Death Metal, Florida, is not a real place. But if you hang out in Lower Manhattan, you may have seen it advertised in Helvetica Bold across the torsos of its denizens. The allure of a dirtbag wonderland tucked away in the panhandle really needs no explanation, especially in a golden era of irreverent graphic tees. Death Metal, Florida resonates because its punkdom is self-evident. It is also fleeting: Most, if not all, of these tees were purchased at Dimes Deli, a diner that helped the micro-neighborhood of Dimes Square earn its nickname, and sprang from the mind of a 29-year-old server named Brandon Santana who is “trying to get out of the shirt business.”
The concept of Death Metal, Florida came to Santana years after a college friend created a T-shirt featuring a map of Mount Vernon, Washington that looked nothing like Mount Vernon, Washington. This ultra-insider, somewhat solipsistic brand of humor, and the way it messed with onlookers, unlocked a dormant sensibility for Santana, who claims his current mission is “to confuse people as much as possible.” In November of 2022, the hardcore musical stylings of groups like Death, Morbid Angel, and Obituary were on repeat, and he realized many of these bands originated in Northern Florida. (Santana was raised in Southern Florida.) “It just all came together one day when I was lying in bed. And I was like, I want to put it on a shirt,” he says, a little hungover and sitting on a mosquito-swarmed bench in Seward Park.
Courtesy of Brandon Santana
At the time, he screen-printed “Death Metal, Florida” onto used, inside-out Gildan tees in his friend’s basement studio and gave them out to friends. The initial Death Metal, Florida ambassador group was naturally self-selecting, coming from Santana’s social circle of artists and downtown scenesters. As people wore them out to conduct interviews for their independent magazine jobs, support a friend’s Chinatown gallery opening, or show face at parties, the slogan generated intrigue. Today, Santana says the Death Metal, Florida following is worldwide, and friends regularly send him starry t-shirt inquiries that have lately included requests from designer Willy Chavarria and legendary indie sleaze photographer Ryan McGinley. “I got one from my ex-roommate,” he says. “She said that Zoë Kravitz saw it and liked it.”
But Death Metal, Florida is not just the first hit creation by a fledgling fashion brand; it’s also a music label managing a group called German Suplex (which, appropriately, plays “noise rock, not death metal at all”). Under the umbrella of Death Metal, Florida, Santana also produces an exclusive collection for Retail Pharmacy, an independent fashion retailer in NYC’s Chinatown.
Santana’s design practice is as esoteric as his creations themselves, a mish-mash of niche references only he, and maybe a few of his friends, understand: The tattoos of homeless people, page 71 of Nan Goldin’s The Ballad of Sexual Dependency, Criterion classics, and an image of a girl taking a selfie titled “ex-girlfriend doppelgänger.” “She wasn’t my girlfriend at the time,” says Santana, who scouted and photographed the shirt’s subject after coming up with the idea. “Then we started dating, and then she was my ex-girlfriend, and now I guess we’re sort of back together. Or it’s complicated… I think we’re together.”
