Founder

My name is Kyle.

This isn’t a polished brand story.

This is my life.

I drew on my first shirt in 4th grade.

Not because it was cool.

Not because I thought it could be a business.

But because I needed somewhere to put what I was feeling.

I grew up in a split home.

An ugly divorce.

Choosing sides before I even understood what that meant.

My mom would leave us with our grandparents for months at a time.

We wouldn’t see our mom or dad for long stretches.

I remember wondering when things would feel normal.

They never really did.

I lived with my mom.

Then her boyfriends.

Then my dad and my stepmother.

Then back to my mom.

We moved constantly.

New house.

New school.

New kid again.

Sometimes it felt like we moved all over the country.

Like stability was something other people were born into.

The longest I ever stayed anywhere was Pennsylvania.

From 5th grade to graduation.

And even then, I felt like I was catching up to friendships that had existed long before me.

I was jealous of kids who grew up together.

Who had lifelong friends.

Who felt rooted.

I never felt rooted.

I made a lot of friends. Real ones. Lifelong ones.

But inside, I always felt temporary.

Most of my mom’s boyfriends were drunks.

Abusive in different ways.

Except maybe one.

One would get so drunk he’d pass out and piss in the corner of the bedroom.

Another drank so much that every Friday felt like a ticking clock.

If I came home late on a Friday, I already knew.

Game on.

We’d get into it.

He’d call the cops on me or I’d call them on him.

It was ugly.

I refused to let that energy sit unchecked.

Living with my stepmother when I was young wasn’t easy either.

A lot of verbal abuse.

A lot of being made to feel small.

A lot of being told I wasn’t enough.

It even put a fork in the road between me and my sister for a while.

She didn’t see it the same way until she got older.

Now we’re extremely close.

When you grow up in chaos like that,

you either shrink…

or you build something loud.

I chose loud. Always.

But school?

I was terrible.

A big fucking asshole if I’m being honest.

I failed 8th grade and had to go to summer school.

High school was detention after detention.

In-school suspension.

Always pushing it.

10th or 11th grade — I can’t even remember which —

I was going to fail because I didn’t have enough credits.

My graphic arts teacher saw something in me though.

He knew my potential.

He asked me to design a logo for his motorcycle company.

We were going to print it on a t-shirt.

And if I did it, he would give me the credits to pass.

Thank fuck he did.

That moment changed my life.

Even as an adult, I thanked him.

It was the first time someone didn’t see a problem.

They saw potential.

Clothing wasn’t just expression anymore.

It was possibility.

I was heavy into skate culture.

Streetwear was everything.

I drew on my own clothes.

I drew on my friends’ clothes.

I painted skate decks.

I drew on my shoes.

I was obsessed.

I’d sit on eBay for hours looking for pieces nobody else had.

If I was going to be the new kid again,

I was going to be unforgettable.

Clothing made people look.

It made people talk.

It gave me control.

It gave me identity.

It gave me something that felt like mine.

It felt like home.

I had my first daughter young.

Life sped up fast.

Responsibility hit hard. I needed to be a father and I never really knew how. I wasn’t close to my dad much before my first daughter so I had no clue really on how to raise a kid. 

And even as an adult, I found myself moving constantly.

Apartment to apartment.

Town to town.

I never felt settled.

Maybe because I never learned how to be.

In 2013 I started trying to build clothing professionally.

In a tiny apartment.

No money.

Just obsession and dreams. 

At one point I sent my entire dream for my clothing brand to what I thought was Rob Dyrdek’s Fantasy Factory.

I drew on a shoe.

Wrote out how my brand was so fucking good.

If they ever got it, they probably threw it away.

I moved again.

And again.

Eventually I landed in a trailer.

Then got evicted for something that had nothing to do with me.

Then had to move to another trailer.

Rock bottom.

Some winter nights the pipes would freeze.

No hot water.

Showering with boiling water.

One Christmas Eve the furnace went out.

I remember sitting there thinking:

“If you’re ever going to do this, do it for real.” So I locked in on the clothing and my job. I didn’t want my daughter to live this life. I wanted more for her. 

In 2018 I started gaining traction because I was putting in the work.

In 2019 I got myself out of that trailer and into a beautiful townhome in Ohio.

Something I was proud of.

Something I worked so hard for.

At the time I had a career in the auto glass industry.

For once, life felt stable.

Then 2020 happened.

A horrible breakup.

I lost everything.

My ex took my daughter seven hours away from me.

I was drinking.

Angry.

Lost.

Spiraling.

I lost my job.

Lost direction.

Lost myself.

Everything I worked so hard for was my little girl. 

The only person who stayed was Emily.

She saw me at my lowest.

The drinking.

The anger.

The instability.

The pain.

And she didn’t leave.

Hell & Company would not be where it is if she didn’t hold me down for the nearly six years we’ve been together.

She believed in me when I barely believed in myself.

I could have folded.

Instead, I went back to the one thing that always made sense.

Clothing.

 

Today I’m a father of four.

Two daughters of my own.

Two stepchildren who are mine in every way that matters.

In 2022, Emily and I had our daughter Willow.

I rebranded my clothing 

Burned everything down.

Started again.

 I had a greater sense of purpose and a greater sense of what it means to be a father. I took control. 

In 2023 we moved to California.

Emily got an incredible job.

For the first time in my life,

I was able to focus 100% on clothing.

No survival job.

No split focus.

No running.

Just building.

And now?

This is the greatest life I have ever lived.

Not because it’s perfect.

But because I built it.

Hell & Company isn’t about darkness.

It’s about pressure.

It’s about instability.

It’s about turning chaos into power.

It’s about refusing to shrink.

It’s about building identity when you never had stability.

I didn’t grow up feeling at home.

So I built one.

And now I get to give my children the stability I never had.

And when people ask me why I did this, now you know what I mean when I tell you I was born for this. Corny? Maybe to some but to me it’s my path. 

If you’ve ever felt out of place…

If you’ve ever had to rebuild…

If you’ve ever been the new kid over and over…

If you’ve ever been told you weren’t enough…

If you’ve ever had someone see your potential when you couldn’t… 

This isn’t just a brand.

It’s proof you can turn hell into something powerful.

Welcome to it.

— Kyle Leslie

Founder, Hell & Company