A tank top. Sleeveless, moisture-wicking, made for playing tennis in. There. That is the entire specification, and I notice nobody rushed to tell you that first — they rarely do. What you get is a light knit that lifts sweat off the skin and moves it out to where the air can take it, cut without sleeves so the shoulder has nothing to fight on the way through a serve.
It will not improve your backhand. Predictably, the name says Backspin, and no, it does not do that either.
What it does do is fail to annoy you, which I have come to regard as the highest compliment available in sportswear. No wet cotton weight arriving in the second set. No collar to think about. It goes on, it does its one job, and it is dry again before you have finished arguing about the line call.
No seam sitting under the strap of a bag.
If you want a garment with a philosophy, this is not it. If you want to stop noticing what you are wearing, this is very much it.
And naturally it summers in Jyväskylä, a town where an architect built half of everything and everybody else got on with living in it. Aalto's museum holds the models, the sketches, the furniture — the drawings that made the buildings that made the reputation.
His university campus is pale brick set among the pines, and it is genuinely lovely, and it was still built by people whose names are not on the museum wall. Of course it was.
"It will not improve your backhand. It will simply stop annoying you."
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