asdf is the word before it becomes a word. When you don’t want to type anything in a chat window, when you can’t come up with a title for a new document, when your fingers have lost their way on the keyboard—sometimes, no—quite often, no—inevitably, you type: asdf.
“asdf T-shirt” is the result of stretching that gesture across the body, horizontally, and trying it on again. On the front, “asdf” is printed in lowercase. These four letters, in the system’s default font, look like words yet to be typed—
or perhaps like a web page yet to be completed. This T-shirt is closer to a question than a function. To the one who wears it, and to the one who looks at it, it asks: “What state are you in right now?” “Is it okay to be in a state before it makes sense?” “Why hasn’t this sentence started yet?”
asdf may be the first four letters you learn to type, but they’re also the ones that remain the longest. The moment you wear it, you’ve already begun the sentence. When to end it—that’s up to you.