We started in a leaky garage with two pairs of hands, a dented table, and a stack of forgotten denim. What began as scavenging—pulling selvedge scraps and discarded runs from the edges of old productions—became something else: a practice of careful resurrection.

Through long nights and trial and error, we learned the language of material memory—where a seam wants to rest, how a pocket recalls a body, which frays are worth saving. Shoot the Hip lives where salvage meets story. Each piece begins as refuse: an orphaned yardage, a miscut leg, a bolt marked reject. We coax these fragments back into form through a process of equal parts tailoring and archaeology. Selvedge stays visible where it matters. Traces of the original life remain stitched into every reconstruction, honoring the hands and machines that made it while letting time and wear write the next chapter. This is not upcycling as solution; it’s reanimation through respect and touch.  

There’s fiction woven through the fabric, too—a quiet archive of garments that seem to remember things they shouldn’t. We tell their stories through provenance notes, cryptic labels, and episodic drops: transmissions from a past that refuses to stay buried. That imagined world mirrors our real one—the solder smell of the garage, the late-night mending, the persistence that turned scraps into continuity.  

Our mission is larger than clothing. Shoot the Hip is a vessel for storytelling, craft, and history—a place where material, myth, and maker converge. We design for participation, not possession: every wearer becomes part of the garment record. To wear a piece is to continue its line, to live inside a collaboration between memory and handwork. We build clothing meant to be argued with, mended, and handed on—a small, deliberate wardrobe that binds maker and wearer across time, and refuses the passivity of consumption.