So last month I did something really stupid that started as a joke and turned into this weird social experiment that’s honestly changed how I think about where I buy clothes. My girlfriend Emma bet me fifty bucks that I couldn’t tell the difference between a Target hoodie and a Walmart hoodie if I wore them both for a week each. She was trying to prove some point about how I’m a hypebeast who spends too much on basic stuff, which… fair, but also rude.
The bet seemed easy enough until I actually walked into both stores and realized I hadn’t been in either place to buy clothes in probably five years. I’ve been so deep in the boutique streetwear rabbit hole that I forgot these places even sold menswear beyond like, graphic tees with minions on them or whatever. Turns out I was completely wrong and also kind of an elitist asshole about it.
First stop was Target because it’s closer to my apartment. Walked into their men’s section expecting the usual department store nightmare – everything either sized for teenagers or middle-aged dads with zero middle ground. Instead I found this whole Goodfellow & Co. section that looked… actually decent? Clean layouts, reasonable color palette, stuff that didn’t immediately scream “I shop at Target.” Grabbed a charcoal hoodie that felt surprisingly heavy, well-constructed collar, decent stitching. Twenty-eight bucks.
Walmart was trickier to find decent stuff in. Their men’s section feels like it was designed by someone who thinks all guys want to dress like they’re going to a barbecue in 2003. But they’ve got this George brand that’s actually not terrible, and I found a similar hoodie in navy for nineteen dollars. Thinner material, different fit, but not obviously cheap at first glance.
The real test was wearing them around Portland’s streetwear scene where people definitely notice what you’re wearing and aren’t shy about commenting on it. I figured I’d get called out immediately, maybe learn a lesson about brand snobbery, lose fifty bucks, and move on with my life. Instead, something weird happened.
Week one with the Target hoodie, I wore it to a sneaker release at Index, this boutique that sells four-hundred-dollar hoodies and has a line around the block every Saturday morning. Mixed it with some decent jeans and my Chicago 1s, kept the styling simple. Not only did nobody say anything negative, but this kid who works there asked where I got it because he liked the fit. When I told him Target, he just shrugged and said “that’s smart, those big brands are doing better basics now.”
That reaction surprised me because I expected more judgment from the streetwear community. We’re usually pretty brand-conscious, sometimes to a ridiculous degree. I own Supreme hoodies that cost fifteen times what this Target one did, but standing there in line with everyone else, the difference wasn’t obvious. Same silhouette, similar weight, decent construction. The only real tells were the lack of any hype branding and the fact that it cost less than lunch.
Week two with the Walmart hoodie was more challenging. The fit was boxier, material felt cheaper, and it started pilling after the second wash. Wore it to a gallery opening in the Pearl District where people tend to dress well, and while nobody said anything directly, I felt underdressed in a way I hadn’t with the Target piece. The proportions just weren’t as good – sleeves too long, body too wide, hood awkwardly shaped. It looked like what it was: a budget hoodie trying to pass as something better.
But here’s where it gets interesting. I posted fits with both hoodies on my Instagram without tagging the brands, just to see if anyone would notice or comment. The Target hoodie got normal engagement, couple people asking for ID, nothing unusual. The Walmart one got fewer likes and when people did ask about it, they seemed less interested when I revealed the source. Same styling, same photographer (Emma), same background. The difference was subtle but definitely there.
This whole thing made me think about the actual value proposition in streetwear and casual menswear right now. I’ve spent thousands on hoodies over the years – Stone Island, Off-White, Fear of God, all the usual suspects. Some of them are genuinely better constructed, use premium materials, have interesting design details. But some of them, if I’m being honest, are just expensive because they’re supposed to be expensive.
The Target hoodie held up surprisingly well over the month. Washed it probably eight times, wore it constantly, and it’s still in decent shape. Minor pilling around the cuffs but nothing dramatic. For twenty-eight dollars, that’s actually impressive longevity. Compare that to a Champion reverse weave I paid eighty bucks for last year that started falling apart after like six washes.
Walmart hoodie didn’t fare as well. The fabric got noticeably thinner, colors started looking washed out, fit got even worse after a few wash cycles. Nineteen dollars is cheap, but if you have to replace it every few months, you’re not really saving money. False economy situation.
What really struck me though was the reaction from other people in the streetwear community when I talked about this experiment. Some people were defensive, like I was attacking their expensive purchases. Others were curious and started sharing their own experiences with affordable basics. Turns out a lot of people have been quietly supplementing their designer pieces with budget finds, they just don’t talk about it much.
My friend Marcus, who works at a high-end consignment shop and knows more about clothing quality than anyone I’ve met, put it best: “The gap between good and great has gotten smaller, but the gap between bad and good is still huge.” He was talking about how mass-market brands have gotten much better at hitting the basic quality markers – decent fit, acceptable construction, materials that don’t fall apart immediately – while true luxury maintains its edge through superior fabrics, innovative design, and attention to detail that most people won’t notice.
This matters because not everyone needs or wants luxury-level clothing, but everyone deserves clothes that fit well and don’t fall apart. If Target can make a hoodie that looks good, fits reasonably well, and lasts six months for under thirty bucks, that’s genuinely useful for people who can’t or don’t want to spend two hundred dollars on the premium version.
I’ve been thinking about this in terms of my own shopping habits too. Do I really need another four-hundred-dollar hoodie when I could get something 80% as good for a tenth of the price? Sometimes yes – if it’s a piece I’ll wear constantly, if the design is genuinely special, if the quality difference is significant. But sometimes maybe not.
The other thing this experiment taught me is that context matters way more than absolute quality in how people perceive what you’re wearing. That Target hoodie looked better styled with expensive sneakers and good jeans than the Walmart one did with the same accessories. Your overall outfit composition, how clothes fit your body, how confident you feel wearing something – all of that affects how others see your style choices.
None of this is to say that expensive streetwear is a scam or that everyone should just shop at Target. I still love my designer pieces, still appreciate innovative design and premium materials, still get excited about limited releases sometimes. But this whole experience made me more conscious about when I’m paying for actual value versus just paying for the privilege of owning something expensive.
Emma won the bet, obviously. I definitely couldn’t tell which hoodie was which after wearing them both for a while, especially once they’d been washed a few times. Fifty bucks well-spent on learning something about my own assumptions and biases around clothing brands.
The Target hoodie is still in my rotation actually. Wear it to the gym, for errands, layered under jackets when I want something simple and unfussy. It’s become one of those pieces that just works without requiring any thought or precious treatment. Sometimes that’s exactly what you need in a wardrobe full of statement pieces and special occasion items.
Not sure this changes my shopping habits dramatically, but it definitely makes me more open to looking at affordable options for basic pieces. Why spend two hundred bucks on a plain white tee when a twenty-dollar version might do the job just as well? Save the splurges for items where the difference really matters, use budget finds to fill in the gaps. Seems reasonable.
Though I’m probably not telling my Supreme-obsessed friends about any of this anytime soon. Some conversations you’re just not ready to have.
Keith’s a Portland designer with a soft spot for sneakers and a growing allergy to hype. He writes about streetwear’s creative side, its excesses, and learning to build real personal style beyond the latest drops.
