So far behind, we’re ahead.

Blake Haney
Founder

Looking back, I realize not many people know how Dirty Coast really began. There was no grand plan. I wasn’t imagining retail stores, employees, or a business that would last decades. It was simple: make shirts I wanted to wear, shirts that felt like New Orleans. 

I grew up here and, like those who are natives, I took it for granted. As a kid you have no idea that Mardi Gras isn’t happening elsewhere or that Olive Garden is a night out of fine dining. It wasn’t until I left town for college and did some traveling that New Orleans was different began to sink in.

I had the opportunity to travel across the country after college and spent a stint working in Australia. When I would meet new people, eventually, where I was from would come up. The reaction to “New Orleans” was almost always one of interest, wonder, or adoration. Nearly everyone either couldn't wait to visit or had already experienced the city and loved it. This embedded in my mind the need to return and rediscover my hometown. 

Upon returning I dove in, reconnected with old friends and made new ones. Many of those I met who loved the city as much as I did were what I called Nola Converts. Visited once, felt like they were home and made the move. These folks knew the city much deeper than I did. 

By 2004, I had been home for a few years and was part of a ragtag group of people who loved the city and wanted to break through the apathy we were all feeling. The town was struggling. Crime. School system. Corruption. It felt like it was inevitable. The dreaded “this is just how it is” mindset. We began hosting community events under the banner New Breed New Orleans. Speakers spoke, non-profits tabled and those who wanted a better city could meet. It had a great energy.

At the time, I was also running a web design studio. I was lucky to meet and work with talented designers and programmers on projects. One afternoon, I stumbled across a site called Neighborhoodies, where you could order a sweatshirt with any words you wanted stitched across it. I made one. The front read “New Orleans,” and the back said “So Far Behind, We’re Ahead.”

That phrase had always felt like New Orleans to me—other cities rush to bulldoze the past in the name of progress, while here we’re stubbornly surrounded by history, patina, and stories. 

That sweatshirt became, in my mind, the very first Dirty Coast product. I still have it in my closet, and when the temperature dips, I pull it on. It planted the seed of this idea: I could build a little online T-shirt shop with designs that poked fun at New Orleans while celebrating it at the same time.

By late 2004, I was at Big Rue on Magazine Street trying to land on a name for this new online t-shirt shop. It had to be place-based, a little tongue-in-cheek, something that could carry layers of meaning. I thought about phrases for place – West Coast. East Coast. Dirty South. And then it hit: Dirty Coast. The domain was available. That was it.

I worked up the first design “Metairie: It’s Safe Here.” I then presented some other ideas to Mitch Paone, Vance Kelly, and Erik Kiesewetter. Erik created the logo and, a year later, the first website design. By July 2005, we were close to launch. We had 10 designs ready, the company papers were filed with the state and the website was in the works.

And then August 2005 arrived, turning New Orleans upside down.

Like everyone else, I evacuated—first to Atlanta, then Lafayette. My girlfriend (now wife) Susan, our two dogs, and I ended up in a garage apartment. I set up shop in coffeehouses, paying “rent” in lattes and sandwiches, alongside other displaced New Orleanians trying to make a living. At Mello Joy in Lafayette, I sketched out a simple sticker: “Be A New Orleanian, Wherever You Are.” Just words, an X, and a fleur-de-lis. I printed a few thousand stickers and shipped them to Lafayette.

When power was back in my neighborhood, I returned to clean up my house and start plans for fixing all the damage. While at home, I began dropping stacks of those stickers at any café, bar, or restaurant that had power. The reaction was overwhelming. People needed that message. A reminder that you are a New Orleanian no matter where you may find yourself. That it was a state of mind. it was a people, not just a series of zip codes. connection, 

It was very clear at this point that what started as an idea for clever shirts could become something bigger—a way to openly declare identity and solidarity. A T-shirt can be more than just clothing; it can be a personal billboard. Eventually, a customer called the t-shirts a secret handshake.

Around that time, I ran into my friend Patrick Brower. Over drinks, I shared the idea. He was cutting trees with Zack Smith to get by, and he agreed to help run the operation. Very quickly, Patrick began handling the day-to-day tasks while I continued to run my studio. We didn’t know what we were doing, but we showed up every day. Out of my house on Thalia Street, we stacked boxes, filled orders, and built a business from scratch.

Diego at La Chiva printed the first runs. You will meet him later. Patrick hauled boxes in his car, dropping them off at coffee shops. Our first wholesale order came from Still Perkin’ on Prytania. Suddenly, this thing was real.

Soon after, we opened a tiny shop on Magazine Street—a 220-square-foot cave with bars on the door and six cubbies on the wall. No real point-of-sale system, just a custom ecomm website. That first Christmas, the store was so packed that Michael Lamendola, our very first employee, called me in a panic. I biked down and stood at the door, and played bouncer. People squeezed inside. There was a line down the block. It was proof that people wanted what we were making.

From there, everything snowballed. We staged fashion shows at Tipitina’s, the Eiffel Society, and One Eyed Jacks—part runway, part party. We threw BrooklynNOLA and SanFranNOLA, taking the city’s music and culture to other places, reminding everyone that New Orleans was still alive and kicking.

In 2010, we moved across the street from Whole Foods—hauling shelves and boxes overnight so we could reopen by Black Friday. With more space, we kept the same spirit: community-driven, chaotic, passionate for the city. We kept experimenting with new ideas for shirts.

Over the years, the shirts evolved into a form of real-time cultural commentary. “Free Sean Payton” sold thousands within days. “Geauxbama” rode the wave of 2008. We pushed designs within hours of breaking news, turning headlines into wearable jokes, statements, and symbols. That speed, that relevance, became part of our identity.

Through it all, the magic stayed with the community. Our best ideas were born out of conversations, bar nights, and inside jokes. The shirts worked because they weren’t obvious—you had to know the city to get them. They became that secret handshake, a way to show you belonged.

Twenty years later, Dirty Coast has grown, evolved, and survived. The team helped to expand beyond shirts and stickers. The stores are fancier and the collections are expansive. But at its core, it’s still what it was in the beginning: a love letter to New Orleans, written in cotton and ink.