Masters at Home: How the Tournament Shows Up in Our Closets, Kitchens, and Everyday Life

You don’t have to walk through Gate 6 or score a badge to feel like part of the Masters. Around here, the tournament doesn’t just show up on our TV—it shows up in our closets, on our front doors, in our kitchen cabinets, and honestly, in our grocery bags.

The Masters isn’t just a golf tournament. It’s a whole season in Augusta. And if you’re local—or just love someone who is—you know exactly what I mean.

We’ve collected official merch over the years, sure. But the real charm is in how it all quietly (or not so quietly) shows up in everyday life.

Let’s start with the closets.

There are polos in our Easter baskets. There are green jackets that aren’t the green jacket, but still come out once a year like clockwork. There’s probably a hat or two that’s “borrowed” and hasn’t made it back home. And don’t even get me started on the vintage white 2001 toddler polo I’m still holding onto like it’s sacred family treasure.

Our Masters gear isn’t tucked away for special occasions—it’s part of our seasons. Worn to church. Out to dinner. Maybe even to bed if the AC is set just right.

And Bryan? He’s been known to wear Masters polos while traveling for work—sometimes 280 days a year. It’s not just about looking sharp; it’s a way to spark conversations with strangers in airports and hotel lobbies. That little green logo says, “I’m from somewhere special.” That yellow map and red flag outlined in green says, “And I know exactly where home is.”

That little green logo says, “I’m from somewhere special.”
That yellow map and red flag outlined in green says, “IYKYK.”

In this house, we decorate for the Masters like it’s a season.

No really—there are door hangers, wreaths, local art, souvenir cups, and entire pantry shelves cleared to display sandwich packs and popcorn like they’re Easter treats. Some people have Valentine’s bins. We have Masters merch.

And just like we wear red and green for Christmas, down here?
Green and yellow mean spring.

Some of our pieces are rare or limited-run—like this year’s leather duffle bag I scored secondhand. It still had the tag on it. A handmade in Italy Augusta National exclusive. I paid $169. It regularly resells for as much as $2,000. It was too good not to grab and gift. Will has it now, and one day, it’ll probably pass to his kids. Because that’s the thing with Masters memorabilia: it’s not just stuff. It’s story.

Then there’s the cup cabinet.

Let’s just say: if you reach into my cabinet and grab a Masters tumbler, you better be sure you know what you’re doing. Some are replaceable. Some are not. And that Berckman’s Place one? That’s a “Mom-only” situation. (Like, I will lovingly snatch it out of your hand and pretend it’s a teachable moment.)

Every year, the designs get better—florals, map prints, pink-on-pink, even an homage to the caddies. And yes, I will absolutely be clearing space for the 2025 versions when they arrive. Allegedly.

Being an artist for AGNC is next level fantasy—right up there with being a content creator for them. They are the best. The design, the quality, the quiet prestige? Unmatched.

If they ever call, I’ll be packed before I hang up.

Also—for the record—we are a Masters Corkcicle household. Not a Stanley one. Just felt like that needed to be said.

I once brought a stack of Masters cups to a white elephant gift exchange and it was the most fought-over gift of the night. People were side-eyeing and swapping like it was a Rolex. Around here, we know the value.

Speaking of collections… let’s talk gnomes.

I thought I had them all. Paid handsomely for what I thought was the final gnome in the collection—only to later realize I was still missing the very first one. And no, I’m not paying the going rate for him. Gnome or no gnome, that line has to be drawn somewhere.

But still—every year, we bring them out like little green-suited Easter elves. They make me smile every single time.

The front door knows what week it is.

We’ve had Masters door hangers with ribbons, glitter, and hand-painted flags that go up without fail. They’re a little bit country club and a little bit Hobby Lobby—and we love them for it.

Even the porch planters feel like they know what time it is.

We’ve also collected a few beautiful pieces from local artists over the years—like wreaths, prints, and porch signs that pop up every Masters season. Some of our favorites come from ArtsAnneCrafts, this Augusta Masters Wreaths group, and April Henry—all rooted in the same love for this town and this tournament.

When the kitchen gets in on the fun.

This year we went all in on the Taste of Augusta food box, and let me just tell you: those pulled pork sliders were life-giving. Sweet, savory, slightly messy in the best way. I stacked them with extra cheese and toasted them to perfection. Add a scoop of egg salad on the side and you’ve got yourself a front-row seat to the 13th green—right from the couch.

My 2025 Haul

It’s estimated The Masters Shop makes $1m per hour during the week. Yep, you read that right. $16,000 per minute. $277 every second! The Pro Shop may be exclusive, but don’t worry—I brought you with me. From polos to tumblers to maybe, just maybe… a gnome (we’re still waiting on that one), this year’s haul hit all the high notes.

Watch the full unboxing on TikTok here: https://www.tiktok.com/@lorrigailmoffatt/video/7491742096274099502

Spoiler alert:
Floral tumbler? Got it.
That perfectly classic navy polo? Yep.
Gnome? TBD. We are manifesting. Light a green candle. Say a prayer to Bobby Jones.

Tumbler situation: officially out of control (and I regret nothing).
Merch regrets: none. Unless you count not buying two of everything.

Because for us… this is a season.

We decorate like it’s Christmas. We plan like it’s Easter. The Masters is part of the rhythm of our year—part tradition, part hometown pride, part joyful excuse to organize a themed charcuterie board.

And while we can’t all walk the fairways every April, we can wear the gear, sip from the cup, serve the sliders, and remember what a gift it is to be part of something this timeless—even if we’re watching from the couch.

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