coming in late February 2025!

• 13oz Shuttle Loom Woven Selvedge Denim (produced special for Black Bear Brand)

• Available in (cowboy cut) 40” Inseam!

• Special Designed Front Pocket (to accommodate a large cowboy buckle)

• Tripper Needle Stitching (in our special GOLD thread)

• Black Bear Brand Tear Drop Back Pockets (with tag and signature swoop stitch)

• Signature Coin Pocket (in the same shape as tear drop back pockets)

• YKK Black Bear Brand ORIGINAL Donut Botton

• Produced in Okayama, Japan

• YKK Zipper

The road stretched ahead, a ribbon of dust and promise. It was the kind of road that led nowhere but felt like everywhere—a cowboy's road. The sun hung low, burning gold across an America that was vanishing, a place where men still rode hard and worked harder, where silence meant something. This was the West, the true West, where freedom smelled like sweat-soaked leather and dry sagebrush. 

Josh Sirlin knew this road. He had ridden it a thousand times—sometimes on a '48 Panhead chopper, sometimes through the mind, chasing a vision. He rode with cowboys, real cowboys, men with hands carved by weather and work. Ranchers who knew what freedom cost and wore its weight like an old friend. These were his friends, his brothers—the ones who still looked the West in the eye.

But the road didn’t end here. It took him across oceans, over mountains, through the pulsing chaos of Japan. Okayama—the denim mecca—where the looms sang and craftsmen bled indigo into fabric like monks into prayer. The best denim in the world was made here, woven with an obsession only the Japanese understood, stitched for men who still live lives worth wearing it.

Josh had come on a quest—not for a pair of jeans, but for the pair of jeans. A dream sewn into reality. Years had passed in dusty garages and silent workshops. Sketches yellowed with time, ideas burned and reborn. The result had to be right—a nod to the cowboy, a salute to the rugged life of the West, and a celebration of Black Bear Brand’s legacy, its history in denim stretching back to another America.

And here they were: The Indigo Cowboy Jeans. Raw, unapologetic, indigo-drenched perfection. Tough as hell, but refined—rugged and luxurious, with craftsmanship uncompromised. A piece of art that could ride through fire and come out better for it. The best denim, no question. The kind of jeans that didn’t need a hard sell because they already had a story. The West was stitched into every seam. They were for men who understood the weight of freedom—cowboys, riders, and men who chased the horizon just to see what lay beyond it.

Josh looked down at them now, worn from his own adventures. The indigo had begun to fade, like memories etched into denim. Real jeans for real men—a dream come true after years on the road, chasing the wild and the rare. He ran his hands over the fabric, coarse as the stories it carried.

"Damn," he muttered to no one but the dust and the sun, "they got it right."
The road stretched ahead. And he rode on.