I Tried Every White T-Shirt Under $50 to Find the Perfect One
Three months, twenty-seven brands, forty-two different white t-shirts, and one very confused delivery guy later, I’ve finally done it. I’ve found the perfect affordable white tee. But before I reveal my champion, let me tell you about the borderline-obsessive journey that got me here—a quest my roommates have dubbed “The Great White T-Shirt Insanity of 2025.”
It all started innocently enough with a text from my editor: “People keep asking for a budget white tee roundup. Something under $50 that doesn’t look like crap after two washes. You game?” I replied with a casual “Sure, sounds fun,” having absolutely no idea I was about to spiral into a rabbit hole deeper than any I’d experienced since my infamous search for the perfect navy blazer in 2022 (a saga that ended with me owning seven nearly identical blue jackets and questioning every life choice that led me there).
See, the problem with reviewing white t-shirts is that everyone—and I mean EVERYONE—has an opinion about what makes one perfect. My dad swears by the undershirts he’s been buying in six-packs since the Carter administration. My trainer believes anything other than some technical performance fabric is basically a crime against humanity. My friend Marcus won’t wear anything that isn’t organic cotton grown by farmers he could theoretically name. And don’t even get me started on the neckline debates—you haven’t lived until you’ve witnessed two grown men nearly come to blows over the merits of crew neck versus v-neck at a dinner party. (For the record, I maintain a strictly neutral position on this issue. The Switzerland of necklines, that’s me.)
I decided the only reasonable approach was to try… well, all of them. Every white t-shirt under $50 that I could reasonably get my hands on. I set some ground rules to keep myself sane:
1. Basic white tees only—no logos, no pocket tees, no graphic elements
2. Available in the continental US from major retailers or direct-to-consumer brands
3. Under $50 retail price (no sale or clearance prices that couldn’t be consistently found)
4. Had to be intended as a standalone shirt, not an undershirt (sorry, dad)
My apartment quickly transformed into what my roommate Trevor called “the t-shirt apocalypse.” White tees draped over every available surface. I created a testing protocol that would make lab scientists proud—or possibly concerned for my mental health. Each shirt would be worn for a full day, then washed and dried according to instructions, then worn again. This cycle would repeat five times. I kept meticulous notes on a spreadsheet that eventually became so complex my laptop would occasionally freeze when I opened it.
The delivery guy who handles my building started giving me concerned looks around week three. “More… shirts?” he asked one afternoon, handing me yet another package. I mumbled something about “work research” and scurried back inside before he could ask follow-up questions.
My first major discovery: price and quality have a relationship, but it’s not as direct as you might think. Some of the most expensive options in my test group (in the $35-45 range) pilled horribly after just two washes, while certain $15 tees held up remarkably well. The sweet spot, I found, tends to be in the $18-25 range—expensive enough to use decent materials but not so pricey that you’re just paying for marketing.
My second revelation: fabric weight matters more than almost anything else. Too thin (anything under 5 oz) and you’re essentially wearing tissue paper that will either display your nipples to the world or develop holes within weeks. Too heavy (over 7 oz) and you’ve got something closer to a sweatshirt than a t-shirt, which defeats the purpose of a versatile basic. The magic zone appears to be between 5.5-6.5 oz—substantial enough to hang properly but light enough to layer or wear in warmer weather.
The washing test eliminated about 50% of contenders immediately. It was frankly shocking how many shirts emerged from a standard cold-water wash looking like they’d been through some kind of cotton-based war zone. Twisted collars, warped hems, mysterious shrinkage in only certain directions—I’ve seen it all, folks. One particularly disappointing specimen from a brand I won’t name (but whose logo is a small animal) somehow grew three inches wider and two inches shorter after just one wash. I looked like I was wearing a crop top designed for a much larger person. Not exactly the versatile basic I was searching for.
Some brands talked a big game about their advanced fabrication—”revolutionary cotton blends” and “proprietary weaving techniques” and other phrases that sound impressive in marketing copy. Most of these turned out to be completely meaningless in practice. One shirt boasting a “special cooling technology” actually made me sweat more than any other tee I tested. I spent a whole day feeling like I was wrapped in plastic wrap during a particularly humid afternoon in June. Hard pass.
The collar test became particularly important as testing progressed. Nothing—and I mean NOTHING—ruins a t-shirt faster than a collar that loses its shape, gets wavy, or (the ultimate sin) flips up like you’re auditioning for a 1950s greaser movie. I developed a highly scientific test for this that involved washing, drying, then hanging each shirt on a hook for 24 hours. The ones that maintained their collar shape moved on to the next round; the sad, floppy-collared rejects were relegated to my “gym clothes” drawer (which, let’s be honest, is where clothes go to die in my apartment).
By month two, I’d narrowed the field to ten contenders. My friends had stopped asking about “the t-shirt thing” because they couldn’t handle my increasingly detailed responses about cotton staple length and stitches-per-inch. My mom, bless her heart, still politely inquired during our weekly calls but her eyes glazed over approximately 15 seconds into my passionate monologues about the importance of properly reinforced shoulder seams.
The final phase of testing involved real-world stress scenarios:
The Tuck Test: How does it look tucked into trousers or jeans? Does it bunch? Create weird bulges? Stay put when you move?
The Layer Test: Can you comfortably wear it under a button-down? A sweater? A jacket? Does it add unnecessary bulk?
The Coffee Test: (Accidental but revealing) How visible are small splash stains, and how easily do they come out?
The Girlfriend Test: I invited my ex (we’re still friends, mostly) over to blindly rate the remaining options because she has always been brutally honest about my clothing choices. Too honest, some might say.
The Day Three Test: How does it look and feel when worn for a third day after two washes? This is where the true quality differences emerge.
The results were fascinating, occasionally surprising, and finally conclusive. After all this testing, one clear winner emerged, with two very close runners-up. But before I reveal my champion, let me tell you about some of the more interesting failures:
The Ultra Premium Disappointment: A certain brand charging $45 for what they call the “world’s best t-shirt” delivered something so thin I could practically read through it. It developed a small hole near the hem after just two washes and stretched out around the neck almost immediately. Proof that marketing budgets don’t make better cotton.
The Fast Fashion Surprise: A $9.99 option from a mall brand infamous for trend-chasing actually performed remarkably well in terms of durability, but the fit was bizarrely proportioned—tight across the shoulders but weirdly boxy through the midsection, like it was designed for someone who was simultaneously very broad and had no waist definition.
The Sustainable Letdown: One brand made impressive claims about environmental responsibility and ethical production (which I genuinely appreciate), but delivered a shirt that felt like it was made of recycled cardboard. Sustainability is crucial, but I shouldn’t feel like I’m wearing a shipping box.
The Vintage-Inspired Imposter: A brand charging $38 for “vintage-inspired” tees delivered something with comically short sleeves (mid-bicep), a strange boxy cut, and fabric so thin it was nearly transparent. Actual vintage tees from the 50s and 60s were made of substantially heavier fabric, so this was both inaccurate and poorly made.
And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. After this ridiculous, exhaustive process, my pick for the best white t-shirt under $50 is… the Standard Cotton Crew from Los Angeles Apparel, coming in at $24.
I know, I know. It’s not the sexiest choice. It’s not some cool direct-to-consumer brand with minimalist Instagram ads and a founder who used to work at Apple. It doesn’t come in sustainable packaging with a handwritten note. It’s just… really damn good.
The fabric hits that perfect 6 oz sweet spot—substantial enough to hang well and survive countless washes, but not so heavy that it feels bulky under layers. The collar maintains its shape beautifully, even after numerous wash cycles. The fit strikes the ideal balance between contemporary and classic—not skin-tight, not boxy, just a clean, flattering line that works on various body types.
Most importantly, it just keeps looking good. After five wash cycles, it was practically indistinguishable from new. The white stayed white (no greying or yellowing), the shape remained consistent, and it continued to drape exactly as it should. The sleeves hit at the perfect mid-bicep point, and the length works both tucked and untucked.
My very close runners-up, for those looking for alternatives:
Second Place: Uniqlo’s Supima Cotton Crew Neck T-Shirt ($19.90). Slightly lighter weight at 5.3 oz, but exceptional quality for the price. The collar isn’t quite as robust as my winner, but it offers a slightly slimmer fit that some will prefer.
Third Place: The Standard T-Shirt from Everlane ($24). Very similar to my winner in quality and durability, but runs slightly longer in the body, which made it less versatile for different styling options. Excellent option if you’re taller or prefer more coverage.
Here’s what I’ve concluded after this borderline-ridiculous journey: the perfect t-shirt isn’t about finding some magical unicorn product that defies the laws of textile physics. It’s about finding something well-made with the right fabric weight, consistent construction, and a versatile fit—then treating it properly. Even the best t-shirt won’t stay perfect if you’re tossing it in hot dryers or (God forbid) using those wire hangers from the dry cleaner that somehow multiply in dark closets.
The postscript to this saga? After identifying my winner, I immediately ordered eight more. My credit card company actually put a fraud alert on my account, assuming no rational person would need nine identical white t-shirts. The customer service rep sounded genuinely concerned when I explained that yes, this was an intentional purchase, and no, I wasn’t planning to start some kind of cult uniform situation.
“Just really good t-shirts,” I explained weakly.
“Uh-huh,” she replied, clearly unconvinced of my sanity.
Maybe she had a point. But as I organize my drawer of perfectly identical, perfectly constructed white tees, I regret nothing. Sometimes the simplest garments require the most complex investigations. And when you find the perfect one—whether it’s a white tee, the ideal pair of jeans, or that elusive perfect sock—the ridiculous journey suddenly seems completely reasonable.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I explain to my roommate why we need a dedicated “t-shirt testing” laundry hamper for the foreseeable future. The quest for affordable perfection continues.
