Growing up a punk teen in the '80s in LA was fresh, fast and rebellious. This was my first taste of fashion. We would head to the Salvation Army first, to go through the dollar bins to pick out any non-patterned sweater or shirt, then go through the coat racks get anything in a cotton canvas or leather if we were lucky. Also preferred were the old army jackets. Then we'd have a tagging party at one of our homes. Usually at Steve's (AKA "RED”) in his basement.

It was Sharpie city down there -- the basement would be filled with the smell of ink and the screechy sound of the felt tip over our new wears which we called our "skins". In the background, we'd play the latest Cali punk:  Agent orange, DOA, Black Flag, Circle Jerks, to name a few.  

It was collaboration at its newest ... we all worked on each other’s wears ... our inspirations were Raymond Pettibon to Ronald Reagan ... When done we'd rock our new skins and head to the "Bowl" -- that was our hang out.

We didn't do much, just hang. Our Skins were our trademark. It represented who we were what we thought and what we listen to.