Our Story

Born Where the Wild Things Are

I grew up at the edge of the world.

Hoh Xil — the Kekexili Nature Reserve in western China — is a place most people only see in documentaries. Vast, silent, and alive in ways that are hard to explain. My family didn't have much. But we had land that stretched to the horizon, and we had our car.

That old car was everything. It carried us across frozen riverbeds in winter, through wildflower valleys in spring, and up mountain passes where the air runs thin and the sky turns a shade of blue you'll never forget. It wasn't just transportation. It was how we moved through the world — through hardship, through beauty, through seasons that felt bigger than anything.

I grew up learning that a vehicle isn't just metal and wheels. It's a relationship. You treat it right, and it takes you places.

Then I came to the U.S. as a student, and I fell in love with truck culture.

Not the commercials. Not the brochures. The real thing.

I spent weekends with friends who grew up on farms. I watched what a truck means to a person who actually uses it — not as a status symbol, but as a tool, a partner, and sometime a punchline.

I saw the mud. I saw the dents. I saw the way someone pats the dashboard after a long day.

And I started noticing the back of every truck I passed.

Most of them had nothing back there. 

Here was this whole culture of people who were proud, funny, and completely themselves — and nobody was making accessories that actually got it.
So I started designing.

The back of your truck matters. Let's make it yours.