When Four Pins finally dies, everyone who's had a byline dies with it. It's kinda fucked up, but it's part of this weird blood contract Lawrence made us sign toward the end of our initiation ceremony. We sacrificed 30 fuccbois to the Stunna the Jawnflayer, then danced around a pyre of burning Roshe Runs while Soulja Boy played his greatest hits acoustically.
It would be irresponsible of me to perish with all this highly advanced brand knowledge locked away in my handsome ass skull, right? Don't let my gravestone say I never did anything for you nerds. So here's a dart for you: I generally don't fuck with "streetwear" because "streetwear" is for 15 year old boys, but *extremely regular publicist voice* Arizona-based Foulplay has a more than curious vibe. Wholeheartedly embracing their Southwestern roots, they feel a world away from any of the thirty-million New York-centric clones brawling for a piece of the pie.
Toward the end of last year they dropped a heap of well-received fire, with backing from the likes of industry doyen Anwar Carrots and fellow interlopers FTP. Staying true to their aforementioned roots, their latest drop features imagery of Nudie Cohn, renowned cowboy alpheticist. Don't sleep on it.
