My Dad Put On Pink Floyd When I Was Six. I've Never Been the Same.

I didn't choose Pink Floyd. Pink Floyd chose me.

I was six years old. My dad put it on — I don't even remember which song it was, I just remember the feeling. Like the room changed. Like something opened up inside me that I didn't know was there.

I didn't have the words for it then. I just knew that whatever this was, I needed more of it.

I'm 36 now. Those bands — Pink Floyd, Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, The Doors — they're not from my generation. Not technically. But they're mine. Completely and absolutely mine. Because my dad gave them to me like a gift, like something precious, like something worth passing on.

That's what music does when it's real. It doesn't belong to a decade. It belongs to the people who feel it.

And I think about that a lot when I design for Throwback Psychedelia. I'm not just making stickers. I'm making something for the person who inherited a love they can't explain. Who grew up hearing their parent's records and felt something shift inside them. Who carries a whole era in their chest even though they weren't there.

If your dad played you Zeppelin in the car. If your mom had a Doors cassette she wouldn't stop playing. If someone handed you something musical and it changed who you became —

This brand is for you.

→ throwbackpsychedelia.com