Worn by everyone but the owner

A sandwich board, propped at a slight angle and drawn flat in black. Hand-lettered across it, in mustard, uneven the way real chalk is: THANKS FOR 40 YEARS.

It's the sign a shop props on the pavement the week it closes. This one's printed on a shirt instead.

Why print the sign rather than the shop's own logo?

Because the sign is what customers genuinely stood in front of and read.

A closing-down board is handwritten, put up in a hurry, and gone within a week — the polished logo was on every bag and every till receipt for decades, but the sign is the one thing the shop said in its own handwriting, once, on the way out. That's the object worth keeping.

Why does it say a number of years rather than the shop's name?

Because the number is the part that belongs to the regulars' memory.

Anyone who walked past for forty years remembers the number without needing the name attached to it — they already know whose door it was. The figure alone does the specific work; naming the shop is what turns a keepsake into a piece of that business's own signage. A crest and a plain number do more of the remembering than a name would, which is the same reason a reunion shirt leans on a year over a surname.

Why is this worn by the customers rather than the staff?

Because it marks a different relationship than a shift does.

A staff shirt is workwear before it's branding — it belongs to a job and comes off at the end of a shift. This belongs to the people who spent money there for decades and have nothing to clock out of. It's closer to a keepsake from a leaving gift for one specific person than to a uniform, just aimed at a whole shopful of them instead of one desk.

Can it use the shop's own name and logo?

If the shop itself is behind the shirt, yes.

A business's name and logo are that business's own mark, the same as any brand's actual lettering isn't free for someone else to reprint. If the shop is printing its own farewell run for its regulars, that's straightforward — it's their sign to put on a shirt. An unofficial tribute made by a regular is the harder version, and the safer route there is what this design does anyway: draw the sign, not the trademark.

Does this fit anything besides a shop closing?

Yes — any business with regulars works the same way.

A pub, a bookshop, a workshop, a café that had the same faces in it every morning for a decade. What the sign says changes; the shape of a hand-lettered board propped at an angle and worn on somebody's back doesn't.

Isn't a closing-down shirt just a sad thing to wear?

Not printed this way — it reads as thanks, not mourning.

The board says THANKS, not a eulogy, and gratitude worn afterwards works the way an inside joke does: it means something specific to the people who were genuinely there for the forty years, and nothing in particular to anyone else on the street.

Does it print well?

Yes — hand-lettering and a flat sign shape are forgiving artwork.

One dark ink for the board and its frame, one mustard for the lettering, kept deliberately uneven rather than smoothed into a typeface. A short, closed palette like this reads clean from across a room and holds up as a back print at full shoulder width.

How do I get one made?

Describe the sign at JustOG — what it says, how many years, how rough the lettering should be. Pick a direction, drag the crop frame, see it composited on the real garment, and it's made to order and shipped.

Designs other people have published are in the shop.

One sign, propped in a doorway, read by somebody walking past it for the last time.