Eric Vajda and John Stursa, co-founders of I’m From Cleveland, sit in their near office on St. Clair Ave. in March. The two are branching out into the fashion industry this spring. Credit: Mark Oprea

If you’re on Instagram and consume Cleveland content, you’re probably following — along with 117,000 others — or at least aware of I’m From Cleveland (@imfromcleveland) the aggregator and social media clearinghouse for all things 216.

You’ve seen the memes and videos, collected from around the internet and solicited via DMs. You’ve seen the takes and jokes about Cleveland potholes. Or, Newburgh Heights cops. Or, in one of its most-watched roundups (15 million views), set to the Stursa-penned “Cleveland Is Not A Real Place,” a quick-paced melange of the city’s most absurd recent happenings.

What began in 2010 as a digital zine for the city’s hip hop culture has now, 13 years later, grown into a multi-pronged social media outlet, with news, artist spotlights, event listings, Clevelander celebrity shoutouts and, also, original content. (Mostly TikTok-esque, man-on-the-streets with strangers.) IFC today is sort of a mixtape for the news and culture of a city with a complex, embattled identity, one that Vajda and Stursa attempt to bolster with posts celebrating locals and natives doing good.

And what’s trailed since IFC’s makeover at the onset of the pandemic has been a spike in followers. Since 2020, with the birth of their Instagram page, the overall reach across their five platforms has nearly doubled, to roughly 118 million lifetime views.

“We’re starting to, I think, break through to where we want to,” Stursa said.

That spike in fandom has led Stursa and Vajda, who birthed I’m From Cleveland as teenagers, to branch out off of social media and into more traditional spheres. At the start of this year, after moving into a 4,000-square-foot office space, the duo laid the groundwork for its latest venture: a full-fledged clothing line, with hoodies, rugby shirts, ballcaps and letterman jackets.

“We’re going for the top-tier, premium Cleveland clothing brand,” Vajda said. Across from Vajda, himself draped in a black Dickies jacket and a SOZO shirt, stand racks of iLTHY jackets, organized by material and color. “There’s so many T-shirt companies in Cleveland. They all do good. It’s all cool. But we want to put our twist on it.”

Segueing into fashion seems apt for Vajda and Stursa, who have had their fingers on the pulse region’s hip hop scene for half their lives.

John Stursa and Eric Vajda, IFC’s co-founders, with rapper Machine Gun Kelly in 2018. Their music blog help contextualize MGK’s burgeoning transition from Cleveland musician to national star. Credit: Chris Goody

Though I’m From Cleveland began in its breakout form as a YouTube channel in Stursa’s childhood bedroom (he was 13), it morphed into a digital zine of sorts when Vajda, then 19 and a budding DJ, got involved. Vajda, who would soon help an up-and-coming Kid Cudi find airtime on 96.5 KISS F.M., suggested the two repackage Vajda’s Bitch, I’m From Cleveland mixtape—a city-promo collab with rapper Chip Tha Ripper—into an idea for a website showcase.

“We took that, basically cleaned it up, made it our brand,” said Stursa, 28. He cracked a slow-to-form smile of nostalgia. “I reached out on Eric’s Myspace page—that’s how far back it was.”

Then, after I’m From Cleveland found its namesake, Vajda entertained a bigger idea: Why not fill the gaps where other, larger media falls short?

“I really was thinking, ‘How can we get the music heard to the city?'” Vajda said. “Let’s do something that’s focused on putting Cleveland artists out.”

In the decade that followed, I’m From Cleveland meshed with rap ambassadors that grew parallel to them, like Al Fatz and Ray Cash. As Vajda balanced DJ sets in Los Angeles, and Stursa a marketing 9-to-5, the two acted as volunteer promoters of Kid Cudi’s earliest mixtapes — “Before anyone knew who he was”—  of Machine Gun Kelly’s freshman recordings (“Chip Off The Block”). “We were now partnering with all the big guys. We were helping the artists,” Vajda explained. “And cosigning artists that didn’t get enough love in the city.”

Then, as the pandemic put a temporary death knell on live music, and Spotify put a wrench in mixtape culture, Vajda and Stursa found it was high time to branch out. Besides reposting Cleveland miscellany—like a throwback to Bottlegate, or the amazingly-viral East 81st Deli chicken salad meme—IFC delved into a very Instragram-friendly version of local service journalism.

The point, Stursa said, harkens back to the original angle: To both showcase Cleveland for what it really is and what it is not.

“I think overall, we want to portray a positive message: This is what’s great about Cleveland,” Stursa said. “And then you see other things like that, where not necessarily bad things, but I feel like we also have a responsibility to showcase.”

Vajda laughed. “Bottlegate actually happened, right? Like, everything isn’t sunshine and rainbows. We’re also real.”

Vajda at his desk, showing off IFC’s new digs. Credit: Mark Oprea

It’s that mentality that Vajda hopes translates into their clothing line. Although he’s veering away from top-shelf boutique prices—”Nothing too crazy, a little more expensive than your typical tourist shirt”—Vajda feels that, when the apparel goes on sale at Xhibition in April, the line will lead to collaborations state-wide. Maybe even a legit fashion show, something the city’s been without for years.

And Drew Bobinski, a project manager and friend of the IFC team for the past decade, agreed: the clothes fit the brand.

“I don’t have a term or phrase besides clean, crisp, while still focusing on Cleveland, without being over-graphic-y, over cartoon-y,” Bobinski told Scene. “It still gets the message across: Everyone loves being from Cleveland.”

As, of course, Vajda and Stursa can relate. On a recent late afternoon at their offices off St. Clair in Midtown, Vajda and Stursa sat at their Macs reviewing PDFs of designs for their clothing launch. A brand, it seems, that will follow Vajda and Stursa for the remainder of their careers.

Whether they like it or not.

“I grew up in Lorain, actually,” Stursa admitted, forming an innocent grin. “West side Lorain, that’s where I’m from.”

Vajda leaned in for emphasis. “And Cleveland took him in,” he said.

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This article appears in Mar 22 – Apr 5, 2023.

Mark Oprea is a staff writer at Scene. He's covered Cleveland for the past decade, and has contributed to TIME, NPR, Narratively, the Pacific Standard and the Cleveland Magazine. He's the winner of two Press Club awards.