It was developed in secret for the better part of a year. The timely marriage of Great Britain’s hertitaged Bombay Sapphire brand and Barking Irons’ unique slant on less trodden history. Now the project is finally complete and The Mulberrybend takes you behind the scenes on the making of the Bombay Sapphire BarBag.
“Come at once! They’re going to kill Jim!”
Nearly five months in the making and the new capsule from Barking Irons is finally breaching the gates. The approach to this collection of shirting was in many ways a maturing process and an uncompromising dedication to detail. Past collections had always suffered the death of design to some degree or another. It was the choice that I made this time not to let those details die and to stave off that erosion that the fashion schedule evokes.
MASTERSON BEGINS
Sweetwater, Texas 1876: A twenty- three year old buffalo hunter named Bartholomew Masterson lies in bed with his mistress, Mollie Brennan. Suddenly they hear a calamity outside. The door bursts open and a disgruntled gambler named Sergeant King fires his pistol wildly at the two lovers. Mollie is killed instantly. Masterson takes a bullet to the hip but manages to produce a pistol and spits back fire killing Sergeant King.
“Well, I walk tall to any varmint or Indian, its a way I’ve got, and it comes as natural as grinning to a hyena. I’m a regular tornado, tough as a hickory withe, long winded as a nor’wester. I can strike a blow like a falling tree, and every lick makes a gap in the crowd that lets in acre of sunshine. Whew, bhoys!” – Mike Fink original backwoods boaster.
So you’ve heard of Ol’ Davy Crockett who’s many exploits outlived his own death and traveled as far as Asia. Men wrote of Davy Crockett riding up Niagara Falls on the back of an alligator and besting his weight in wildcats (which I don’t imagine to be too difficult). Nonetheless, many of the seeds of Colonel Crockett’s tall tales were planted by the man himself. He was a self promoter with the best of them. Of his day, perhaps the most popular hero of the American Frontier. He kept some questionable company though. There were others, lesser known rag tags of whom history nary speaks. Men who have been forgotten for good reason.
Barking Irons' Blind Tiger - A Symbol of the Bowery
Cheers to Anthony Kiedis and his girl for this shot. It’s a good look. I’m always glad to see girls who know how to wear a fucking tee-shirt. Most women complain that we only make mens tees primarily. But that’s the point. Women and men alike are supposed to wear the same style. If you’ve ever bought our size “Small” you’d know its not particularly suited for a man. That’s because we have tried to cultivate this ‘cross-gender’ product from the start. Look at it this way, girls want to wear guy threads so why not make the most basic of garments compatible for both?
Ever heard of Pump Street in Manhattan?
Pump Street. Or what used to be Pump Street and is now Canal, existed around 1829. This name was adopted from the Teawater Garden which was a resort near Chatham Sq. that was built around the Teawater Pump. What is the Teawater Pump you might ask? Why it’s a relic of the good ol’ Collect Pond. The Collect existed before Europeans decided to perform surgery on the landscape of Manhattan Island. The freshwater spring was a sanctuary for Native Americans and Colonists alike until it became polluted and overrun with mosquitoes. This is most certainly a result of the destruction of an ecosystem.
Running a business from the Bowery is somewhat of a task in itself it seems. Its not the occasional drooling Meth addict outside our door from the clinic a few blocks away. I actually like the reality of their company. Or the Bowery Mission and its perpetual crowd of loiterers outside its doors. Its the Bowery itself, with its many mysteries and omnimous presence that I think creates friction with the world around it. For instance, there is one phenomenon that I cannot rightly get passed in our days at the Barking Irons HQ. Quite often we get the innocent question about our address, “Bowery what?”. It baffles people that a street doesn’t have a surname. “Bowery Street?” they say? “No, just BOWERY” we counter. Time and time again it is a problem. We’ve even had couriers pause shipment because of this. Of course none of these people are from New York. However it brings up the question of why the Bowery is so mysterious to people. Better yet, what is the Bowery? and what does it mean today?
