“In Loving Memory” hoodie, available September 14th in the “Teacher’s Dirty Looks” Collection. This hoodie is leaps and bounds the most important piece of clothing I’ve ever been involved with, purely for selfish reasons. A friend of mine since childhood, Cameron Calderone, suddenly passed away last May due to a heart condition that we, and he, knew almost nothing about. He was 26 years old and part of my inner circle of friends that have been together since our teenage years in summer day camp. To say it was “out of the blue” wouldn’t express the shock we all went through. And to say we’re “sad” now, just doesn’t express just how much we miss his presence and humor.  Cameron and I had been on a bowling team (let’s pretend that’s normal) for a few years with two other long time camp friends. After knowing him for a decade, this is where I found out that Cameron was an artist. Cameron was an artist who had ideas and could draw, but never had the confidence to actually show me any of the work. I’d hear he drew comic book characters and cartoons for the students he taught during the school year (his day job was being a teacher’s assistant) and he’d even threaten to one day draw something and try to get it into one of my group shows. But he always told me “it wasn’t ready” or “it isn’t good enough.” When Pete put me in charge of Clandestine and I explained the new position to my friends at bowling, Cameron’s eyes lit up and he asked, “So this means you’re in charge of all the graphics on the clothes?” I said yes and Cameron once again slyly suggested that maybe he’d take a shot at creating something. I obviously encouraged him and even sent him a hi-res version of the logo to work with, hoping it would bring in results. Weeks passed, maybe even months, and I never got one piece of art from Cam. I’d ask. He’d give me the usual excuses. I could tell it wasn’t that he was being lazy, he’d always been a really motivated kid. I mean, he practiced bowling on nights off and ended up averaging around 200, while we drank beer and made jokes about our other friends (and didn’t average 200). But he wasn’t confident enough with what he was drawing. I told him that all I needed was a sketch, we could work with it. That may have helped him gain a little confidence, but deep down I knew I’d never get a design from him, no matter how hard I tried - he just didn’t want to embarrass himself (which was a crazy thought). When Cameron died it instantly became one of the worst and most surreal days of my life. I couldn’t grasp the concept of what just happened. We were just bowling together. How is that even possible? Not being able to say goodbye is a grossly understated problem when someone so young passes away. It still hurts. When I asked Cameron’s girlfriend, Megan, for Cameron’s bowling pins, trophies we’d get for good games or hot streaks during our time in a league, I knew that was the item I wanted to always remember my friend. I never expected to also get what ended up being in the envelope with his pins.  His parents had checked out the Clandestine blog remembering Cameron once bragged about what I was doing with art (tearing). When they were cleaning out his room, one of the drawings in a random desk drawer caught their attention and they figured I might want it. And now I had it. And it was great. And beautiful. And poetic. And almost like he was still speaking to me, mimicking the tears that run down my cheeks when I first figured out what it was (and type this now). It felt like one week he had come to bowling and finally gotten to courage to hand me his favorite sketch and lightly say, “I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s just an idea. If you don’t want to use it, you don’t have to.” And now I wanted to make it. Not just because Cameron was no longer with us, but because I loved the sketch. I knew I could take it to B. Reddy, a designer I had total trust in, to make it a finished idea and pay tribute to a friend, and an artist, who had the talent - and should’ve known he did.  And that’s where this hoodie came from. Inside each hoodie is this: That’s Cameron’s original sketch with the words “In Loving Memory of Cameron” marked below it.  I want to thank Cameron’s parents for being able to piece together what that sketch meant on so many levels (in general, to him, to me) and allowing us to make this hoodie. The family will get a ton of these hoodies to give away to Cam’s friends and family, and a portion of the sales will benefit the family as well. I want to thank Pete, who has been so supportive in giving me the “whatever you want, man” with this hoodie, and the eventual, “Dude, I didn’t know it was gonna be this dope” response when he eventually saw it finished (and wore it the day he got it). Pete actually met Cameron at my last birthday, so I’m happy about that.  Again, it’s just a hoodie, I know that. But if you could ever find yourself looking at a hoodie and thinking it means so much more, please do with this one. It’s a sign of a friend I miss so much (his birthday would’ve been September 10th, the date of LA Fashion Night Out on Melrose, the event where the hoodie will be for sale for the first time). It’s a sign of believing in your artistic talents. A sign in going for what you want. Because I would’ve made this hoodie no matter what. I would’ve handed him the sample at bowling and saw his smile. Because no matter how much I loved him, this still was a good sketch and it made one great hoodie. I love you Cameron. 

“In Loving Memory” hoodie, available September 14th in the “Teacher’s Dirty Looks” Collection.

This hoodie is leaps and bounds the most important piece of clothing I’ve ever been involved with, purely for selfish reasons. A friend of mine since childhood, Cameron Calderone, suddenly passed away last May due to a heart condition that we, and he, knew almost nothing about. He was 26 years old and part of my inner circle of friends that have been together since our teenage years in summer day camp. To say it was “out of the blue” wouldn’t express the shock we all went through. And to say we’re “sad” now, just doesn’t express just how much we miss his presence and humor. 

Cameron and I had been on a bowling team (let’s pretend that’s normal) for a few years with two other long time camp friends. After knowing him for a decade, this is where I found out that Cameron was an artist. Cameron was an artist who had ideas and could draw, but never had the confidence to actually show me any of the work. I’d hear he drew comic book characters and cartoons for the students he taught during the school year (his day job was being a teacher’s assistant) and he’d even threaten to one day draw something and try to get it into one of my group shows. But he always told me “it wasn’t ready” or “it isn’t good enough.” When Pete put me in charge of Clandestine and I explained the new position to my friends at bowling, Cameron’s eyes lit up and he asked, “So this means you’re in charge of all the graphics on the clothes?” I said yes and Cameron once again slyly suggested that maybe he’d take a shot at creating something. I obviously encouraged him and even sent him a hi-res version of the logo to work with, hoping it would bring in results.

Weeks passed, maybe even months, and I never got one piece of art from Cam. I’d ask. He’d give me the usual excuses. I could tell it wasn’t that he was being lazy, he’d always been a really motivated kid. I mean, he practiced bowling on nights off and ended up averaging around 200, while we drank beer and made jokes about our other friends (and didn’t average 200). But he wasn’t confident enough with what he was drawing. I told him that all I needed was a sketch, we could work with it. That may have helped him gain a little confidence, but deep down I knew I’d never get a design from him, no matter how hard I tried - he just didn’t want to embarrass himself (which was a crazy thought).

When Cameron died it instantly became one of the worst and most surreal days of my life. I couldn’t grasp the concept of what just happened. We were just bowling together. How is that even possible? Not being able to say goodbye is a grossly understated problem when someone so young passes away. It still hurts.

When I asked Cameron’s girlfriend, Megan, for Cameron’s bowling pins, trophies we’d get for good games or hot streaks during our time in a league, I knew that was the item I wanted to always remember my friend. I never expected to also get what ended up being in the envelope with his pins. 

His parents had checked out the Clandestine blog remembering Cameron once bragged about what I was doing with art (tearing). When they were cleaning out his room, one of the drawings in a random desk drawer caught their attention and they figured I might want it.

And now I had it. And it was great. And beautiful. And poetic. And almost like he was still speaking to me, mimicking the tears that run down my cheeks when I first figured out what it was (and type this now).

It felt like one week he had come to bowling and finally gotten to courage to hand me his favorite sketch and lightly say, “I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s just an idea. If you don’t want to use it, you don’t have to.” And now I wanted to make it. Not just because Cameron was no longer with us, but because I loved the sketch. I knew I could take it to B. Reddy, a designer I had total trust in, to make it a finished idea and pay tribute to a friend, and an artist, who had the talent - and should’ve known he did. 

And that’s where this hoodie came from. Inside each hoodie is this:

That’s Cameron’s original sketch with the words “In Loving Memory of Cameron” marked below it. 

I want to thank Cameron’s parents for being able to piece together what that sketch meant on so many levels (in general, to him, to me) and allowing us to make this hoodie. The family will get a ton of these hoodies to give away to Cam’s friends and family, and a portion of the sales will benefit the family as well. I want to thank Pete, who has been so supportive in giving me the “whatever you want, man” with this hoodie, and the eventual, “Dude, I didn’t know it was gonna be this dope” response when he eventually saw it finished (and wore it the day he got it). Pete actually met Cameron at my last birthday, so I’m happy about that. 

Again, it’s just a hoodie, I know that. But if you could ever find yourself looking at a hoodie and thinking it means so much more, please do with this one. It’s a sign of a friend I miss so much (his birthday would’ve been September 10th, the date of LA Fashion Night Out on Melrose, the event where the hoodie will be for sale for the first time). It’s a sign of believing in your artistic talents. A sign in going for what you want. Because I would’ve made this hoodie no matter what. I would’ve handed him the sample at bowling and saw his smile. Because no matter how much I loved him, this still was a good sketch and it made one great hoodie.

I love you Cameron.