Whenever you see someone wearing a “band tee” and also listening to headphones, you have to wonder if they’re listening to the very band (or solo artist, of course) they’re advertising. Maybe they’re subliminally influenced by the shirt they’re wearing to do just that, scarcely aware of what “inspired” them to listen to a certain song until they catch a glimpse of their reflection in some mirror or reflective glass. That’s when they remember, “Oh yes, I’m wearing a shirt that proves just how much I love this band [or singer], which must be why I’m listening to their music right now, too.”

Jordan Reynolds was the type to “self-influence” in this way. And his entire wardrobe was made up primarily of band tees. Though the band he clearly favored, based on the number of shirts featuring them or some of their “kooky” designs (as one of Jordan’s many normie ex-girlfriends might say), was Radiohead. A band that Jordan had been listening to since their very first album came out in 1993. And yes, he was of course one of those pretentious “real” fans who constantly bemoaned the way in which “Creep” had overshadowed every other track on the record—not to mention every other track of their entire discography. If someone ever had the audacity to approach him and sing so much as one line from that song just because they saw him wearing the band’s shirt, he would turn on his heel and practically sprint away. It didn’t matter if he knew the person or not. In fact, he would be even more irritated by it if he did know the person. Because it would mean his taste level in friends (or even acquaintances) wasn’t nearly as good as he had previously thought.

And, as the years went on, and Radiohead’s reputation, its “fringe” nature went on to transmogrify, Jordan began to doubt his taste then, too. Even though Radiohead’s increasing cachet should have only made him feel the opposite. But, actually, as an “OG” Radiohead fan, he was right to feel this way. That “his” band had been violated, tainted by its mainstream success. Of the sort that he could only tolerate up until after the release of In Rainbows. Because, obviously, that album was too delightful to resist. Not to mention the fact that the band essentially offered it to fans and casual listeners alike for free. Oh sure, their intent wasn’t really to do that, but that’s undoubtedly how most listeners interpreted it—particularly the non-real fans.

Jordan wasn’t one of those though. He was the first to pay top dollar on their website for the digital release at a time when it was still considered “lesser than” compared to a physical one. But, obviously, he bought the vinyl, too. From the Tower Records on that awkward corner of W Sunset (which Jordan felt should not be confused with “plain” Sunset). The very corner he was walking past now, while wearing his OK Computer shirt and Bose headphones. Probably the kind of headphones someone might mug him for if it were the wrong neighborhood (or the wrong patch of a semi-okay neighborhood). Seeing the logo of the current establishment—Supreme—taking up space at the erstwhile iconic location could still make his stomach sink. It was just such a waste.

Though he knew he shouldn’t, he decided to linger in the area, to sit down in the nearby Dialog Café, where he still managed to be surprised by L.A. prices upon ordering a ten-dollar “sourdough breakfast muffin” that could be easily gobbled in two bites—a testament to its smallness in size. Even so, he continued to splurge on his “stay” at Dialog by also ordering a four-dollar drip coffee (the cheapest price, and one that got you a whopping twelve ounces). He sipped from it while grudgingly sitting at one of the two-top tables outside, not really sure why he was so intent to gaze upon the former Tower-turned-Supreme store from afar. Except that it made him think of buying In Rainbows at the end of 2007. Along with, at other points in the year, Sound of Silver by LCD Soundsystem, Person Pitch by Panda Bear, A Weekend in the City by Bloc Party and White Chalk by PJ Harvey, among others. It was a good year for music, even though most people now would tell you that the only thing that came that year was Blackout by Britney Spears. And no, Jordan didn’t have anything against Spears—even if, like every other dude at the time, he had said some horrible things about her. But he also felt there was so much more to 2007 in music than “just” her. Not least of which was In Rainbows.

He had no idea why he was thinking so much about this today. Well, apart from having shifted from listening to The White Stripes’ Icky Thump (another ‘07 album) and then just sort of “subconsciously” shifting to Radiohead. But not even In Rainbows. He had actually been on his Kid A tip and then In Rainbows sort of “happened” as one Radiohead album glided into the next. All of which just went to show the subliminal power of wearing a particular “band tee.” Though Jordan had to admit he never previously felt a band’s subliminal influence through the sartorial quite like this. Maybe Thom Yorke was some kind of warlock…he certainly looked like one (or more like a witch, actually). And, for whatever reason, his spell today was designed to make Jordan remain at a fixed point near the former Tower Records.

As “House of Cards” transitioned into “Jigsaw Falling Into Place,” Jordan turned the volume up and drank the last swig of his absurdly-priced coffee. It was just when he was about to get up and leave that a blatant poseur of a woman in her mid-twenties stopped in the middle of whatever TikTok video she was recording while strutting down the sidewalk to remark on Jordan’s shirt, “Oh my god, I love Radiohead! ‘Creep’ is such. a. good. song.”

“Uh yeah,” Jordan muttered.

Assuming their exchange was over, he continued to rise from his chair and start walking away. But this woman, Alexandra, as she would tell him in a few seconds, insisted that he stay. That she get them both another coffee and they could “really” talk about Radiohead. Falling for the trap, he did as he was told, somehow caught in an unexpectedly vulnerable situation: feeling nostalgic while being pursued by a relatively attractive woman, even though her “aesthetic” was patently inauthentic—right down to the gauge on her ear. Still, it had been a while since a woman who was younger than him had so much as looked in his direction, let alone taken an interest in him as a person. Which is why he couldn’t resist the invitation.

When he returned another eight dollars poorer with the two coffees, it didn’t take him long to understand that she knew absolutely nothing about Radiohead (and anything she did know seemed to have been gleaned from TikTok videos). And that’s why he had to turn his long-dormant charm up to the maximum in order to convince her to join him at his nearby apartment for a fuck (though, of course, he phrased it much more delicately than that, but the implication was quite overt). The fact that he said he had his own apartment was enough for a woman of her age in L.A. to be impressed, and she instantly agreed to accompany him.

From there, you might say, things just sort of spiraled, leapt off into a whole new direction. One that found him somehow proposing to her six months later, even though every time she tried to “bond” with him about Radiohead, it made him bristle, grow hot with rage. And that’s when he would insist on taking her to bed. This, he imagined, is how she got the notion that talk of Radiohead was what aroused him when, in fact, it irritated him to no end. Indeed, he was lucky to be able to get a hard-on so easily after hearing her talk her misinformation about the band. But then she’d take her shirt off and the anger would melt away. It was this vicious cycle that led to the proposal.

It was then he knew that he was as much of a “poseur” as she was. Because he had allowed her to ingratiate herself into his life knowing full well that the extent of her Radiohead “love” would never go beyond “Creep” (and maybe—maybe—“Karma Police” at best). Which is exactly why she chose it as their “wedding song,” to be played as she walked down the aisle while a string quartet did their cornball rendition of it.

Needless to say, when the divorce eventually came, Jordan never wore another “band tee” again (which, unfortunately, meant tossing out the majority of his wardrobe selection). It was far too much of a potential hazard for attracting beautiful (enough) women with cursory knowledge of the band. Then again, what sensible, taste-having woman would deign to listen to such overt “dad rock” as the kind that titillated Jordan?