I grew up as a chubby kid.

I rode BMX through middle school, sometimes shocking people with how high I could jump or how nimble I was at my weight. I lifted weights and played basketball all through high school; I was the kid who always got clowned for being fat, but never got challenged in the gym. Not long after graduation I was 330 lbs, and benching 300.

No longer able to really do BMX but still loving bikes, I took to local trails and fell in love. Cycling became an addiction for me, and I dropped 60 lbs just from enjoying my favorite hobby. After a health scare, I committed to serious HIIT training and calisthenics, and of course more basketball. I grew accustomed to outperforming people half my size with twice as much definition, and the weight started melting away. At 195 lbs, friends and family were telling me I looked sickly. I was drastically smaller, but still had a belly. I'd never been in better shape, but I honestly didn't feel like myself, and didn't like the way I looked. My upper body looked great in a t-shirt, but if I lifted that shirt, my chest and belly were draped in extra skin and flab. I started focusing on weightlifting in order to bulk up, and it worked. I was doing 200 burpees, 50 squats, 70 pull-ups, 150 dips, and hundreds of push-ups daily at minimum. At one point I was doing 1000-1500 push-ups daily (which is probably a bit too much, but I was obsessed). I reached 225, mostly muscle, but my belly still persisted.

Eventually I got married and too busy to focus on exercise and proper eating, and ballooned back up to 280 lbs despite frequent 20+ mile bike rides. I went from being able to do ten sets of 7+ pull-ups to doing four sets of 3-4. My comfortable bench press had dropped to 205. I felt like such a failure, but couldn't help noticing plenty guys 100 lbs lighter than me who couldn't keep up with me, especially on the trail or the court. After a recent refocused commitment to health as I enter my forties, I'm now back under 230 lbs, but with a new perspective: my belly is not a source of shame, and it's not a contradiction to my status as an absolute beast. I don't go hard “for a fat guy”; I go hard, period. Harder than most. There's a certain amount of confidence that comes from putting in work, and I don't allow any amount of side-eye (from myself or others) to sap that anymore.

Worrying about my belly doesn't affect my performance anymore, but up until very recently it still affected how I dressed. Everything loose and black so as I run and jump and sweat, my body stayed hidden. Rarely did I ever find something I wanted to work out in that I wanted to wear in any other context. Clothes that hide you are not clothes that are comfortable, perform well, or really look good.

My amazing wife informed me that I dressed like I was still in the nineties, and insisted I abandon many of the “big guy” style tropes I'd spent a lifetime learning (undershirts, oversized/baggy everything, plain colors and plaids, etc.). I started dressing with confidence. I started appreciating designs and bright colors. I started cultivating actual style, both in and out of the gym. The only problem was, shopping for good clothes that actually look good is really difficult when you're big.

So I'm building a brand for people like me. Those of us who don't apologize for our bellies while we dominate deserve clothes we can feel and look good in. This is “I will embarrass you out here.” This is “Doubt me if you dare.”

This is for those of us who go hard, and happen to have big bellies. Wear it with pride as a reminder to the competition that they aren't competition, and as a reminder to yourself that the standard is not to be slim, but to go hard.