Eighty shirts, one mountain, and a buyer’s cut.
Sandry Law doesn’t collect souvenirs. After every sourcing run through Yunnan, his bags come back heavy with tea samples, not keepsakes. So when the spring 2026 trip delivered one of the finest Yiwu lots in years — a gāo shān (高山) tea from a parcel of trees above 1,200 metres — the team joked that the memory deserved more than a cupping note. The idea of a garment took root: a tee printed with the coordinates of the garden, worn only by the people who had cupped the lot. Sandry sketched the graphic himself on the flight back to Kunming: a simple topo-line of the Yiwu range, with the village name lettered by a friend in Jinghong. In Saint Petersburg, a print atelier known for fine-art editions pulled 80 pieces on a manual carousel press. Each shirt carries a numbered swing tag and a tiny dot of the same ochre pigment that stains the fingers of every tea maker who wok-fries shài qīng máo chá. No extra sizes, no reprints. The cut is Sandry’s own preference — roomy enough to cup tea in, short enough to show the belt line. The shirt feels like the trip: dusty mornings, deep bowls of pào chá, and the quiet certainty that the best things are made in small numbers.