RIP started in a London garage during a season where everything felt heavy. I had a busy job, two young kids, and a brain that would not switch off. Burnout had properly caught up. Making things was the only thing that slowed the noise down. Sketching. Printing. Folding tees on the floor. No hype. No big plan. Just trying to stay upright.

Somewhere in that mess it became clear that loads of people felt the same. Tired. Wired. Running on fumes. Still turning up anyway. RIP grew as a quiet signal for the too much crowd. A way of saying you are still here, even on the days you feel like disappearing.

I’m Tom. Dad. Skater in progress (still recovering from a dislocated shoulder from an over zealous drop in). Overthinker. I started RIP because I needed something real to hold on to. Something practical, physical, and honest. I grew up on skate mags, band tees, and badly photocopied zines — RIP is my way of carrying that energy into adult life without pretending everything is fine all the time.

I deal with my own mental health stuff. RIP is the space where I get to make things with intention rather than pressure. Every idea starts at the kitchen table after bedtime, at 3am when I’m wide awake, or in the middle of a conversation. Every drop is small because it’s funded by real life. If you wear it, you’re part of this experiment in staying here and staying human.

RIP only runs because of a tiny group of people who care about the same things. Friends who shoot photos after long days at work. Skaters who bring real energy without trying to perform. Print suppliers who help pack and ship orders. They’re the heartbeat that keeps this whole thing moving.

There’s no agency, no production studio, no big budget. Just a circle of people who believe in making good things with honesty and patience. They keep the ideas sharp, the photos true, and the brand grounded. RIP works because of them — the quiet, consistent crew who help bring the magic to life without needing credit.

RIP is built on clean lines, heavy cotton, and graphics that stay rough round the edges on purpose. Nothing polished for the sake of it. Nothing added unless it earns its place.

This is not fashion built for attention. It’s a uniform for real life. For school runs and night shifts. For the days you do not feel like yourself. For the people who carry too much and keep moving anyway.

It’s skate culture, late night drives, cheap coffee that somehow tastes better in the car, and the rituals that keep you steady when everything else feels too loud.

RIP is for the ones who feel things deeply and still show up. For the overthinkers. For the grafters. For the people rebuilding quietly in the background.