Culture
From Drake in pink to ‘Blokecore’: How football shirts became fashionable
Football shirts were once an item of clothing for a) players to wear at work, and b) fans to sport on the terraces in solidarity with the lads out on the pitch.
Now, what must seem abruptly to the uninitiated, they have become the uniform for British music festivals and a source of inspiration for major fashion houses.
Several moments signalled the shift to football shirts becoming mainstream during the 2010s.
For example, Drake, the Canadian music artist, wore the 2015-16 season’s pink away shirt of leading Italian club Juventus, leading to an internet scramble from his fanbase. And two years later, the landscape changed completely again when Nigeria unveiled their kit for the 2018 World Cup finals.
“After 2016, we’d seen quite a few years of blank kits,” says Phil Delves, a kit collector, designer and influencer. “Many people rightly refer to the Nigeria kit (in 2018) and the interest around that, and I think while the design itself isn’t the craziest design we’ve seen, everything was massively amplified because of the moment it arrived and the fact it was coupled with a major tournament.”
Juventus in Pink
2015 – The latest instalment of the Juve pink kit was seen in 2015. It wasn’t just made famous by the big names, such as Pogba, on the pitch but reached a larger audience thanks to rapper Drake.
Hopefully there will be another great pink kit soon! pic.twitter.com/BGoucrstPM
— Classic Football Shirts (@classicshirts) August 2, 2018
Before Nigeria took to the pitch at that tournament in Russia, the shirt they wore as they did so had taken on a life of its own. Designed by American artist Matthew Wolff as a tribute to that African nation’s performance in reaching the knockout phase of the 1994 World Cup, in what was their debut on the global stage, the kit featured a green and white torso with triangle-patterned black and white sleeves.
The bold and vibrant design in 2018 represented the nation’s history and an emerging ‘Naija’ culture centred on a hopeful view of the country’s future, embodied by a new generation of exciting players and a growing arts sector.
Following the kit announcement, internationally famous music artists, including Wizkid, the Nigerian singer from whom Bukayo Saka has borrowed the ‘Starboy’ nickname, and Skepta, a rapper born and raised in London to Nigerian parents, wore the shirt.
Nigeria’s jersey for the 2018 World Cup was a significant moment in the scene (Mark Ralston/AFP via Getty Images)
At the same time, England were enjoying their most successful international tournament since making the semi-finals of the 1996 European Championship, and staunch and casual fans alike went shopping for retro kits to wear while watching the games.
Shortly after that 2018 World Cup, serial French champions Paris Saint-Germain announced a collaboration with Nike’s Jordan Brand worth around €200million (£168m; $223m at current exchange rates). The striking black-and-white kits produced under the deal drew eyes from around the world as global superstars in football, including Neymar and recent World Cup winner Kylian Mbappe, played for PSG in the Champions League wearing a logo associated with U.S. basketball legend Michael Jordan.
This was not the first time PSG had taken inspiration from other fashion sectors — their 2006-07 Louis Vuitton-inspired away kit was among the first of its kind — but it marked a period when the once-niche collaboration between fashion and football went mainstream.
PSG’s Louis Vuitton-inspired away kit from 2006-07 (Pascal Pavani/AFP via Getty Images)
“For us as a business, the summer of 2018 is a real turning point,” says Doug Bierton, CEO and co-founder of Classic Football Shirts. “We opened our first retail store in London, and we got to see first-hand the passion and hype.”
Classic Football Shirts started life in 2006 when Bierton and co-founder Matt Dale went searching for a Germany kit from the 1990 World Cup for a fancy dress party. After purchasing the shirt from eBay, and an England one with Paul Gascoigne’s name printed on the back, the duo noted the dearth of authentic retro jerseys available online.
Bierton and Dale set up a business to buy and sell football shirts, reinvesting their profits into new stock. Less than two decades later, Classic Football Shirts has more than 1.3 million Instagram followers, stores in major cities in the UK and the United States and expects revenues north of $50million in 2024.
Following a $38.5million (£29m) cash injection from investment firm The Chernin Group in May, the company announced several other strategic investors this month. The new investors include actor and Wrexham co-owner Rob McElhenney, recently retired USWNT legend Alex Morgan and global sports and entertainment agency Wasserman.
Bierton is as equipped as anybody to chart how the business has developed from a relatively niche collector industry into one of the most prominent subcultures within football and fashion.
A model wearing a football shirt at the 2018 Paris Fashion Week (Christian Vierig/Getty Images)
“It was much more underground,” says Bierton. “It was only after the 1994 World Cup and the advent of the Premier League that football shirts started being produced with any volume, so when we set up the company in 2006, there was a limited range to look back to. When we began, shirts from the 1980s were more fashionable — like, indie style, the skinny Adidas trefoil type.
“People weren’t buying 1990s shirts from a fashion point of view because the baggy stuff wasn’t really on-trend. It was more ‘I want to get a David Beckham shirt because I’m into shirt collecting or just football in general’. But as the years go by, kids get older. People are harking back to different eras.”
Still, diehard football fans are only a portion of the industry.
Over the years, high-end fashion brands including Giorgio Armani, Dior, Stella McCartney, Yohji Yamamoto and Balenciaga have partnered with football teams to design special kits. Celebrities with no apparent ties to the sport, such as pop stars Rihanna and Sabrina Carpenter — the latter wore an England shirt over a Versace dress at the ‘Capital Summertime Ball’ festival in the UK during the recent Euros — have jumped on the hype train.
With the rise of ‘Blokecore’, an internet trend popularised on TikTok where people of all ages and genders wear retro football shirts with casual outfits, there are no limits on who wears these kits or where.
“We did a string of pop-ups in the autumn in the U.S. last year, and the turnout was insane,” says Bierton. “We had lines down the block in Los Angeles, New York and Miami.
“It was unbelievable to see the range of stuff people were wearing. It was a combination of hardcore fans who loved the game and wanted a shirt to show their knowledge and passion and those who think football shirts are pretty cool to wear. We had someone ask a customer why they were wearing an old Sheffield Wednesday shirt, and they responded, ‘I don’t even know what Sheffield Wednesday is!’.”
Some old football shirts are worth more than others (Adrian Dennis/AFP via Getty Images)
As the industry has grown, the chances of strolling into a charity shop and finding a rare shirt with a unique design have significantly declined.
People are far more conscious of the cost of used football shirts, and resellers and larger third-party retailers have increased the prices to reflect the demand. In some cases, legitimate good quality shirts in adult sizes, like the Netherlands kit from their victorious 1988 Euros campaign, can fetch more than £1,000 ($1,300). An authentic USMNT “denim” pattern shirt, worn by the host nation during the 1994 World Cup, regularly demands prices above £500.
Coupled with the increasing prices of contemporary shirts, which typically range from around £60 to £80 for the ‘replica’ version to more than three figures for the ‘player-issue’ versions produced for Premier League clubs, sales of fakes are now on the rise. According to Corsearch, a global leader in trademark and brand protection, the online market for counterfeit football shirts for Premier League clubs has risen to £180million per year.
“In the past two or three years, there have been a lot more fakes knocking about,” says Jack Mcandrew, owner of Sound Trout, an online independent vintage retailer. “It’s due to social media and the influencers who have been wearing football shirts, in some cases even wearing fakes themselves without realising, indirectly increasing the demand and creating opportunity.
“I’ve come across a lot, even from sellers who I know to be reputable. But because the shirts are so in demand and the quality is so high, people fall for them. It’s funny, because the factories that make the fakes aren’t even just doing the ones that are considered cool and coveted, like the Atletico Madrid home shirt from 2004-05 with the Spider-Man kit sponsor, they also do random generic ones.
“I’ve had to be a lot more careful. If a shirt is from the 1990s and it’s in ‘mint’ condition, nine times out of 10 it’s probably too good to be true.”
Authentic USMNT “denim” pattern shirts, worn during the 1994 World Cup, regularly demand prices north of £500 (Ben Radford/Getty Images)
For independent store owners like Mcandrew, the growing counterfeit market means they have to be extra careful when buying shirts from online outlets or inspecting in person at car-boot sales.
Classic Football Shirts, which operates a significantly larger operation with more than 160 employees, has staff responsible for sifting through fakes and procuring legitimate retro classics from all corners of the planet.
“We’ve got a rigorous authentication process,” says Bierton. “This includes looking at labels and product codes and comparing them to shirts we have. We used to have a thick written manual, and now it’s computer-based, but we have a team of around 20-odd people working on the process. It gets more challenging, particularly with the quality of fakes now produced, but once you’ve worked here for a couple of months, you can usually tell the difference.
“It’s still the case that over half the classic shirts are sold to us by people through the website. But there are crazy jobs within the company, basically hunters, whose role is to go out and find shirts in the wild for us. They go around the world, making connections to find old shirts.”
As the trend has popularised, it has become more of an international industry. While there have always been collectors worldwide — Classic Football Shirts sold its first jersey to a Liverpool fan in Norway and has had interest from “hardcore” kit enthusiasts from South Korea since its inception — subcultures have developed reflecting specific interests within populations.
“Particularly in the U.S., many fans are drawn to ‘hero printing’,” says Bierton. “It’s about players as much as teams. I think of the U.S. customers as similar to myself regarding Italian football of the 1990s. I wouldn’t necessarily support any of the teams, but I love the idea.
“I would have a Parma shirt, a Sampdoria shirt, a (Gabriel) Batistuta, (Francesco) Totti or (Roberto) Baggio shirt. That’s the Premier League to a lot of fans from the States. They might like Thierry Henry, Wayne Rooney or Sergio Aguero. They tend to be more interested in the technical aspect in Asia, preferring the player-issue shirts.”
The 1990s remain the golden era for long-time shirt collectors and those who have immersed themselves in the trend more recently. Manchester United and England tops with Beckham’s name printed on the back are among the most popular on Classic Football Shirts, competing with Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi ones.
With the introduction of ‘icon’ cards on the Ultimate Team mode of the EAFC video game, legends of the era such as Zinedine Zidane and the original, Brazilian Ronaldo have maintained their relevance to younger generations, and their shirts remain some of the most coveted.
Football in 1997 – when players’ shirts were definitely baggier (Alex Livesey/Allsport)
“The ’90s is the high water mark,” says Bierton. “There’s much more freedom of expression in the kits. They’re bolder, and they’re baggy. It’s not ‘Fly Emirates’ on the front of the shirt; it feels pre-commercialisation. It feels like there is still something pure about these shirts.
“There’s something about the 1990s and early noughties that has managed to capture the imagination of younger generations.”
GO DEEPER
A 1989 Liverpool kit and Beckham’s underpants: Why U.S. investors have bet £30m on retro football shirts
(Top photos: Getty Images; design: Dan Goldfarb)
Now that we’ve memorized the first half of our poem, let’s learn a little more about the man who wrote it. (Haven’t memorized anything yet? Click here to start at the beginning.)
For most of his life, Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-73) was a star. He was widely read, quoted, argued over and gossiped about, achieving a level of fame that few writers now — and not many then — could contemplate. His New York Times obituary did not hesitate to call him “the foremost poet of his generation.”
Celebrity of that kind is ephemeral, but Auden’s words have continued to circulate in the half century since his death. Maybe you’ve heard some of them before. In the 1994 film “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” his poem “Funeral Blues” is recited by Matthew (John Hannah) over the casket of his lover, Gareth (Simon Callow).
In the Gen-X touchstone “Before Sunrise” (1995), Jesse (Ethan Hawke) regales Celine (Julie Delpy) with an impression of Dylan Thomas reading Auden’s “As I Walked Out One Evening.”
In both these scenes, the characters use Auden’s poetry to give voice to a longing for which they otherwise might not have words. Auden’s poetry is often useful in that way. It speaks to recognizable human occasions, and it isn’t always all about him.
“The More Loving One” might not be something you’d quote at a funeral or on a date, but it is almost effortlessly quotable — the perfect expression of a thought you never knew you had:
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Ken Burns, filmmaker
The word “I” occurs five times in this stanza, but we don’t know much about the person speaking. His personality is camouflaged and revealed by craft.
Auden, born in the northern English cathedral city of York, began practicing that craft as a schoolboy, and honed it at Oxford. Not long after graduating in 1928, he was anointed by critics and readers as the great hope of modern English poetry. A charismatic, divisive figure, he gathered acolytes, imitators and haters.
He swam in the intellectual and ideological crosscurrents of the 1930s, drawing Marxism, psychoanalysis and mystical nationalism into his writing. Assimilating a daunting array of literary influences — Old English and Ancient Greek, French chansons and Icelandic sagas — he forged a poetic personality that was bold, confiding and seductive.
His love poems of that era were candid, discreet dispatches from a calendar of feverish entanglements, wrenching breakups and one-night stands, usually with other men. He also wrote about the feverish politics of the time — class conflict; the rise of fascism; the Spanish Civil War — in ringing rhetoric he later disavowed.
In 1939 Auden moved to America, acquiring U.S. citizenship after World War II. In New York he fell in love with Chester Kallman, a young American writer who became his life partner.
It was a complicated relationship, starting as a passionate affair and enduring through decades of domestic companionship and creative collaboration. Kallman’s refusal to be sexually exclusive wounded Auden, a dynamic that poignantly shades this poem’s most memorable couplet:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Yiyun Li, writer
In America, Auden distanced himself from the radical politics of his earlier career and embraced Anglican Christianity. His intellectual preoccupations shifted toward religion and existentialism — to the kinds of big questions we think about late at night, or when we look to the sky.
Making the leap from wunderkind to grand old man without seeming to stop in middle age, he became a mentor for several generations of younger poets. He was a prolific and punctual contributor of reviews and essays to various publications, including this one, for which he wrote a rave of J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Fellowship of the Ring” in 1954.
Through it all, Auden devoted fanatical attention to the finer points of poetic technique. His notebooks are full of numbers, word lists and markings that show just how deep this commitment went. He counted every syllable, measured every stress.
He gathered rhymes and other words with a lexicographer’s zeal and a crossword puzzler’s precision.
The third stanza of “The More Loving One” is a miniature showcase of Auden’s skill. Of the four epigrams arrayed before us, it may be the most technically perfect.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
W.H. Auden, poet
The rhythm is flawless, without an extra syllable or an accent out of place. The grammar is also fastidious. Here is a single sentence, springloaded with equivocation, beginning with one idea and sliding toward its opposite.
This quatrain is the poem’s ideal formal representation of itself, a kind of proof of concept: four lines of impeccable iambic tetrameter in an AABB rhyme scheme. The by-the-book regularity of this stanza should give you a leg up in memorizing it, and you can test yourself below!
But the rest of the poem is an argument against perfection, just as it is a celebration of uncertainty and humility — as we’ll see tomorrow.
Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.
Question 1/6
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.Your first task: Learn the first two lines!
Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.
Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.
Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.
Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.
Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.
PERMANENCE, by Sophie Mackintosh
Sophie Mackintosh’s novels are always speculative in some way, with either the author or her characters forging a world governed by its own logic and rules. In their boldness and their ability to convey the violence of patriarchy, they recall the work of Jacqueline Harpman — not only the cherished “I Who Have Never Known Men,” but also “Orlanda,” her wild riff on Virginia Woolf’s “Orlando.”
Like Harpman, Mackintosh has a spare and confident hand. Her work is sometimes described as dreamlike; certainly, its contours are sketched with rapidity and confidence and relatively little detail. Her prose operates according to the same principle, at once lyrical and precise, like this from her second novel, “Blue Ticket”: “On the ground was a dead rabbit, disemboweled. Still fresh, the dark loops of its insides glistening like jam.”
When Mackintosh writes about masculine power, she does so in a way that articulates both its seductions and its terrors. Her newest novel, “Permanence,” is less explicitly concerned with the structure of patriarchy, but it has the same erotic charge as her earlier work, the same preoccupation with social prohibitions and the thrill that comes from breaking them.
Like “Blue Ticket,” “Permanence” turns on a highly pronounced binary. In “Blue Ticket,” adolescent girls are issued either a blue or white ticket on the day of their first period. A white ticket denotes a future of marriage and children, a blue ticket one of work — even, it seems, a career. The divide is stark and self-evidently faulty, its coarseness an expression of the brutalizing regime the characters are trapped in.
“Permanence” features a similar opposition, neatly delineated. Clara and Francis are conducting an illicit affair. One morning, they wake up in an alternate reality where they are openly living together. The novel shuttles between these two worlds, one ordinary and familiar, the other a curdled paradise for adulterers.
The thinness of this “city of impermanence” — “fluid, cohesive and yet disparate” — emerges at once. The sky is “uncannily blue,” the newspaper bears no date, the edge of the city is marked by “a slick ring of water, as far as the eye could see.”
Still, a boundary cannot keep the other world from seeping in. Initially, elegantly, this is a problem in the structure of desire. Having been provided the life they dreamed of, in which their longing for each other is fully met, Clara and Francis begin to experience, to their uneasy surprise, boredom and discontent.
Without absence, the intensity of their desire for each other wanes. They even begin, or at least Francis does, to long for the relief of their ordinary life: “Another day ahead of them of petting, giggling, lying around. It seemed insubstantial suddenly, though only the day before he had felt he could do it forever.”
Soon enough, it becomes clear that the problem between Francis and Clara doesn’t lie in the outside impediments of the world they live in, but in their relationship itself. Francis remains troublingly himself — a married father of a small child, reluctant to leave his family, however much he is in love with Clara: “He did love her, and he did want to be with her. … But he already had reality elsewhere, reality which he sometimes felt trapped by, he would admit, but which he could not truly imagine cutting loose.”
“Permanence” might seem like an outlier in the current array of articles and books about open marriages and polyamory, and at first glance the line of distinction between the two worlds, much like the division between blue and white tickets, seems almost old-fashioned. But as Mackintosh persuasively illustrates, the familiar emotions of jealousy, infatuation and eventually indifference — these persist and can flourish in any relationship, however free of prohibition.
“You want this,” Clara tells herself, and then, “You no longer want this,” as it occurs to her that “maybe it was in absence that they loved each other best, and most honestly.”
In her work, Mackintosh devises scenarios that are bold and almost aggressively simplified. But her terrain is complexity and contradiction, and in her hands these oppositions twist and turn in on themselves.
It’s hardly a surprise when the central character in “Blue Ticket” decides to eschew her designation and have a child, declaring, “True and false were no longer opposing binaries. My body was speaking to me in a language I had not heard before.” Nor is it especially startling when discontent chases Clara and Francis from one world to the other, unraveling their relationship.
What is more disquieting is the surreptitious ease with which Mackintosh’s speculative worlds start to align with our own, allowing the reader to see how so many of the old prohibitions and conventions — around choice, around marriage — remain, somehow, firmly in place.
That moment of recognition, in a landscape that is startlingly alien, is the source of Mackintosh’s power as a writer.
PERMANENCE | By Sophie Mackintosh | Avid Reader Press | 240 pp. | $28
Maybe you woke up this morning haunted by the first four lines of W.H. Auden’s “The More Loving One” — or tickled by its tongue-in-cheek handling of existential dread. (Not ringing any bells? Click here to begin the Poetry Challenge).
This is a love poem. Perhaps that seems like an obvious thing to say about a poem with “Loving” in its title, but there isn’t much romance in the opening stanza.
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
Ada Limón, poet
Nonetheless, the poem soon makes clear that love is very much on its mind.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
David Sedaris, writer
The polished informality gives the impression of a decidedly cerebral speaker — someone who’s looking at love philosophically, thinking about how it works and what it means.
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Reginald Dwayne Betts, poet
Musing this way — arguing in this fashion — he stands in a long line of playful, thoughtful poetic lovers going back at least to the 16th century. He sounds a bit like Christopher Marlowe’s passionate shepherd:
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
Auden’s poem, like Marlowe’s, is written in four-beat lines:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Josh Radnor, actor
And it features strong end rhymes:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Samantha Harvey, writer
These tetrameter couplets represent a long-established poetic love language. Not too serious or sappy, but with room for both earnestness and whimsy. And even for professions of the opposite of love, as in this nursery rhyme, adapted from a 17th-century epigram:
I do not like thee, Doctor Fell
The reason why I cannot tell.
But this I know and know full well
I do not like thee, Doctor Fell.
There is some of this anti-love spirit in Auden’s poem too, but it mainly follows a general rule of love poetry: The person speaking is usually the more loving one.
This makes sense. To write a poem requires effort, art, inspiration. To speak in verse is to tease, to cajole, to seduce, all actions that suggest an excess of desire. That’s why it’s conventional to refer to the “I” in a poem like this as the Lover and the “you” as the Beloved. The line “Let the more loving one be me” could summarize a lot of the love poetry of the last few thousand years.
But who, in this case, is the beloved? This isn’t a poem to the stars, but about them. Or maybe a poem that uses the stars as a conceit and our complicated feelings about them as a screen for other difficult emotions.
What the stars have to do with love is a tricky question. The answer may just be that the poem assumes a relationship and then plays with the implications of its assumption.
This kind of play also has a long history. Since love is both abstract and susceptible to cliché, poets are eager to liken it to everything else under the sun: birds, bees, planets, stars, the movement of the tides and the cycle of the seasons. Andrew Marvell’s “Definition of Love,” from the 1600s, wraps its ardor in math:
As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.
The literary term for this is wit. The formidable 18th-century English wordsmith Samuel Johnson defined a type of wit as “a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike.” “The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together,” he wrote; that kind of conceptual discord defines “The More Loving One.”
The second stanza is, when you think about it, a perfect non sequitur. A hypothetical, general question is asked:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Mary Roach, writer
The answer is a personal declaration that is moving because it doesn’t seem to apply only or primarily to stars:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Tim Egan, writer
Does this disjunction make it easier or harder to remember? Either way, these couplets start to reveal just how curious this poem is. We might find ourselves curious about who wrote them, and whom he might have loved. Tomorrow we’ll get to know Auden and his work a little better.
Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.
Question 1/6
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.
Your task today: Learn the second stanza!
Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.
Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.
Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.
Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.
Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.
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