Two t-shirts. One costs $12. One costs $35.
Everyone knows which one is cheaper. Almost everyone is wrong.
The only number that matters
Price is what you pay once. Cost per wear is what the shirt actually charges you, every time you put it on:
Cost per wear = price ÷ number of wears
That's the whole formula. It has no opinion about brands, trends, or your feelings. It just counts.
Running the numbers
A $12 fast-fashion tee is usually a light fabric, around 140–150 gsm, with a stitched-to-a-deadline construction. Be generous and give it 25 wears before the collar warps, the fabric goes sheer, or the print cracks past the point of dignity.
$12 ÷ 25 wears = 48 cents per wear
A $35 heavyweight tee — thicker cotton, tighter knit, seams that were sewn rather than survived — will take 100+ wears if you treat it with basic respect. Call it 100, again being conservative.
$35 ÷ 100 wears = 35 cents per wear
The "expensive" shirt is about 27% cheaper. And that's before counting the three replacement tees you'd buy in the same period, or the fact that a two-year-old heavyweight tee still leaves the house, while a two-year-old $12 tee sleeps in the pajama drawer — demoted, not retired.
Why the math is invisible
Because the receipt only shows one number, and it's the wrong one. Retail runs on that blind spot. Fast fashion isn't cheap clothing; it's expensive clothing sold in installments — you just pay each installment at the register, again and again.
The fashion industry loses an estimated $500 billion a year in value from clothes that are barely worn before being thrown away. That's not a production problem. That's a math problem, multiplied by everyone's closet.
How to make the denominator bigger
Cost per wear has two levers. The price is fixed the day you buy. The wears are up to you:
- Wash cold, inside out. Heat is what kills fabric and print — most damage happens in the machine, not on your body.
- Skip the dryer when you can. Hang-drying is the single cheapest lifespan extension that exists.
- Buy boring. A shirt tied to a moment dies with the moment. A plain heavyweight tee has no expiry date.
- Count before you buy. If you can't honestly picture 30 wears, the real price isn't the tag — it's the tag divided by disappointment.
The quiet conclusion
You don't need a capsule wardrobe, a philosophy, or a lecture about the planet — though the planet does fine out of this too. You just need division.
The $12 shirt was never $12. Do the math once and you can't unsee it.