes a cameo in a scene when she’s gripping the shaft of the espresso machine handle at her paramour’s loft. The top is neither flimsy nor too tight. It has a high neckline that feels almost puritanical, but any uptight connotations are elegantly negated but the two naked Pilates-toned arms that sprout from it. This is a tank top that has been down-to-the-centimenter morphed to reflect Paltrow’s torso.
The fit was so great because it was so specific to Paltrow, which is thanks to Ellen Mirojnick, the costume designer of this stylistically ground-breaking film. Mirojnick is meticulous about molding clothes to the body, so it seems as if her characters have been living in the garb for years. I interviewed Mirojnick for a piece on Unfaithful (2001), where a housewife, played by Diane Lane, wears a scoop neck that shows a flicker of her clavicle and elbow in a precarious, philanderous situation. This is perhaps the most erotic scene I’ve ever seen in a film because the shirt moves with Lane in such an undulating, natural way, as if she’s wearing a wave. And you can’t find a shirt like this anywhere!
That’s because no one sells a shirt—or a tank top like this. During our conversation, Mirojnick revealed to me that she gets many of her basics tailored in her movies. The result is great clothes and characters who truly look like they live in those great clothes. There’s something almost rabbinical, like a Kabbalah-like spiritual-physical connection methodology to how Mirojnick works. After all, part of bringing out the person’s truest essence is ensuring they are comfortable with how they present outwardly. How can an actor be their most honest when tugging at the hem of their shirt? That’s where Mirojnick comes in: She understands that perfecting clothing fits will result in the most realistic scene. So why not apply this mentality to our everyday clothes, even if they are basics?
There are plenty of people taking in, shortening, and cinching even the simplest of pieces, too. A recent mother who commented on Substack chat said, “Yes me! This is what is helping me evolve my style–to suit my new circumstances–twin mom, so I get my Uniqlo men’s t-shirts shortened (I buy XL) and one shorter. They are my perfect t-shirt.” My smoldering friend, who has inky hair, wears high-waisted jeans like an ‘80s supermodel, and works in special effects makeup, tweaked two vintage Ralph Lauren shirts from a relative by getting the waist ever-so-slightly nipped. She illustrated the effect of tailoring the shirts by gesticulating a slight hourglass shape, dipping her hands into the midsection as if she was squeezing sensuality out from the once-sack-like button-ups.
Sensuality is alive and well in these tank tops because I’m living in them; I’m sweating in them; I’m smelling oranges at Key Food in them. I ultimately spent a total of $199.50 on the five tailored Uniqlo tank tops. Is it crazy? Not really. A Bottega Veneta tank top costs, like, $550—and you’d better not wear that in fear of stains or air pollution or whatever. Besides, there is an already inherently priceless feeling that comes with knowing that I put a hint of effort into making these pieces my own. Each day I wear one of these tank tops, it’s like I’m in A Perfect Murder, like I have two hulking diamond studs weighing down my lobes, like I’ve spent hours toning my arms in a Pilates class. And to think I’ve never even touched a reformer.
Watch NEVERWORNS here. The Plum Sykes NEVERWORNS is coming this week!
Great piece. A good tailor is worth gold but many minor alterations such as taking up hems, moving buttons, taking in a waist can be done with a little sewing knowledge. And once learned, you can do your own free alterations! I feel sewing was a skill taught to girls as a matter of course in the past, ‘feminism’ ditched many of these traditional skills but it was a mistake. It’s very empowering to make your own clothes or do your own mending or alterations. We need to bring these skills back into schools and teach them to all children - they are great for hand-eye coordination and honing problem-solving skills too.
Thiiiiis. This this this. Shop for silhouettes and fabrication, not labels, and don’t put up with inferior basics! Tailor it all! I have several years-old simple summer Madewell jersey dresses from eBay with modified side slits, because under $20+labor is the exact right level of investment for clothes I will sweat in (and they are good quality!).