Except it wasn't the "sexy man in a white t shirt" image you're thinking about. (Or the particular image I happen to picture...)
Big V's shirts were stretched out. And kind of grayish. And covered with stains because he wore them to work. And also after work when he would eat buffalo wings and barbequed ribs and spill sauce and wipe his fingers on the bottom hem.
Since he wore a plain, stretched out, grayish-white, stain covered t-shirt every day people assumed he only owned one. Except he didn't. He owned many. Far too many for any one normal human being.
Like a stealthy ninja in the middle of the night, I took every single white t-shirt I could find and got rid of them. All 68 of them. (Don't worry; he took to wearing any number of his thousands of fire department and sports team t-shirts he had been avoiding.)
Now - many, many months later he approaches me: Didn't I used to have a bunch of white t-shirts?
Mmmm.... I don't know? Did you?
Yeah, I could've swore I had some.
Huh? Did you check your closet?
That's so strange....