Building a Republic: An Intimate Conversation with Supreme and Brass, the Visionaries Behind BK Republic

This interview was conducted by a well known independent journalist and lifelong student of hip-hop culture. 

There are clothing companies, there are streetwear labels, and then there are cultural institutions disguised as brands.

BK Republic belongs to the third category.

After more than five decades of watching hip-hop grow—from neighborhood park jams and handwritten party flyers to a worldwide cultural and economic force—I have learned to recognize the difference between those who simply borrow from the culture and those who have actually lived it. The distinction is usually revealed in the details: how people tell their stories, whose names they remember, what they believe deserves to be preserved, and whether they understand that hip-hop has always been about more than records and clothing.

That difference became unmistakably clear during my conversation with Supreme and Brass, the creators and founders of Brooklyn Republic Apparel—better known as BK Republic.

Supreme is the brand’s visionary, designer, storyteller, and creative architect. He possesses the rare ability to look at a familiar cultural reference and see an entirely new world inside it. Brass brings another essential element to the partnership: perspective, discipline, cultural memory, and a grounded understanding of the people the brand represents.

Together, they are building more than a clothing line. They are constructing an archive of Black creativity, Brooklyn resilience, hip-hop history, neighborhood humor, generational wisdom, and independent artistic expression.

Our meeting did not feel like a traditional corporate interview. It felt more like a conversation inside a neighborhood record store—the kind that once served as a community center, fashion runway, debate hall, comedy club, and unofficial university. We talked about Brooklyn, music, struggle, ownership, family, fashion, failure, legacy, and the responsibility that comes with representing a culture that has already had so much taken from it.

What follows is our conversation.

“BK Republic Had to Feel Like a Place”

Journalist: Let’s begin with the name. What exactly is BK Republic?

Supreme: BK Republic is a world. It is Brooklyn, but it is bigger than a geographical location. Brooklyn is the foundation because that is where the attitude, creativity, toughness, humor, and cultural perspective come from. But the “Republic” represents everybody who connects with that spirit.

It is for people who know what it means to create something out of almost nothing. It is for independent thinkers, artists, DJs, designers, skaters, writers, photographers, entrepreneurs, and people who never waited for the establishment to approve them.

I never wanted BK Republic to feel like just another name printed across a shirt. I wanted it to feel like a place you could belong to.

Brass: A republic is supposed to represent its people. That is an important part of the name. We are not interested in building something that only talks at people. We want the brand to reflect their stories.

There are people who may have never lived in Brooklyn, but they understand Brooklyn. They understand that energy. They understand surviving, adapting, creating your own lane, and making something powerful out of your environment.

BK Republic is Brooklyn-born, but the mentality is universal.

Journalist: So the brand is not limited by geography?

Supreme: Never. Brooklyn is the address, but hip-hop is the passport.

The Brooklyn That Raised the Vision

Journalist: Brooklyn is one of the most documented places in the world, but people often reduce it to a few landmarks and catchphrases. What does Brooklyn mean to the two of you?

Brass: Brooklyn teaches you awareness. You learn to pay attention—to sounds, people, movement, language, and energy. Every neighborhood has its own rhythm. Every block has its own personalities.

You can walk a few blocks and experience completely different worlds. There is Caribbean culture, African culture, Latino culture, Southern influence, jazz history, soul music, street basketball, church culture, fashion, food, politics, and hustle. All of that lives together.

When you grow up around that much information, it becomes part of how you think.

Supreme: Brooklyn taught me how to remix life.

That is what hip-hop does. It takes what already exists, studies it, rearranges it, adds something personal, and gives it a new meaning. Brooklyn does the same thing. You might see somebody turn a basic outfit into a statement just by how they wear it. Somebody else takes an empty storefront and turns it into a gallery, barbershop, clothing store, studio, or community space.

We grew up understanding that presentation mattered, but authenticity mattered even more. You could not just put something on and expect people to believe you. You had to carry it correctly.

Journalist: Brooklyn has changed dramatically. How do you preserve its identity without becoming trapped in nostalgia?

Supreme: You respect the past without trying to live in it forever.

Nostalgia can be beautiful, but if you are not careful, it becomes a museum with the doors locked. I want BK Republic to preserve the feeling of the culture while continuing to create new experiences.

We might reference an old album, a neighborhood memory, a classic photograph, a legendary athlete, or a moment in Black history. But the goal is not to copy the past. The goal is to continue the conversation.

Brass: Preservation is not the same as repetition. You preserve values, stories, names, and principles. Then you allow the next generation to interpret them in its own language.

Growing Up with Hip-Hop

Journalist: I have watched hip-hop evolve for more than 50 years. I remember when people called it a fad. Today, it influences nearly every major creative industry. What did hip-hop mean to you before it became a global business?

Brass: It was information. It was the way we learned what was happening outside our immediate neighborhood. Records introduced us to other cities, political ideas, African history, style, slang, struggle, and possibility.

It was also confidence. Hip-hop told young Black and brown people that our voices, neighborhoods, clothes, stories, and ways of speaking were worth hearing.

Supreme: Hip-hop was permission.

It gave us permission to create without waiting for expensive equipment, formal education, or acceptance from people who did not understand us. A DJ could take two records and create a new experience. An MC could turn neighborhood stories into poetry. A graffiti artist could transform a wall or train into a moving gallery. A dancer could turn concrete into a stage.

That mentality became part of BK Republic. We do not wait for somebody to tell us that our ideas are legitimate.

Journalist: Do you consider BK Republic a hip-hop clothing brand?

Supreme: Absolutely—but I want to be clear about what that means.

A hip-hop clothing brand is not simply a company that prints a rapper’s face on a shirt. Hip-hop clothing should understand the complete culture—the music, the history, the visual language, the politics, the regional differences, the humor, the pain, and the innovation.

BK Republic is built from that understanding.

Brass: Hip-hop has often been used as a marketing theme by companies that never invested in the people who created it. We want our work to come from inside the culture. That is the difference.

We are not visiting hip-hop for inspiration. We live here.

Where Fashion and Music Meet

Journalist: Fashion and hip-hop have always been inseparable. Why do you think clothing holds such power within the culture?

Supreme: Before somebody hears you speak, they see your silhouette.

Fashion communicates mood, affiliation, ambition, resistance, and personality. Hip-hop understood that from the beginning. The clothes were never random. The sneakers, hats, jackets, jewelry, hairstyles, and colors all said something.

Sometimes fashion said, “I come from this neighborhood.” Sometimes it said, “I made it.” Sometimes it said, “I do not accept your rules.” Sometimes it simply said, “You are going to remember me.”

Brass: Hip-hop took things that were never intended to be luxury and made them valuable through culture. A certain sneaker, work boot, track jacket, baseball cap, or piece of jewelry could take on an entirely new meaning because of who wore it and how they wore it.

That power was created by the community before corporations recognized its financial value.

Journalist: Does that history create a responsibility for BK Republic?

Supreme: Definitely. If you are going to reference the culture, you should know what you are referencing. You should understand the people behind it. You should respect the story.

We create clothing, but we also create entry points. Somebody may see a design and ask, “Who is that?” “What does that phrase mean?” “What happened in that year?” “Why is this neighborhood important?” That curiosity can lead to real cultural education.

The shirt becomes a doorway.

Supreme’s Eye

Journalist: Supreme, people often describe you as having a distinctive eye. When did you realize that you saw things differently?

Supreme: I always understood color, sound, emotion, and memory as being connected. For a long time, I did not have the language to explain it. I later learned more about synesthesia and began understanding why certain sounds created colors, textures, patterns, or visual moods in my mind.

Music has never been just something I hear. I can feel its shape. A bass line may feel heavy and dark. A snare might look sharp. A sample could create a faded texture, like an old photograph or a weathered wall.

That influences how I design.

Journalist: So when you are designing around an artist, record, or musical era, you are translating sound into clothing?

Supreme: Exactly. I am not simply putting an image on fabric. I am trying to capture what the music feels like.

What color is the song? What texture is the memory? Is the record clean and polished, or dusty and chopped? Does it feel like riding the train at night? Does it feel like a summer block party? Does it feel like sitting alone with headphones while the rest of the house is asleep?

Those questions guide the design.

Brass: Supreme notices connections other people miss. He can take a lyric, a photograph, an athlete, a neighborhood story, and a color palette and bring them together in a way that makes sense.

The challenge is sometimes getting him to stop because one idea will lead to ten collections.

Supreme: That is true. The ideas do not always arrive one at a time.

Journalist: That sounds like both a gift and a burden.

Supreme: It is both. Creativity can be exhausting when you cannot turn it off. But I have learned to respect it. Every idea does not have to be produced immediately. Some ideas need to sit. Some belong to a different collection. Some are meant to become stories instead of garments.

Part of maturing creatively is learning that having an idea and understanding what to do with it are two different skills.

The Role of Brass

Journalist: Brass, partnerships often look balanced from the outside, but behind the scenes each person brings something distinct. What is your role in the BK Republic vision?

Brass: Supreme can see the entire universe of an idea almost immediately. My role is often to help bring that universe down to the ground.

I ask questions. What is the story? Who is it for? Why does it matter? How does it connect to the larger brand? Are we making something because it is culturally meaningful, or because it is temporarily popular?

You need imagination, but you also need structure.

Supreme: Brass keeps the vision honest.

He understands where I am trying to go, but he is not afraid to say when something needs more work. You need people around you who respect your creativity enough to challenge it. Agreement is not always support. Sometimes support is somebody telling you that an idea is not ready yet.

Journalist: Do disagreements happen?

Brass: Of course. If two people claim to be building something meaningful and they never disagree, somebody is probably not being honest.

The important thing is knowing what the disagreement is serving. Is it ego, or is it the work? If the mission remains more important than either person’s pride, disagreements can improve the final result.

Supreme: The goal is not for one of us to win. The goal is for the brand to win.

From Clothing Brand to Cultural Archive

Journalist: BK Republic has created and imagined collections connected to music, sports, skateboarding, Black history, women’s fashion, children’s apparel, wellness, and social issues. Is there a danger of the brand becoming too broad?

Supreme: That is a fair question. From the outside, the categories may look broad. But they all come from the same cultural ecosystem.

Hip-hop has always touched everything. It has relationships with sports, film, automobiles, art, politics, education, sneakers, dance, technology, and fashion. BK Republic reflects that same range.

The collections are different rooms inside the same house.

Brass: The unifying element is perspective. We are not creating random products. Everything should feel like it passed through the BK Republic lens.

Whether it is an Essentials piece, a Brooklyn Skate Park design, a Protect Ya Neck concept, a women’s collection, or something created for children, it should have purpose and identity.

Journalist: Do you see the catalog as an archive?

Supreme: Yes. Clothing holds memories.

People remember what they wore to their first concert, first day of school, first date, first job, or last conversation with someone they loved. A garment can become connected to a period of your life.

We want BK Republic pieces to feel collectible, but not simply because they are limited. We want them to matter because they carry a story.

Independence, Ownership, and the Cost of Building

Journalist: Independence is celebrated in hip-hop, but people rarely discuss its cost. What has building independently required from you?

Brass: Sacrifice, patience, and the willingness to keep working when the results do not immediately match the effort.

People see a finished garment or polished campaign. They do not see the samples that did not work, manufacturing delays, financial pressure, revised designs, technical problems, late nights, or moments when you question whether the market understands what you are creating.

Supreme: Independence sounds romantic until you realize you are responsible for everything.

You are the creative department, marketing department, customer-service team, production coordinator, photographer, writer, and problem solver. Sometimes you are doing all of that while working another job, dealing with health, taking care of family, and trying to remain inspired.

But ownership matters. I would rather struggle while building something authentic than succeed at creating something I do not believe in.

Journalist: Has failure changed your approach?

Supreme: I do not look at it as losses. I look at it as lessons.

That does not mean disappointment is not real. Some lessons are expensive. Some hurt. Some force you to confront your own mistakes. But if you study what happened, failure gives you information.

It tells you where the system is weak. It exposes assumptions. It shows you whether your foundation is strong enough for the next level.

Brass: The danger is repeating a mistake while calling it persistence. Real persistence includes adjustment.

You cannot keep walking into the same wall and call yourself determined. Sometimes the lesson is telling you to change the route.

Supporting Independent Artists

Journalist: One part of the BK Republic mission is supporting independent artists. Why is that so important?

Supreme: Independent artists are often the ones taking the greatest creative risks. They are building without major budgets, corporate teams, or guaranteed exposure. They are doing it because they believe in the work.

BK Republic understands that experience because we are living it.

I want the brand to become a platform where independent musicians, visual artists, photographers, filmmakers, writers, designers, and other creators can collaborate, earn, and expand their audiences.

Brass: Collaboration should be an exchange, not extraction.

Too many companies approach artists after the artists have already done the difficult cultural work. They take the image, audience, or credibility but do not create a meaningful relationship.

We want artists to feel that their contribution is respected. That includes credit, communication, compensation, and participation in the story.

Journalist: So the goal is not simply celebrity collaboration?

Supreme: No. Fame and cultural importance are not always the same thing.

A neighborhood photographer who documented a community for 30 years may have a more valuable story than somebody with millions of followers. A local DJ may have introduced generations of people to music. An underground artist may have influenced famous artists without ever receiving the same recognition.

BK Republic should help preserve those stories too.

Uncle Booger and Teaching “The Kids”

Journalist: One of the most interesting developments in the BK Republic universe is Uncle Booger. Where did that character come from?

Supreme: Uncle Booger comes from the tradition of the neighborhood uncle—the person who is funny, flawed, experienced, protective, and always ready to turn an ordinary moment into a lesson.

He is inspired by the kind of television father figures and community characters many of us grew up watching: men who could be stern, hilarious, loving, and wise. But Uncle Booger belongs to Brooklyn. He has that Brooklyn timing and attitude.

Brass: He can speak to children without talking down to them. That is important.

Young people know when adults are performing. Uncle Booger can tell the truth, admit mistakes, laugh at himself, and still provide guidance.

Journalist: What kinds of lessons do you want him to teach?

Supreme: Everything the next generation needs to know: hip-hop history, Black scholars, civil rights, women in history, Black superheroes, sports icons, jazz, gospel, politics, LGBTQ contributions, handling failure, entrepreneurship, creativity, and respect for community.

“The Kids” are not just background characters. They ask questions. They challenge him. Sometimes they teach him something too.

Journalist: That sounds larger than a comic strip.

Supreme: It is. Uncle Booger can live in comics, animation, books, apparel, educational content, and community programs. He gives BK Republic another way to connect generations.

Hip-hop is old enough to have grandparents now. We need characters who can carry cultural memory forward without making it feel like homework.

The Dream of Crates and Closets

Journalist: You have spoken about eventually creating a physical BK Republic experience called “Crates and Closets.” Describe the vision.

Supreme: Crates and Closets is the physical world of BK Republic.

Imagine entering a space that feels like a time machine traveling through different eras of hip-hop, fashion, art, and neighborhood culture. It is a store, but retail is only one part of the experience.

There are clothing collections, records, artwork, installations, storytelling, custom pieces, listening stations, live events, creative workshops, and spaces where people can gather. Each level or section can represent a different cultural mood.

The “crates” represent music, discovery, archives, DJs, and digging for something special. The “closets” represent fashion, identity, transformation, and personal history.

Brass: We want people to spend time there. Most retail spaces are designed around a quick transaction: enter, purchase, leave.

Crates and Closets should encourage discovery. A parent might recognize something from childhood and explain it to their child. A young artist might attend a workshop. A tourist might learn something about Brooklyn that cannot be found in a standard travel guide.

It should feel alive.

Journalist: In an era dominated by online shopping, why invest in a physical experience?

Supreme: Because people still want connection.

Technology gives us access, but access is not the same as atmosphere. You cannot download the feeling of a room reacting to the same record. You cannot replace touching fabric, seeing artwork at scale, meeting the person who made something, or hearing an elder tell the story behind a photograph.

The future of retail is not just convenience. It is meaning.

Authenticity in a Commercial Age

Journalist: Hip-hop is now used to sell everything from luxury automobiles to financial services. Can authenticity survive commercialization?

Brass: Commerce itself is not the enemy. Hip-hop artists always wanted to earn from their talent. The problem begins when the money removes the history, people, and responsibility.

A company can participate in hip-hop culture respectfully, but it cannot treat the culture like a costume.

Supreme: Authenticity survives when the people creating the work remain connected to why they started.

Success will bring new opportunities, but every opportunity is not right for BK Republic. If a partnership requires us to erase our identity, misunderstand our audience, or disrespect the culture, then the money is too expensive.

Journalist: Is saying no part of the strategy?

Supreme: Saying no is part of protecting the future.

A quick check can cost you long-term trust. Our audience has to believe that when BK Republic attaches its name to something, there is a reason beyond money.

Designing for People, Not Algorithms

Journalist: Social media has transformed how fashion is discovered and sold. How do you balance online visibility with creative integrity?

Supreme: Social media is useful, but it can pressure creators into producing for reaction instead of meaning.

If you design only for the algorithm, you start chasing whatever received attention yesterday. Eventually, the audience cannot tell who you are because your identity changes with every trend.

We pay attention to the market, but we do not allow the market to completely direct the imagination.

Brass: Trends can provide information. They should not become instructions.

The challenge is communicating a deep story in a fast-moving environment. People may give you three seconds before scrolling. You have to catch their attention, but you also need something meaningful waiting beneath the surface.

Journalist: How do you build a lasting brand in a culture of constant scrolling?

Supreme: By creating reasons for people to stop.

Strong imagery can make them stop. A powerful story can make them stay. Quality and consistency can make them return.

Who Is BK Republic For?

Journalist: Describe the person who wears BK Republic.

Brass: Independent-minded. Culturally aware. Confident without needing to be the loudest person in the room.

Supreme: It is somebody who understands references, but also appreciates discovery. Somebody who might listen to a classic record and a new underground artist in the same day. Somebody who cares about how clothing feels, what it represents, and how it connects to the rest of their identity.

But I do not want to define the customer too narrowly. BK Republic is also for the person just beginning to discover the culture. The brand can welcome them in—as long as they enter with respect.

Journalist: Is there an age range?

Supreme: No. Hip-hop is multigenerational now.

We can create something for the person who remembers buying cassette tapes and something for the child discovering breakbeats through a phone. Those experiences are different, but they can meet inside the brand.

Black History as Living History

Journalist: Many BK Republic concepts connect fashion to Black historical figures and cultural movements. How do you prevent history from becoming decorative?

Supreme: You begin with research and respect.

A historical figure cannot be reduced to a cool photograph. You have to understand the person, the period, the struggle, the contradictions, and the impact. Sometimes the right decision is not to create a product at all. Some stories require a different form.

Brass: Black history is not separate from everyday American life. It is not limited to one month. It is present in music, sports, language, technology, labor, politics, education, and style.

When BK Republic works with that history, the goal is to make people feel the connection between the past and what they experience now.

Journalist: So apparel can become a form of public history?

Supreme: Yes. People wear history into spaces where textbooks may never go.

The Future of BK Republic

Journalist: When you look ahead ten years, what do you see?

Supreme: I see BK Republic operating as a complete cultural house.

I see the flagship Crates and Closets experience. I see stronger apparel collections, original footwear, accessories, home goods, books, animation, film, music collaborations, and educational projects. I see Uncle Booger becoming a recognizable character who helps young people connect with history and culture.

I see collaborations with artists we admire, but I also see BK Republic helping introduce artists the world has not discovered yet.

Brass: I see infrastructure.

Creativity begins the journey, but infrastructure allows the vision to survive. We want systems that support employees, collaborators, manufacturers, artists, customers, and communities.

The goal is not to look successful. The goal is to build something sustainable.

Journalist: Do you see BK Republic becoming a major global brand?

Supreme: Yes, but I do not want “global” to mean disconnected from home.

The bigger BK Republic becomes, the more important the Brooklyn foundation becomes. Expansion should amplify the identity, not dilute it.

We want somebody in London, Johannesburg, Tokyo, Paris, Atlanta, Kansas City, or Los Angeles to connect with BK Republic while still understanding where it came from.

Brass: Roots and reach. You need both.

Legacy

Journalist: What do you want people to say about BK Republic when you are no longer in the room to explain it?

There was a brief pause.

It was the kind of silence that only appears when a question reaches beyond marketing and enters the territory of mortality.

Brass: I want people to say we protected the culture while helping it move forward.

I want them to say we created opportunities, told the truth, treated people fairly, and built something our community could be proud of.

Supreme: I want people to say BK Republic made them remember something important about themselves.

Maybe a design reminded them of where they came from. Maybe a story introduced them to an artist. Maybe Uncle Booger helped a child understand a difficult lesson. Maybe the store gave someone a place to belong. Maybe a collaboration helped an independent creator keep going.

I want the brand to prove that a culturally authentic company can grow without abandoning its soul.

Journalist: And personally? What do you want your legacy to be?

Supreme: That I used everything I was given.

The imagination, the way I see color, the love of music, the Brooklyn experiences, the mistakes, the pain, the humor—all of it. I want to know I turned those things into something that outlived me.

Brass: Legacy is not only what carries your name. It is what continues to help people after you are gone.

More Than Merchandise

As our conversation came to an end, I found myself thinking about the many eras of hip-hop I have witnessed.

I have seen the culture dismissed, feared, copied, commercialized, celebrated, repackaged, and sold back to the communities that created it. I have watched corporations discover financial value in styles they once considered dangerous. I have seen artists become executives, local slang become global language, and street-corner innovation become international industry.

Through every transformation, the culture has depended on memory.

It survives because somebody remembers the name of the DJ. Somebody preserves the flyer. Somebody tells the story behind the photograph. Somebody explains why a sneaker, jacket, sample, dance, mural, or neighborhood mattered. Somebody connects the elder to the child.

Supreme and Brass understand that responsibility.

BK Republic may produce clothing, but clothing is only the visible layer of the mission. Beneath the garments is a much larger project: preserving cultural memory, expanding Black ownership, supporting independent creativity, connecting generations, and building a world where Brooklyn’s influence is neither diluted nor forgotten.

Supreme is the imaginative force—a designer who experiences sound, color, history, and emotion as parts of the same creative language. Brass is the grounding force—a cultural thinker who understands that vision requires discipline, honesty, and durable structure.

Their partnership works because neither role is treated as secondary. Imagination needs foundation. Foundation needs imagination.

BK Republic sits at that intersection.

It is a brand born from Brooklyn but not confined by borough lines. It is a tribute to hip-hop that refuses to treat the culture as a relic. It is an archive designed to be worn, a classroom disguised as a clothing company, and a business determined to prove that cultural integrity and commercial ambition do not have to be enemies.

Before we parted, Supreme returned to something he had said earlier:

“Brooklyn is the address, but hip-hop is the passport.”

After spending time with him and Brass, I understood that statement more clearly. BK Republic is not merely attempting to sell the Brooklyn aesthetic to the world. It is inviting the world into a republic built from rhythm, resilience, memory, imagination, and love.

And if Supreme and Brass remain faithful to the foundation they described, BK Republic will not simply document the culture’s past.

It will help design its future.