When the press release hit my inbox, I swear my eyes rolled so hard I saw the ceiling of heaven. Zach Bryan and the Jack Kerouac Estate are launching a limited-edition T-shirt line. The proceeds will help turn a historic church in Lowell, Massachusetts, into the Jack Kerouac Center. On paper, that sounds noble. In reality, it’s the most predictable pairing imaginable.

Kerouac was the original poet of male restlessness. He made being emotionally unavailable sound like a spiritual quest. His “road” was less a metaphor for discovery and more an excuse to disappear, and women in his books usually existed to feed, soothe, or worship the men who got to do all the wandering. For decades, he’s been a patron saint of man-children in denim; proof that self-destruction can be mistaken for depth if you write about it prettily enough.

Enter Zach Bryan. A modern-day troubadour with a chip on his shoulder and a knack for making pain sound poetic. His fans call it authenticity. His critics (hi, that’s me) might call it ego dressed in empathy. Between his temper, his messy relationships, and his public meltdowns, he’s basically the living embodiment of the Kerouac myth. Raw talent, bad impulse control, and women left in the wreckage.

So yeah, of course these two names ended up on the same T-shirt. They’re cut from the same flannel. Both inspire fierce loyalty from fans who see them as misunderstood geniuses, and both make women grit their teeth at the cost of that so-called genius.

To be fair, the project itself has good intentions. A museum, a recording space, a community hub, all that sounds great. But the marketing spin about “two generations of storytellers driven by honesty and passion for the road”? That’s just another way of saying “Peter Pan’s Lost Boys who don’t like to be told no.”

It’s frustrating, because Zach Bryan’s music is good. Infuriatingly good. The kind that crawls into your chest and makes you forget every headline he’s caused. Same with Kerouac. His words can still light a spark even when you know how badly he burned people in real life. That’s the trap of this brand of masculinity: talent so bright it blinds you to the collateral damage.

Maybe the new Kerouac Center will do more than canonize another rebel boy who couldn’t clean up after himself. Maybe it’ll make space for the women who wrote, waited, and were written over. But if this merch collab is any clue, the road still looks a lot like it always did, paved with good intentions, marketed as art, and paid for by the people left behind.

Of course you can check out the Zach Bryan x Jack Kerouac Estate merch collaboration here and make up your own mind. I’m sure it’ll be a hit because if anything’s true in this world it’s that everyone still loves Peter Pan just a little bit.