Look, if you’ve got a signed piece of memorabilia, especially something as iconic as a Liverpool shirt—mine is a 2005 Istanbul shirt signed by Carragher, proper history—you can’t just treat it like any old tee you wear to the pub. I learned this the hard way. I really did.
For the first six months, I was an absolute idiot. I was so proud, I slapped it right up on the wall in a cheap plastic frame I grabbed from a big box store. It looked great! Until it didn’t. I walked past it one afternoon and saw this terrible yellowing starting right around the collar where the sweat had dried years ago, and the bright red was starting to look… well, faded pink where the sun hit it hardest. I swear, I nearly had a heart attack.
The Great Panic and Necessary Rescue
I yanked that cheap crap frame right off the wall. The backer board was that acidic cardboard that literally eats fabric over time. I freaked out. This shirt cost me a bloody fortune at an auction, and I was ruining it just because I didn’t want to spend an extra fifty quid on protection. That’s when the mission started: Figure out exactly how to stop the decay and make sure this shirt lasts longer than I do.
The first thing I had to figure out was cleaning. Everyone tells you, “Don’t wash signed shirts!” And they’re mostly right. But this thing had some old stains embedded from before I bought it. I wasn’t dunking the whole thing, no way. I spent three days researching how to spot clean without touching the signature itself, because if that signature runs, you might as well throw the whole thing out.
- I mixed a tiny bit of distilled water with a few drops of specialized, pH-neutral fabric cleaner—the kind they use for vintage clothes.
- I got a super soft, brand-new, white microfiber cloth because anything else might leave lint or color transfer.
- I carefully blotted the yellowed areas. I didn’t rub. You never rub. It’s all about lift and absorb. I kept the signature area covered the entire time with a piece of clean, white paper just in case.
- I then blotted it dry repeatedly with a fresh, dry white cloth.
I managed to lift the grime without affecting the signature ink—which was the absolute biggest win of the entire process. The moment that dried and the yellowing vanished, I felt like I’d won a trophy. I let it air out for two full days, completely flat on a clean bedsheet, away from any sun or moving air.
Framing It Right: Ditching the Junk and Investing in Safety
This is where most people make the critical mistake. That standard glass in a cheap frame? It blocks nothing. You need UV protection, or that signature and that beautiful kit color are toast in a few years. My initial failure taught me you can’t trust the standard off-the-shelf stuff. I started phoning local framing shops, specifically asking about UV filtration and materials. I wasn’t going to trust a website or a store assistant.
I finally found a guy who specialized in sports jerseys. He walked me through the actual requirements. This isn’t just about making it look nice; it’s about preservation, which is a whole different beast.
Here’s what I insisted on getting, based on his advice:
First, we needed an acid-free backing board. This is non-negotiable. If the board is acidic, it leaches chemicals into the cotton or poly blend over time, causing irreversible yellowing and brittleness. The old cheap frame used the worst stuff imaginable. I watched him unpack the new white, thick archival board. It felt sturdy and dense.
Second, the mounting process. You absolutely cannot use glue or sticky tape on the shirt itself. Even if the tape is rated “acid-free,” the adhesive will eventually wick into the fabric. We decided to stitch it onto the backing board. He showed me how to use tiny, barely visible clear plastic filaments, securing the shirt at key stress points—shoulders, under the arms, and the bottom hem—to the archival board underneath. This method holds it perfectly taut and flat without damaging the fibers. I stood there and watched him do every single stitch; I wasn’t leaving that thing unattended.
Third, the cover. It wasn’t glass, actually, but museum-grade acrylic. It filtered out something like 99% of UV rays. Yes, it cost a bomb compared to the initial cheap frame, easily three times the price, but if you value the item, you have to shell out the cash. Protection against light is paramount for longevity.
The Final Placement Strategy: Location, Location, Location
Once it was framed correctly, the job still wasn’t over. Where you hang it matters immensely. I initially wanted it over the fireplace—big mistake, too much heat fluctuation and residual moisture from the chimney, even if it’s never used. Heat accelerates decay and light causes fading. You have to minimize both.
I ended up choosing an interior wall in my study. It’s a wall that never gets direct sunlight, even in the dead of summer when the sun tracks high. It also stays incredibly temperature stable, sitting between 68 and 72 degrees Fahrenheit all year round. Humidity is another killer. You don’t want it anywhere damp, or you’ll get mold spots on the fabric that will ruin it instantly. Bathrooms, kitchens, and basements are completely out of the question.
I also instituted a new routine just to be safe. Every six months, I get up on the ladder, give the frame a quick wipe down, and more importantly, I inspect the fabric and the signature through the acrylic. I check for any tiny pinpricks of discoloration or loosening of the threads. So far, three years later, it looks exactly the way it did the day I framed it.
My advice? Don’t assume the fancy preservation stuff is too much trouble or too expensive. If you’ve spent the money or the time to get a signed piece of history, you have to protect the investment. Skip the cheap frames, insist on UV protection, mount it properly without glue, and for God’s sake, keep it dry and out of the light. Live and learn, right? But hopefully, you can learn from my mistakes without having the panic attack I had when I saw the red turning pink.