Brower Hat Co. was built on more than just a name. It was built on a way of life.
The name Brower comes from my mom’s side — from my grandparents, who lived the Western life the way it was meant to be lived. My grandpa was a steer wrestler, what a lot of folks call a bulldogger. He wasn’t just in it for the ride; he was the kind of man who showed up, worked hard, and earned everything he had. Tough, quiet, and steady — and if it ever came down to it, he could throw a hell of a punch. The kind of man you respected without needing to be told to.
My grandma, Adele Brower, is still here, and she’s the backbone of this whole thing. If you know anything about strong women, you’d understand her right away. She’s the kind who holds everything together without needing recognition for it. She was recently diagnosed with cancer, but if you think that’s slowing her down, you don’t know her. She’s still fighting. Still strong. Still the same bad-ass woman she’s always been.
My grandpa passed away from cancer just two months after I was born. I never got the chance to know him the way I wish I could have, but I’ve grown up hearing the stories, learning the kind of man he was, and feeling the impact he left behind. Everyone who knew him tells me the same thing — that he and I look alike, act alike, and that we would’ve been partners in crime, or one hell of a pair to ride with. In a way, this company is how I get to live that out. It’s how I stay connected to someone I didn’t get enough time with.
Losing him, and now watching my grandma fight her own battle, changes the way you see things. It makes you realize how important it is to hold on to where you come from and the people who built you. I knew I didn’t want the Brower name to fade out. I wanted it to stand for something.
That’s where this company came from. Not from a business plan, but from a promise to keep something alive.
Brower Hat Co. is my way of honoring the two people who showed me what grit, loyalty, and hard work really look like. It’s for the early mornings and the long days — the dust, the rodeo lights, and everything in between. It’s for the ones who know that a handshake still means something. That holding the door, saying “yes sir, yes ma’am,” and standing by your word still matter.
Almost every hat we make carries a story — some are fun, some are wild. But remember: it’s not just something you throw on. It’s something you stand in. It represents where you come from, who raised you, and what you’re made of.