About
The Legacy
Sole for Real is black/indigenous owned e-commerce sock shop available in the United States. Founder and CEO DeVonna Hicks first introduced the sock label in 2018 as a boutique for woman’s hosiery which she promoted in New York and New Jersey fashion shows. In 2020 she positioned for a change of guard after experiencing the disparity of woman and the polluted supply chain standards in the manufacturing industry. Sustainability quickly became the mission along side her love of fashion. Driven by garnered community support and market research she found courage to continue developing the House of Sole For Real. There was immediate pressure to answer the question of how to not perpetuate the long term danger and get lost in the cloud of emissions created largely by major corporations. Sole for Real is foreword thinking in reestablishing manufacturing sustainably in America, decreasing the carbon footprint on a global scale. By restoring local manufacturing in under-reached and often underfunded communities known as inner cities we encourage the shift to community over corporations. Inner cities are an average 35% of black and brown faces while they share in 20% of manufacturing facility demographics. Structuring the workforce locally allows the capacity for a decrease in unemployment rates, securing longer term dollar circulation and generational wealth building. As Sole for Real shifts the workforce locally it will assist in securing the global market and redefine consumer security in themselves and the currently declining market. Are you ready to be apart of leaving the community better than we received it?
The story often told is that
“ Home is where the heart is”
As a young girl growing up in the projects the house was familiar with levels of affliction but the value of community was the love that held the foundation together. All from one building, myself and over 20 cousins, friends and distant neighbors would meet up to play every game from
“Miss Mary Mack” Down Down Baby while heading from the balcony to the playground. Between dope boys and street dealers we ran young wild and free. The sound of my Grandmothers whistle or the streetlights are the only alarm that broke the trance of fun that reminded us it was time to come inside. Growing into the adults that once raised us, we watched as the world they prepared us for change beyond our imagination. When we could slow down long enough to grasp it all, many lost track of whether to cry or laugh. Where has the innocence, safety and wholeness of child play gone? Is this the American Dream promised to us? Are we even living at all? Home IS where the heart is. The very beating between one’s chest that reminds us that we are alive. The heavy panting of the heart of a child after a long days play. It’s the joy that encourages the fight for a new day if only for another day.