I have long avoided slogan T-shirts. When a cause or belief is fashionable enough to make it on to a mass-produced top, I don’t feel any desire to join in. Now that our every bad choice is archived on social media, ready to ambush us at any time, I am conscious that my declarations of belief or commitment could resurface when I may no longer stand by them. If I am honest, I like to keep my politics to myself and I am not keen on giving strangers an excuse to strike up conversation.

But, right now, the slogan T-shirt is unavoidable. The catwalk and the high street are full of proclamations, from “This is what a feminist looks like” and “Love Trumps Hate” to, simply, “Immigrant”. At the Golden Globes in January, a “Poverty is sexist” sweatshirt, worn by actor Connie Britton, baffled some commentators. You can buy the appearance of giving a damn with T-shirts declaring “Punk not war”, “Liberté, Egalité, Humanité” and, of course, “Feminist”.

I decide to join the herd and wear, if not my own, someone else’s convictions writ large.

First up is a long-sleeved Breton top from Dior, bearing the question, “Why have there been no great women artists?” It is the title of art historian Linda Nochlin’s 1971 essay, so I wear the top to dinner with my artistic pal, the one most likely to have read the work.

“Haven’t there?” she asks the moment I remove my coat. “What about Louise Bourgeois? Jenny Saville? Frida Kahlo?”

It is a quote from an essay, I tell her. From the 70s. About the patriarchy. She hasn’t read it. If I am going to carry off this sloganeering, I will need to swot up on my new wardrobe.

Photograph: Suki Dhanda/The Guardian

The designer Katharine Hamnett has been making big, bold statements on T-shirts since the 1980s, including her famous 1984 photo opportunity with Margaret Thatcher in which she wore one announcing “58% don’t want Pershing”, her 2003 “Stop War, Blair Out” T and “Vote Tactically”, which was resurrected for last year’s general election.

Her current collection largely focuses on Brexit, her trademark block capitals demanding a “Second Referendum Now” or just “Cancel Brexit”. The latter shirt also bears a quote from Antonio Tajani, president of the European parliament, in smaller font: “If British voters changed their minds they would be welcomed back with open arms. Everyone would be for it.” I wear it, tied at the waist, to an old schoolfriend’s birthday drinks. I am confident that her political views roughly align with my own and, sure enough, she deems it “cool”. Encouraged, I take a selfie in the loos and post it on Instagram, where it prompts a flurry of likes.

Vivienne Westwood has been one of the most prolific designers and wearers of slogan T-shirts since the 70s

Vivienne Westwood has been one of the most prolific designers and wearers of slogan T-shirts since the 70s. In 2012, she launched her Climate Revolution campaign with an edgy, post-punk T-shirt. More recently, she urged us to “Support junior doctors” and “Save the Arctic”.

I try one of her classics, “I AM NOT A TERRORIST. Please Don’t Arrest Me”, created in collaboration with civil liberties group Liberty in 2005 to protest against the government’s proposed anti-terror laws. I wear it to meet a friend in Birmingham, where it passes without comment. I feel very “white privilege”. Later, on a train, I find myself sitting opposite a young girl in a hijab. She looks at my T-shirt, then, warily, at me. I hope that publicly declaring my own non-terrorist status doesn’t make it appear that I am less certain about everyone else’s.

Next, I try out a red Lisa Marcario sweatshirt with the words “We are all immigrants” neatly embroidered in small letters. I like the fact that the message feels radical, but its presentation is not shouty. Unfortunately, my colleagues initially fail to notice my statement.

I revert to Hamnett’s succinct “Cancel Brexit” for a party at which I know just a handful of guests. Before long, the slogan prompts an interesting discussion with an entrepreneur. He tells me he found himself conflicted after voting remain, only to discover that his business vastly improved after Britain voted to leave. Later, a girl drapes herself around my shoulders and tells me I look “fucking amazing”. I am not convinced she is on board with the anti-Brexit message, but I take the compliment anyway.

Photograph: Suki Dhanda/The Guardian. Styling: Melanie Wilkinson. Hair and makeup: Dani Richardson.

A man I have not spoken to during the evening clocks my T-shirt and seems affronted. “You can stick anything on a T-shirt,” he scoffs. “You could stick ‘Rape Everybody’ on a T-shirt.”

I am taken aback by the suggestion that the messages are comparable. The pleasure of Hamnett and Westwood’s smart slogans is that they are witty and provocative, and they have a point. “Not that I would,” the man adds, “but I could.” I pull my coat on over my T-shirt and head home.

Wearing slogans means I think less about the style and fit of my clothes, and more about what they stand for, which is good. Getting dressed takes on a new significance and I am glad to know more than I used to about anti-terrorism laws. And art. And even Brexit.

Perhaps, then, slogan T-shirts are less to educate others (quite patronising, as wardrobe choices go) and more to force you, the wearer, to become better informed. And while it is easy to accuse slogan fans of virtue-signalling and jumping on bandwagons, sometimes even the smallest protest feels good.

• T-shirts: Save the rainforest, £55, and I am not a terrorist, £55, both viviennewestwood.com. Empowered woman, £15.99. mango.com. We are all immigrants, £75, lisamacario.com. #labels are for clothes, £18, riverisland.com. #feminist, £12, by Vero Moda, from asos.com. Don’t buy rubbish, £55, dontbuyrubbish.com. Cancel Brexit, £25, katharinehamnett.teemill.co.uk. Why have there been no great women artists?, £590, dior.com.

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