JOE VALDEZ 50/50 DEATH DROP

The '90s were a fever dream in San Francisco—skaters pouring in from every corner of the globe, all chasing the myth of The City. Some carved their names into the concrete. Most just left with stories—broken boards, bruised egos, and maybe a knife pulled on them at 3 a.m. It was no paradise. The city didn’t give anything—it dared you to take it. And skateboarding? That was a sacred hustle, guarded like state secrets.

Then Joe and his crew showed up. Something about them didn’t scream “industry,” but it didn’t need to. Their approach was raw, strange, poetic in the way street rats learn to dance through traffic. They rode the city differently—finding lines in our own backyard that had gone unnoticed by locals for years. It wasn’t just skating—it was extraction.

Every session felt like a war zone. Real danger—like blood-on-the-lens, is-that-guy-alive kind of danger. And yet, these maniacs floated through it with a lightness, laughing at death like it owed them money. At the time, no one really knew what to make of it. But looking back now, some of Joe’s lines... they’ve become legend. The kind that creeps into your mind when you’re alone at night, wondering if you should’ve paid more attention.

• 10 mil (0.25 mm) thick
• Slightly glossy
• Fingerprint resistant
• Paper sourced from Japan