DAN DREHOBL MADNESS, MISCHIEF & THE MISSION

Some of the first professional skaters I ever pointed a lens at were from the Think team—a gritty, anarchic crew of Bay Area misfits with enough raw talent to shake the industry loose from its padded cell. A few of them I knew already from the local scene, but others drifted into the picture through friends who had launched the brand during its heyday, when Think was an unfiltered shot of punk-rock adrenaline in a world still pretending to care about polished tricks and clean living.

Dan Drehobl was one of those guys who just appeared. I never knew where the hell he came from—he was like fog in the Outer Sunset. One day, he was just there, gliding into the scene like he’d always belonged. For a while, I figured he must’ve been a local. He moved like one. Talked like one. Skated like he was born on the curbs of 24th and Mission.

Nothing we shot back then was ever planned. The city was the studio. We’d hit the streets and see what the concrete gods served up. And Dan—Christ—Dan had a radar for the absurd. He saw spots where other people saw garbage. Cracks in the matrix where tricks lived, unseen.

But the skating is only part of the myth.

Let me tell you about Dan’s brain.

One day, he tells me he wants to shoot some promo stuff for his clothing brand, FreeDumb. Sure, I say, let’s do it. And then he tells me the plan—he doesn’t have money for models, so we’re going to the Mission to buy a blow-up doll and dress it in the clothes. He says this like he’s ordering a sandwich. I’m laughing so hard I can barely drive, and he’s dead serious, chain-smoking American Spirits like they’re keeping him tethered to the earth.

So we get the doll, inflate it in the car—he’s puffing away while it grows next to him like some obscene balloon animal from a parallel universe. We throw it in the front seat and head out.

That’s when the cops pull us over on the freeway, thinking we’re cheating the carpool lane with a mannequin. The officer walks up, looks at the plastic lady in the hoodie and jeans, and you can see the circuitry in his brain short out.

Dan doesn’t blink. He just calmly explains we’re on a “photo shoot for a patriotic fashion label.” Somehow, the cop buysit—or maybe he just doesn’t want to unpack what he’s seeing—and sends us on our way with a look that says he’s going to rethink his whole life later that night.

Look at the old FreeDumb graphics if you want to understand Dan’s genius. Twisted, brilliant, absurd in the best possible way. He’s one of those rare creatures who sees the world through a cracked lens and somehow makes it work.

And thank God for that.

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