And this is where everything APFC begins. Two former cutthroat radio promotion men head out in a 1962 Chevy Impala to Asbury Park, NJ, returning with a lost fashion label—the rest is history.
The APFC legend could almost be fiction. The fashion house passing as a home, the harem passing as a family, the lead designer who’s still attending middle school. The dream. The con. The end. Drawn to the underground and fancying themselves rogue entrepreneurs, the APFC label operates somewhere in the space between money laundering outfit, cult and driving school.
The APFC story is no fashion retread. Rather, it’s an examination of Asbury’s creative underside. Hitched to APFC are no CFDA awards, no million dollar buyouts and no quaint ateliers to visit—instead, there’s a handful of tee shirts, a binder stuffed with photographs, and the condemned shell of a former bar masquerading as a beauty parlor. Putting artistry and genius in front of commercial viability, The Founders have laid down lush graphics and copy into a crusader daydream; sharply incongruent with the sometime reality of the city that dreamt it.
A decade in the making, the APFC Founders have compiled twenty five dizzying models, a medley of fist fight funk and Tex Mex kaleidoscope copy, all done up with unhinged graphics too off the wall for comparison. When they weren’t busy as mobile DJ operators, jingle writers or enduring on-air personalities at Promised Land Radio, The Founders could be discovered in the APFC archives sorting out the prodigious ideas swirling around in their heads.
Dollar-for-dollar the best big time small time tee shirt compilation of its century and the perfect primer for anyone piqued by its origins—otherwise known around here as the “budding APFC enthusiast.” Wear these in front of your friends and watch them walk to the other side of the fence.