Not a knockoff. Not some pixel-pushed design from a warehouse overseas. The Venom 2 Detroit Lions Varsity Jacket—the one with the black body, blue sleeves, and that little Venom mark near the chest—it’s built like jackets used to be.

Wool body. Real leather sleeves. Not “leather-look.” Actual cowhide, soft but tough, the kind that gets better the more you wear it. Cuffs are ribbed tight, so wind doesn’t sneak up your arms when you’re standing in Lot 6 waiting for kickoff. Lining’s smooth—no itching, no static cling. And it’s not just any wool—it’s a dense, medium-weight blend that blocks the chill without making you sweat if you’re walking from your car to the stadium. That balance is harder to nail than it sounds.

Colors? Honolulu blue on the arms, just like the Lions’ home jerseys. Silver trim on the shoulders and collar. Black everywhere else. Keeps it grounded. The Venom logo isn’t huge. No glowing eyes or teeth. Just a clean, dark emblem stitched cleanly over the left chest—small enough that it doesn’t read like a costume, but sharp enough that fellow fans spot it instantly. It’s not trying to be two things at once. It just is both: loyal and a little dangerous. Which, let’s be honest, is pretty much the Detroit fan experience.

It’s warm, but not bulky. Wore it through a drizzly December game—stayed dry underneath, jacket dried overnight. Threw it in the wash once (cold, no spin, hung it up). Came out fine. No shrinkage. No weird stiffness. The leather sleeves didn’t crack or peel like those fake “vegan leather” jobs that fall apart by Halloween. This one ages. After a few weeks, it starts to mold to your shoulders. Feels less like you’re wearing a jacket and more like it’s part of your rotation.

People stop you. Not to ask “what is that?” but “where’d you get that?” Like they’ve been looking for something that doesn’t scream “fan gear” but still says everything. A guy at the hardware store last week squinted at the logo, then grinned: “Eddie Brock and the Lions? Man, that’s my life.” Exactly. It’s for the folks who’ve yelled at the TV for 30 years but still show up every Sunday. Who like their heroes messy, complicated, and willing to fight even when the odds are bad.

Made by The Falcon Jackets. Small operation. They cut the patterns in-house, check every seam, reject hides that don’t feel right. You can tell. Stitching doesn’t pop after two wears. Snaps still click. Collar holds its shape. There’s no loose thread, no sloppy alignment on the stripes. Even the lining is tacked down properly—no bunching or pulling after a few wears. That kind of care doesn’t happen on an assembly line rushing out 10,000 units.

It goes with everything. Jeans, sweatpants, even decent slacks if you’re feeling bold. Doesn’t need explaining. If you get it—you get it. Wore it to a friend’s birthday dinner last weekend—over a plain black tee and dark jeans—and nobody batted an eye. Just looked like a solid jacket. Later that night, a stranger at the bar asked if it was limited edition. Told him it’s just well-made. He didn’t believe me till he felt the sleeve.

And yeah, they sell out. Fast. Not because of bots or hype drops. Just because once people put it on, they don’t take it off. The first batch lasted 10 days. Second one? Gone in a week. Not from ads or influencers—just word of mouth. Guys showing up to watch parties, coworkers noticing it at the office, someone spotting it in line at the coney island.

This isn’t fast fashion. It’s not meant to be worn three times and tossed. It’s the kind of piece you hand down or keep in your closet for years because it never really goes out of style. Varsity jackets have been around since the 1930s for a reason—they work. Add a touch of comic grit and real team pride, and you’ve got something that feels both fresh and familiar.

If it’s in stock? Grab it.
It’s not just another jacket. It’s the one you reach for first—on game day, on errand day, on days when you just need to feel like you’ve got your back covered. Literally.