T-shirts, hoodies, tracksuits, caps — you know the routine. Palace manages a cheer and a sense of wonder that Supreme, in its desire to be conspiratorial, often lacks. It feels loyal to the athletic gear it takes inspiration from, yet it rarely feels sporty. The store carried some limited-edition items, but they went early to the most dedicated line-standers and, I imagine, to those too well connected to stand in any line. (Some of those jackets are on eBay for more than $2,500. There’s your future millionaire reseller right there.)

In fairness, of the three times I visited Palace in the past month, this was the only time there was a line, perhaps a function of the fact that the most recent Palace drop is, by the brand’s standards, less than stellar. Typically, there is more wit.

Indeed, wit is crucial to the brand. The greatest charms of shopping on the Palace website are the descriptors for each item, gnomic bricks of all-caps poetry. On the day of the store’s opening, Palace took out a cheeky ad in this newspaper, deploying its signature tongue: “Come and purchase some of our T-shirts — they get you layeth — so you don’t have to sit about reading newspapers.”

For what it’s worth, newspapers were practically invented for standing in line.