Halftone Mop T-Shirt ($32.00 $16.00)

I promise to be true to the bear mop. To the symbol of our order; Brooklyn NY. To the elders that have come before me. I swear my allegiance. Each and every shirt has joined our cause to make our order strong! For the brand for which it stands. Under the universal life force, a Halftone Mop T-Shirt. From destruction to peace. Fly the Mop flag.

This tee is one of the mainstays of our line. We always keep bear mop tees popping off because you people love that shit. Instant recognition anyone? This logo is synonymous with Mishka, and thats how we like it. So when you wear this shirt (available in Black, Purple, Royal Blue and White) you are representing the bear, the old country, the new country, and the core values that are integral to the order of the mop.

Destroy M Snapback ($32.00 $16.00)

Prepare for the Destroy M Snapback. This hat makes it look like you enjoy watching team sports, even though you would rather be smoking a bowl and watching Family Guy like back in 02′ (That’s mad ancient). Bring back that feeling of classic, bold styling. Run your digits across the M, feel the texture? Next, prepare a sacrifice for Saint Clement of Ohrid. Excellent. Available in Black, and Blue. Featuring a big capital chenille M on the front, and “destroy” embroidered on the back, you are sure to stay true. Each colorway will really bring out your eyes. “Looks sharp” says your Uncle Paul.  You could even pair this hat with one of our warm versatile collared shirts. That would be dope too.

Personally, the Destroy M Snapback is one of my favorites from the Holiday Collection. This hat clearly states which side you play for, simply because of how official it is. I like the clean, professional look of this particular hat. We got that big ol’ M baybee! You can blend in with this hat, or you can bug out. This is the kinda shit we strive for at Mishka. Giving you options.

Мишка
350 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
718-388-1725
—
Мишка LA
1547 Echo Park Ave
Los Angeles, CA
213-536-4234

Mawson Chambray Shirt ($94.00 $56.40)

Oftentimes even the greatest stories conceal a darker, stranger purpose below. Documents recovered sealed in a huskie’s bladder and frozen in an ice floe near the magnetic south pole tell the oft repeated tale of Douglas Mawson’s Antarctic journey from a decidedly different perspective. These are excerpts from the lost journals of fellow journeyman Belgrave Ninnis:

November 5th: Douglas is spending more and more time consulting the Talisman. As we grow closer to the pole its ragged light grows in intensity, and I can see it emanating from his tent late into the night. Who knows what he sees in there. He’s started mumbling about a key…

November 9th: We ate the first of the dogs today. We had to boil the muscles for hours to make it chewy enough to eat. Mertz prefers the liver, and Mawson… he took the heart.

November 10th: I fear Douglas is leading us somewhere more dangerous than he knows or wishes to let on. The closer we get the less I believe we’re going to the South Pole, at least not for the express purposes. In my dreams last night I saw the talisman, and three travelers with faces obscured. The bore the three symbols of his army: the crow, the hyena, and the serpent. I’m going to take the Talisman from Douglas and cast it into a ravine.

November 11th: I have failed. Whatever he is trying to bring forth, he will almost surely succeed now unless Mertz comes to his senses. I think my ankle is broken, though I don’t dare tear my trousers to check. The temperature is plummeting. He pushed me into the ravine before I even got close to grabbing it. I suppose he knew already. There are noises down here, thin places in the air. I am nearer now than even they are. I came upon one of the dogs that fell with me after crawling for some ways. Its body was hovering several inches above the ground. The noises are getting louder.

Undated: What are these things I see? What are these things that surround me? May the mind never stretch and break to comprehend them.

It comes in Black, Blue, and Salmon.

Мишка
350 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
718-388-1725
—
Мишка LA
1547 Echo Park Ave
Los Angeles, CA
213-536-4234

Rock Is Still King T-Shirt ($32.00 $19.20)

There are countless dope aspects to a tee shirt with a huge print of a severed zombie head. I will attempt to go over some of these beneficial aspects with you. Throw it on.  Feel protected. People will tend to stay back when they are walking near you for fear that you are are an unstable maniac. Who would wear a tee with such a sickening graphic on it? You fucking would, wouldn’t you? Throw up your middle finger and keep walking with your head down.

Another great feature of this tee is your friends will be able to find you easily in a crowded place. Yes, it’s true. It’s a great feeling being at a concert and you know who ever is standing behind you can bear witness to the illustrative genius that is Jon Vermilyea. With this flip on Rodney Mullen’s classic deck, everyone knows you have great taste in shirts. They say to their roommate ”Who ever is wearing that shirt with Simon emerging from fire, holding a guitar in one hand, and a severed head in the other is fucking badass.”

Did I mention there’s a hoodie version too? Hoods do a lots of amazing things in the urban environment. Conceal your identity on the mean streets, then take the hood off when you go in the store. Not wearing a hood can deter suspicion. That’s just smart. Another great thing about this hoodie is it’s a zip up. Thats right, control the level of zip. Want to take it low? Whoa,.. not that low…wait, I’m fine with that. Are you chilly? Want to zip it all the way up to your chin? Thats cool too. I want you to feel comfortable while you intimidate people. Part of our Мишка Archives collection, the Rock Is Still King graphic is not one you should pass up a second time. It’s available in White, Black, Blue and as a zippered hooded sweatshirt.

Мишка
350 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
718-388-1725
—
Мишка LA
1547 Echo Park Ave
Los Angeles, CA
213-536-4234

Oversized Adder Collage T-Shirt ($32.00 $22.40)

The Oversized Death Adder is one of my absolute favorite T-shirts we do. It’s iconic, imposing, scares children, excites badass children, will get you weird looks/questions on the street, and has been known to provide its wearers with superpowers. Promise. This season, however, we decided that just the straight up Death Adder wasn’t enough. No: the public demanded even more. Well here’s the perfect thing to get your grubby little mitts on. Just kidding. Your mitts aren’t grubby. You have beautiful hands. I love you. Shirt?

The Mishka mascot collage actually came about by complete accident, much like penicillin, electricity, or the genetic experiment that spawned Guy Fieri. Right around the time we first started making stickers, we were approached by one of our interns who happened to have been a scientist in the former Soviet Union. He suggested we use an adhesive of his own devising that would save us around 10 cents per sticker which, if you know your profit margins, is quite the deal. We cooked some of it up, and were happily painting it onto printouts of all our mascots when we realized that the intern had accidentally given us the recipe for a contact explosive. And by realized I mean were all sent flying in a massive explosion. My Pal The Crook landed way across the street. I found myself lodged in a wall. That’s how I got my claw arm. Once the dust had settled, however, we saw that the blast had left a massive collage of all the stickers all over the ceiling. It comes in Black and Charcoal.

Мишка
350 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
718-388-1725
—
Мишка LA
1547 Echo Park Ave
Los Angeles, CA
213-536-4234

Cyrillic Trails Pullover Hoodie ($66.00 $46.20)

See the house. Its crumbling exterior, the way the mist parts delicately around its form, the tiny skittering life that flits in and out of the grey oak porch. Smear the cobweb caul of the windows, put your palm to it and know its temperature. Know the house. Enter, and shudder at the smell. Sealed air, stale and dense, and something else. A faint sulphuric melody or a buzzy tickle of ozone, the taste leaking in behind your tongue, seeping from your fillings. It is quiet. Photographs on the walls oxidize and fade, their subjects staring back at you through rusted years. They said it was just a house.

Fish the key from your pocket, still moist from the grave soil, the metal gone soft underground, its black tassel wound around your wrist, vibrations of proximity jumping in your grip. It knows it is home. See the cellar door, feel its gaze. Trace the sigil inscribed upon it and feel the hollow writhing thing beyond. Believe the gateway. Use the key. It moves with ease and reveals a terrible heat, a polished stone stairwell, a drifting glow that leads you to the whited sepulcher. The chamber below the house is cavernous, and pale eyed beasts echo from its edges. Grey fingers like swollen worms grasp from the darkness. Do not stray from the path. You know the way to the ritual room.

Open your bag and feed its contents to the void. Fulfill your years of searching. The jeweled chalice. The stained blade. The gilded scale, heavy with earth from the low place. The hangman’s noose. The bell hat of the fool. The heart. Retrieve the coal and begin. Transcribe the ritual phrase on the radiant marbled rock. M: the first shrieks tear from beyond and a steady wind arrives. и: rumbling all around, a fine dust levitates from the ground in a perfect plane. ш: the walls beside you fall away and behind them infinite mirrored realms await. к: his hand guides your hand, the shades of companions lost along the way surround you. а: the word is formed. All things leave you except for the word. It’s deepening image trails in the light as you fall away into embrace. You can see forever. It comes in Grey and Navy.

Мишка
350 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
718-388-1725
—
Мишка LA
1547 Echo Park Ave
Los Angeles, CA
213-536-4234

ETD! Snapback ($32.00)

All told the damage skyrocketed well past $1 billion, with several city blocks left in ruins. The monster’s rampage had taken little over 10 minutes but appeared to condense a war’s worth of destruction into several ticks of the clock’s hands. The beast was described by several onlookers, all of whom have differing takes on mysterious cryptid. Its size ranged from 10-20 feet high, and its skin either a slick bed of scales or a matted, bloody fur. All agreed, however, that it bore the head of a bear, and yet the slithering forked tongue of a serpent.

In the epicenter of the damage, me and my team discovered a massive crater that stretched fifteen feet below the street at its deepest, pipes and drainage ditches ripped clear in half. Laying at the bottom, emitting a strange purple glow, was a young man in shredded clothes and wearing a curious hat emblazoned with a simple message: “Engineered To Destroy!” We took him back to the lab for testing, and found his gamma radiation levels were astronomically above normal. His genetic structure bore evidence of recent and complete restructuring. Once he regained consciousness we questioned him.

He claimed that it was the hat that had changed him. He appears to be suffering from extreme post traumatic stress disorder that is inspiring serious delusional hallucinations. Perhaps due to close contact with the beast, he seems to now believe that he was, in fact, the beast himself, a state reached after wearing the aforementioned headgear. Preposterous I know. Nevertheless, for science’s sake, I am compelled to test this claim. ETD! Snapback experiment #1, beginning now…

Adder Nation T-Shirt ($32.00)

Things were left on the field that day. Mounds of chipped bones dotting the yardage markers like cairns leading the frightened traveler across hostile Gondwanaland, the unmovable scent of a sweat brought on only by the true terror and resilience found when a man is borne down on by forces greater than himself, the remnants of helmets cleaved in twain like the shells of primeval insectoids, and the pool of blood, spreading slowly out from the fifty yard line like a ceaseless, unknowable thing, its edges and desires becoming obscure with its ochre dissipation, swirling eddies that twisted like Charybdis below the Messina.

The Adders were the victors, all the rest their pitiful subjugates, lumbering away from them on snapped, ragged limbs like a wailing procession of the dead, their slowest being struck down by pummeling fists encased in spiked taconite knuckledusters, leaving puncture wounds like maps across writhing torsos, their heads seized and twisted until rend from their flopping necks like so many turgid crimson fruits. Never was a more deafeningly brutal game of football played, and it brought its participants back to a time where meeting another on the arid wastes meant not palaver with newfound kin but the gritty acquisition of some salted meat, or a small hidebound blade that could be used to mark another terrible notch into your now corrugated belt.

In the stands the spectators were upon each other, drunk as much off of spirits as from the steam heat rising from the undulating viscera that streaked the field before them. Straws were forced into softflesh like the multicolored proboscis of a bloodhungry mosquito, plastic beer bottles torn in teeth and wielded in stuttering dances of pugilistic ruination. Those that survived were never the same, but each was given a t-shirt. It comes in Black, Heather, and White.

Мишка
350 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
718-388-1725
—
Мишка LA
1547 Echo Park Ave
Los Angeles, CA
213-536-4234

Shackleton Flannel ($84.00)

The Personal Ledger of Zebulon Hodge, crewman on The Endurance – February 15, 1916: The complete lack of vitamins in our rations has left our teeth and gums so soft that they’ve begun to split on the black flour crackers we have for meals. The ship finally went fully below the water two or three days ago, though we can still see it just beneath the floe. As Winter goes on it only gets colder. It seems to be somewhere in the area of 60 degrees below nil, but there’s no way to be sure after Klipswitch snapped all of the mercury tubes. Perhaps it was for the best.

The only thing keeping us alive now is the flannel shirts. Shackleton purchased a crate of them from some imposing Russians in the Sandwitches over a year ago before we embarked. The stories he tells of those ruddy tatars, with their dancing bear and jars of eyeballs: many of the men believe them to be sorcerers, though Shackleton refuses to comment. The bright and vivid colors of the shirts have yet to fade in the bitter wet cold, almost as if they are imbued with magic. Gorley says he has dreams about them, being back home in a pub wearing them and being gifted with free lagers from mustachioed barmen and longing glances from smokey-eyed women. It is a proper fantasy for all of us.

We’re setting out on the small boat soon. The James Caird is not much, but it should be able to carry us to South Georgia and a research outpost. I only hope that these flannels can keep us alive long enough to make the journey. They come in Red, Grape, and Aqua.

Мишка
350 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
718-388-1725
—
Мишка LA
1547 Echo Park Ave
Los Angeles, CA
213-536-4234

High Hiker Rucksack ($114.00)

Мишка backpacks are durable. I’ve had the same one for years and years, to the point where sometimes I’m afraid that skeleton’s or serpentine bears are going to hunt me down and ruin it, forcing me to buy a new one in a demented bloodsoaked version of those Stride gum commercial. That being said, I might have to ditch my old one anyway for this new number, the High Hiker Rucksack. Now that’s a fine lookin’ bag!

There’s no colorway more classicaly Мишка than the black/magenta/seafoam and this bag will give you way more swagger than anyone else on the trail. Back in middle school going on hikes meant stealing bizarre liquors like flavored schapps and shit from my friend’s parents then walking into the woods and getting drunk and smoking really shitty joints. My friend Alex had a crappy version of this rucksack and one time we had all these forties in it but then we ran into Alex’s aunt on the trail and he got all nervous because he was baked and ran into a tree and cracked a forty, so his pants got all soaked with beer and his aunt told all our parents. Memories.

This rucksack would never break your 40s. It’s got all the storage space you could ever want, plus theres a bear mop stitched into the reverse side. Make your own memories, with Мишка.

Мишка
350 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
718-388-1725
—
Мишка LA
1547 Echo Park Ave
Los Angeles, CA
213-536-4234