My name’s Aidan Wilder. This is how I lost everything and found something deeper.

I grew up in a quiet town tucked between the redwoods and the ocean, about an hour north of San Francisco. It sounds peaceful—and it was—but even peace has shadows.

My parents split when I was four. I stayed with my mom. And from the time I could walk, I was running—with a ball at my feet.

Soccer wasn’t just a sport for me. It was everything.

I trained like my life depended on it, because that’s how much it felt like it was a part of me.

I made varsity as a freshman. I had my shot with a pro team in Europe waiting on me at 16.

I thought I had it all figured out.

Then it all fell apart.

Out of no where I got mono and I was down bad. I was stuck in bed for months with fevers that fried my mind.

My body imploded. My grades slipped. My friends disappeared.

And when I finally got to it again, the team overseas had moved on.

My shot was gone. Just like that.

The depression that followed was brutal. I don’t even have words for that darkness.

It made me question if I even belonged here anymore.

I went back to the field once I recovered, trying to find myself again,

but the body I’d trained for years didn’t respond.

I wasn’t me anymore. And the people who once cheered for me didn’t know what to say.

I felt like a ghost.

For two and a half years, I was stuck in this in-between.

Tired. Sick. Lost.

No one knew why.

Until 2017—when I was finally diagnosed with POTS,

a neurological disorder that messed with my blood pressure and cognition.

I had to do school online.

Couldn’t play sports.

Couldn’t live how I used to.

So I started searching. I tried music. I worked random jobs. I drifted.

But in all that drifting, I slowly started building myself again.

At 21, I found my voice—in clothing.

For the most part, I noticed that women had pretty much endless options—brands that actually got it, made good pieces, and gave them ways to express themselves.

But for men? I didn’t see anything I liked at all.

It was all the same recycled stuff, and half the time it looked like they didn’t even try.

And even worse—the price tags were insane for the garbage quality they were putting out.

That’s when I realized…

if I couldn’t find it, I’d make it myself.

I wanted to make pieces I’d actually be hyped to step out in—stuff that felt good, looked good,

and didn’t make people feel like they were getting ripped off.

I wanted people to feel like they got the same—or more—than what they paid for, every single time.

That’s when Amavi Amor was born.

I saw it first etched in a curb outside a restaurant in Sebastopol.

“Amavi Amor.”

I already knew “Amor” meant love. “Amavi” meant “I loved.”

It hit me in a way nothing else had.

Not like a brand name—more like a feeling I’d buried.

It brought back everything. My life. The version of myself I prided myself in that I had lost years prior.

The version of me I thought was dead.

A new version of me was born.

A new beginning.

I fell in love with the idea that I could create any future I wanted from an empty worldly canvas—basing it on anything that came from the rush of my thoughts and ideas.

Even if nothing came from it, I was going to do what I loved no matter what.

If it cost me friends, lifestyles—whatever—I didn’t care.

I felt most like myself when I was creating.

Turning my ideas into reality was the funnest and most inspiring thing I had ever done. It gave me a drive for something real.

I had been rich my whole life in the form of material things.

But that never fulfilled me.

Money is not the source of happiness.

It just reduces stressors that can put pressure on the real things—the things that actually create long-term, deep happiness.

That’s what I’ve learned.

And for me, being kind and not taking life too seriously—that’s how I want to live.

A million bad designs and ideas later, I finally came out with my hit piece.

That moment taught me something real:

All it takes is one.

One thing.

Seen by just enough people who feel it the way you do.

That’s all it takes to be worth it.

July 19, 2025.

The day I made all the Flame Bear art pieces.

The first version of the Flame Bear hoodie was born.

When I woke up on the 20th and saw the first revision, I knew right there and then.

I knew I was going to blow up when it dropped.

That day gave me a whole new sense of purpose—not just in the brand, but in myself.

And with my daughter on the way just six months from then, it only fueled that fire more.

Ironically—Flame Bears.

I felt rich in the ways that matter.

Not in crap you can’t take with you when you die.

In real wealth. Soul wealth. Love wealth.

Over time, I realized I didn’t need a bunch of stuff to be happy.

I just needed to feel in touch with myself.

I needed my family.

A blank canvas to create on.

To be healthy.

To pour positive energy into everything I touched.

And in a strange way, I don’t want this to blow up too much.

I don’t want to see it everywhere.

Because that would take away the rare feeling it gives me—

That special connection that I chased my whole life.

I grew up believing the rare things were always the coolest.

And I’ve taken an untraditional approach to creating:

I revise things a million times until it feels right.

Not until everyone likes it.

Until the right people understand how special it truly is.

That to me is the ultimate shared experience—

Having something rare, meaningful, and one-of-a-kind…

and knowing someone else sees it too.

I always hated how music artists changed once they blew up.

The rawness disappeared.

Everything got cleaned up by industry producers and lost that special soul the artist had in the beginning.

But me?

I’m the opposite.

I’ve promised myself:

I will always retain 100% control of my brand.

Every aspect. Every detail.

As it grows, I will grow with it.

And I’ll only become more inspired—not less.

Small batches. Exclusive drops.

Real stories. Real emotion.

That’s the way I choose to live.

I might lose money this way.

I might get hated on.

But I never cared.

I’m here to create.

To inspire.

To give positive energy to the world.

And that’s why Amavi Amor will outlive my rivals.

Because it wasn’t built for trends.

It was built for truth.

And most people don’t even have the eyes to see that kind of vision.

— Aidan Wilder

Founder of Amavi Amor