“You get the furthest by being authentic.”
-Nipsey HussleBut recently, I had to take a step back because I didn’t like where I was taking Dinner Rush. I got caught up in trying to make it something it wasn’t—leaning too hard into ideas of mental health and support in a way that felt forced. I care about those things. I always have. My mother raised me to believe in service, in helping those who need it, and that will always be part of what I do. But I can’t be fraudulent. I can’t NOT be me—not to myself, and not to you. That’s the kind of thing that eats you alive, and too many people are rotting from the inside out because they’re afraid to be honest.
I’ve seen too many people and businesses use mental health and community as a marketing angle, exploiting people who just want a place to belong. That’s not me. That’s not Dinner Rush. When I got sober, I didn’t have some perfect roadmap for where I was headed, and honestly, I still don’t. I struggle every day—with my own demons, with sobriety, with the weight of it all. I’m not some spokesperson for mental health, and I don’t want to send the wrong message.
What I do want is to make something honest. I make streetwear. I create and design. I make mistakes. I speak my mind—whether people like it or not.
Dinner Rush is personal. It’s for my dad, one of Cleveland’s best chefs, who taught me what it means to work hard and take pride in what you create. It’s for my mother, who was a server—not just in restaurants but for others in homeless shelters and on the streets. It’s for my late friend, Chef Kellen Smith, whose energy, style, and passion left a mark on everyone who knew him. It’s for my son, who reminds me every day to dream big and leave a legacy.
I believe in using the little time we’ve got to create, destroy, and create again. Drown out the noise. Stop looking for permission. Do your thing. If you’re with me, welcome. If not—fuck you.
Dinner Rush is me. It’s my parents. It’s their legacy. It’s Cleveland—hardworking, raw, and loud, just like we are. And you can be that too. This brand was never meant to be polished or watered down. It was never about playing by the rules or chasing what’s popular. It comes from everything that made me who I am—skate culture, early 2000s hip-hop, metal, streetwear, and kitchen life. It’s about the things I believe in, the things I’d actually wear. It’s an extension of myself.
I grew up in East Cleveland, moving from place to place, always feeling like I didn’t belong. Hip-hop, skate culture, radio, street art, and a relentless love for cooking became my foundation. From flipping through Eastbay and CCS catalogs to soaking in the beats of Kanye West, overhearing shock jocks on the way to school, and the grit of Cleveland’s underground art scene, I pieced together an identity that didn’t follow anyone else’s rules. I’ve fought my own battles along the way, including finding sobriety—a choice that’s given me the clarity and strength to build this brand my way.