My Dad Never Hugged Me

Behold the nursery of a villain.

A tender storybook living room, lamplit and cosy, the kind of room where everyone says goodnight and nobody says anything else. It looks like a home. It is, in fact, a workshop. This is where villains are assembled, slowly, by a father who treated affection like a limited edition.

Hear the gospel of the unhugged: your wounds are not a weakness, they are a permission slip, signed in triplicate and notarised in brimstone. Every bad decision now arrives with a backstory. Therapists call it a pattern. The Prince of Lies calls it a loophole. It isn't your fault, darling. That's what makes it so useful.

For grown adults with firm handshakes, soft grudges and a therapist on speed dial.

The vessel · Racerback TankShoulders out, conscience off. A slim racerback built for summer solstice, sweaty rituals and walking away from things without looking back.