It seems that abig part of this trend was rooted in aburgeoning (hetero)sexuality. Rihanna was the it-girl, the moment, apin-up for alegion of teenage boys, whether they interacted with her music or not. It was the late Virgil Abloh who, in 2015, said that ​ “graphic t‑shirts are the most important and most expressive format for adesigner or aperson”, and that’s exactly what was happening here. Not only does the wearer want to communicate that they identify with what Rihanna symbolised, i.e. red hot sex appeal, but in doing so, makes them members of this very specific cultural group. But for some of us, the impact runs alittle deeper. The greatest reminder of the album’s legacy is the vivid and distinct memory of that t‑shirt. Sold at Topman, the simple white t‑shirt had the album cover printed on the front, and that same t‑shirt would worm its way into 50% of the British male population’s wardrobes (or thereabouts), found in nightclub queues, high streets and sixth form house parties across the country, becoming adefining relic of British fashion history in the 2010s. A Facebook group hilariously titled ​ “No, that Rihanna T‑shirt won’t get you your hole. You look like awanker” was created in August 2011, now atime capsule of abygone era. Pictures of said ​ “wankers” in their Rihanna t‑shirts filled the group’s feed, with anumber of sometimes quite fraught comments under them. ​ “If Isaw anyone with that top on I’d steer clear”, says one user. ​ “If you go out dressed like that you deserve to be shot”, says another. Blimey.

The Loud era is to British millennials what Sergeant Pepper was to boomers, but with the added bonus of spanking references and aDrake feature.