If you know anything about Dan Matsuda, you know the man doesn’t just make products; he conjures them—raw, unfiltered art disguised as everyday objects. Every piece he births into this world is a testament to craftsmanship, forged from materials so unique and resilient they might as well be relics from another dimension.
Naturally, this means getting your hands on one of his creations is like hunting the mythical white whale. Matsuda drops his goods on a Friday, and by the time you blink, they’re gone—swallowed up by the ravenous masses within minutes.
But behold, a miracle—a Matsuda duffle bag in the wild, actually in stock and ready to ship. I’ve never witnessed such a thing in all my years.
And let me tell you, I own one of these duffles in black. It’s everything you’d dream of and more—a masterpiece that laughs in the face of mediocrity.
To be honest, cam straps don’t usually make the cut in my chaotic dance of ratchet straps and bungee cords. They sit somewhere in the murky middle ground, neither here nor there, and that’s a limbo I rarely find myself stumbling into.
But these new high-end cam straps from Austere? They’ve got the swagger and the substance—more secure, more convenient than the run-of-the-mill crap you find at the big box stores. And damn, they’ve got the looks to boot.
After last week’s exposé on sub-25L backpacks, a few brave souls dared to inquire about the pack I strap to my own spine. And while the AER packs (and their ilk) might dance seductively in the dreams of urban nomads, they’re not my muse.
Years ago, in a feverish moment of clarity, I embraced the GORUCK GR3, a travel pack so rugged and capacious it could double as a lifeboat. It turned me into a zealot. But the time came to part with that behemoth, and now, I’ve found solace in a symphony of packs that cater to my every whim. My camera bag? A GORUCK Bullet. My travel companion? The GORUCK GR2. And my sub-25L paramour? The dual-chambered GORUCK Bullet.
So why, you ask, didn’t I champion the Bullet in my 25L feature last week? Simple. It’s not for the faint of heart or the uninitiated. If you aren’t committing to the full GORUCK gospel, there are far shinier baubles to catch your eye.
The logic behind this system is twofold:
Firstly, I eschew bags bloated with organization. Instead, I wield modular pouches to corral my essentials. This way, I can effortlessly transfer these pouches from one bag to another, adapting to the mission du jour. GORUCK bags, blessedly spartan in their internal configuration, suit my packing ethos to a tee.
Secondly, I crave familiarity like a junkie craves his next fix. Every GORUCK bag exudes a sense of deja vu. Master one, and you’ve got the rest licked. Take my double-compartment Bullet: it’s essentially a pint-sized doppelgänger of the GORUCK GR2. Thus, I navigate these bags with the ease of a seasoned grifter working a familiar con. The layout remains a constant; the capacities, a mere variable.
This system works for me, a deranged connoisseur of chaos and order. But I harbor no delusions that the masses would flock to this creed with the same fervor.
Still curious? Unravel the mysteries of the 18L Double Compartment Bullet here.
A user came to me with a question—what’s the best EDC pack with around 25 liters of capacity? While he’s got no beef with GoRuck, he craves something with a bit more organization.
This one’s a no-brainer. The consensus in the wild world of everyday carry is that the AER City Pack Pro reigns supreme in this niche… and I can’t help but agree. It’s AER, after all, so it’s built like a brick shithouse, and everything they churn out is damned well designed. This pack hits all the marks:
The quick access pocket is a dream to get to and has plenty of room and the Pro version takes it up a notch with a second quick access pocket on the side for keys and whatnot.
Luggage pass-through… It’s astounding how many sub-25L packs overlook this crucial feature.
The laptop compartment is a fortress of its own, accessible without diving into the main compartment.
Straps? Fantastic. You could carry the weight of the world on these bad boys.
To me, it’s the only 25L pack worth considering in this segment, even with the $240 price tag.
But hold on, there is another contender—The Black Ember Citadel 25. This one will set you back $300, but it shares many of the same stellar features and has a sleek, killer look. Plus, Black Ember has earned a solid reputation as a place of solid fabrication. I don’t have any experience with this one, but I’ll try to get one in for review.
Anyway, you can dive into the details about the Black Ember here, and the AER here.
I usually steer clear of the consumerist bacchanalia that is Prime Day, but this year the gods of necessity demanded tribute. My quest led me to the holy grail of modern travel: a reliable charger. The Anker 100W GAN charger, a beast of efficiency in a deceptively small package, had long taunted me from the digital aisles. Its power-to-size ratio is the stuff of legend, but the price always loomed like a menacing cloud over my aspirations. Then Prime Day reared its head, offering a seductive 40% discount. The die was cast. I plunged in, credit card blazing.
I don’t know what the hell this thing is… Is it a tote? A bin? A backpack? A box? I guess it’s whatever the hell you want it to be depending on how you use it.
Essentially, the RUX 70L is a box made of TPU-coated nylon. This modern, slick material gives the box no structure at all, but it comes with spring steel snap bracelets that you place in each corner- allowing you to decide how much rigidity the box actually has. You can make it stiff enough to stack, or snap the bracelets and compress it like a soft box.
But that’s just the beginning. The top edges of the box are lined with a rail system inside and out. This rail system lets you customize the outside of the box with different carrying and compression strap configurations. Want a backpack? No sweat. Throw on the long straps horizontally and adjust them. Want a tote? Easy, just place the carrying straps on each end. Want to make it smaller? Just throw on the compression straps and synch em down.
This rail system also lets you securely add a top on the outside or fashion pouches and dividers on the inside. The possibilities and configurations are literally endless. It’s actually quite brilliant.
Of course, the elephant in the room is the price… This bin, backpack, box, tote thing will run you $300!
I’d scream foul, but the thing is… I think it’s absolutely worth it to the right person. It’s one of those products that reflects the passion of its designer. You can tell that whoever designed and made the thing gives a damn. The craftsmanship is wild, and as a result, using the RUX is a joy.
The RUX 70L is the most interesting mobile storage device I’ve ever tested. Sincerely.
About a year ago, an email landed in my inbox peddling a $750 cooler. This high-end marvel was touted as 300% more effective than any other cooler on the market. Pure marketing drivel, I thought, and promptly ignored it. But damn if the thing wasn’t a vision. It looked like something Apple would craft for a NASA mission—sleek aluminum, perfect curves, and a dash of red on an interchangeable strap. Form and function had never danced so beautifully.
But $750 for a cooler? No way in hell.
Then, a few months back, Oyster dropped the price to $395 and asked for a review. Who was I to refuse?
When the Oyster arrived, it was everything I’d hoped for. The packaging was a symphony of high-end Nordic minimalism, and the cooler itself was even more breathtaking in person than in its social media glamour shots. This wasn’t just a cooler; it was a masterpiece.
But did the damned thing actually work? To find out, I devised a haphazard real-world test. On one side, the trusty Yeti Hopper, and on the other, the Oyster. Each loaded with six cans and an equal amount of ice. The Yeti was packed to the brim, while the Oyster had room to spare. This gave the Yeti an edge in cooling density, but being a soft cooler, it had its own drawbacks.
This wasn’t a clinical trial, but a practical scenario. I set them up in my workshop, which held a steady 83 degrees throughout the test. Every few hours, I’d crack them open and check the temperature from the same can top. Here’s what I found:
The $250 Yeti impressed me… but the Oyster? Four solid days of ice retention? That’s one hell of a long weekend. Never did I imagine this cooler could perform so well.
And it’s not just about performance. The Oyster is built like a tank and smartly designed for practicality and durability. The lid opens from either side, it has soft rubber feet, the straps are comfortable and interchangeable, and every part is replaceable. Plus, its thin-wall aluminum construction makes it space-efficient. I managed to cram 36 cans of beer in there.
At $750, you’d have to be out of your mind to buy this cooler. But at $395? Now we’re talking. For the right person with the right needs, this cooler makes a lot of sense. Perfect for the overland adventurer, the hardcore hunter, the dedicated fisherman, and the sports enthusiast.
Rarely does a high-end “luxury” product hit my review table and make me think about value and “buy it for life” purchases. The Oyster Cooler is that rare exception. I don’t even need a cooler that often, but if I were in the market, I’d consider this one in a heartbeat. It’s that damn good.
If you are interested, you can blow your hard earned cash here.
I found myself in a wild-eyed frenzy, gripped by the unrelenting need to possess the sleek and seductive Distil Wally wallet. But the cruel reality hit like a whiskey-soaked sledgehammer: this damned piece of minimalist marvel had no place for keys. What in the name of Hunter S. Christ was I supposed to do about the keys? How the hell would I carry them?
Simple. I wouldn’t.
The answer was clear, shining like a neon sign in a midnight desert: no more keys. I ripped out the old locks on my lab and home, replacing them with the seductive promise of smart locks. I knew the Schlage Encode Plus reigned supreme in this high-tech kingdom, but I wasn’t about to sink five hundred bucks into this mad experiment.
So, with the conviction of a lunatic on a mission, I delved deeper and settled on the Aqara U100, the scrappy runner-up in the cutthroat world of smart locks. At $189, it was a steal compared to the Schlage, boasting all the bells and whistles, plus a nifty fingerprint reader for that instant access.
Two weeks in, and not a single failure to report. The HomeKit integration purrs like a well-fed tiger, and the auto-lock feature is a godsend. I’m happier than a gambler on a winning streak.
