The nail is the oldest tool still in daily use. It has not been improved because it does not need to be. It is driven in, it holds, it does not ask for anything else.

That felt like the right thing to put on a garment.

The fabric is the same 290gsm cotton as the Article Tee, but washed. The wash changes the surface — softens the black toward something closer to charcoal, something that looks like it has already been through something. The Article Tee arrives new. This one arrives already broken in.

Three nails on the back. Photographed rather than illustrated — the texture of the iron visible in the print. Not a symbol of a nail. A nail. The DTG process picks up that surface detail in a way screenprint wouldn't. The image is large enough to read as industrial, not decorative. It doesn't need explaining.

The front carries only the name. Small. Left chest. Screenprinted in the same off-white as the nail graphic.

The collar and construction are identical to the Article Tee. The difference between the two garments is not structural — it is in surface and in what they carry. The Article Tee issues rules. The Nail Tee issues a material.

Both belong to the same archive. Both are worn the same way.

The brief to myself was simple: a garment that could be worn every day without requiring a decision. Same weight, same fit, same markings. Put it on and get to work.

290gsm. Preshrunk. The weight was non-negotiable — anything lighter moves like it doesn't know what it is. This sits on the body. It holds its shape through a shift.

The collar is 1 inch, ribbed, tubular construction. It sits close to the neck. Not strangling — present. A collar that collapses is a collar that has given up. This one hasn't.

The fit is boxy with structure. There is a difference between boxy and oversized. One is a considered proportion. The other is the absence of one. I wanted something that read as a uniform — something a person could be photographed in on a Tuesday and again on a Thursday and the image would look the same.

The front carries the crest. Small. Left chest. The crest contains two nails crossed, a shield, foliage, stars. E TERRA at the base. The crest is not decorative — it is a mark of issuance. This garment was issued. It belongs to a body of work.

The back carries the Articles. Seven of them. Each states a position. They are printed small and centred, the way a document would be. Not a statement. A record of what is expected of the person wearing it.

No distressing. No wash. No ageing effects. Whatever age this garment accumulates, it will accumulate honestly.

I spent a long time trying to say something on it. Lines about what the work was, what it wasn't. They kept coming out wrong — too eager, too self-conscious. The kind of sentences that explain the joke.

Most of them went. What stayed were the ones that felt like positions rather than arguments. Not reasons. Stances. There is a difference.

The background is #F4F1EC. I tried white first. It felt like no decision had been made. The off-white is closer to paper, to a wall that has been lived near. The objects sit better against it.

I tried putting references on the front page early on — images of things that had been in the room when the decisions were made. A storage system. A vehicle. Raw material. The platform made it complicated. I moved them to their own page instead, where they sit without explanation. No labels. No links. You either know what you're looking at or you don't. I'm not sure it matters either way — they're there for me as much as anyone else.

The shop lists two objects. Title. Price. Nothing competing for attention beneath them.

There was a period where I questioned whether any of this needed to exist as a site at all. The answer I kept coming back to was that the site is the first object. Before anything is worn or handled, someone finds this page. It should behave the same way the garments are supposed to — reduced to what it needs, nothing performed.

It will be updated when something stops working. Not before.