Homebase: A Night, Brand, and Beginning
Some nights don’t just happen; they unfold as if preordained, settling into memory even as they are still being lived. The launch of Homebase one evening in February felt like that.
Around the corner from Golf Park Coffee in Lynchburg, Virginia, a house stood open. Inside, low lighting pooled in soft golden halos, red streamers framed doorways, and fresh crewnecks draped over a banister led guests' eyes toward the two newest tees hanging overhead. Outside, the house stood like a beacon, its open doors spilling a glow onto Rivermont Avenue, welcoming the ones who made their way in—friends, artists, thinkers, believers. This was the launch of Homebase, a Christian clothing brand with a mission as simple as it is profound: to clothe the Kingdom. But this was not a corporate drop party. No influencer guest lists, no velvet ropes. This was a friends’ launch party, intimate by design, created for those who had championed the brand since its earliest days, comprised of a generation that grew up in church and thrift stores, on theology, TikTok, and the cusp of a streetwear revival.
A Vision Takes Shape
At the center of it all stood Regan Henderson, a 22-year-old creative with an easy smile that lands somewhere between knowing and kind. Born and raised in Mississippi, Regan has always been drawn to creative expression—not just through words but through art, design, and the way people move through spaces. At Liberty University, where he graduated with a degree in Interdisciplinary Studies, he found himself straddling multiple creative disciplines, from fine arts to digital media to film photography. Homebase was a natural extension of that—an expression of faith and culture that could live in the every day, something tangible yet transcendent. He’s instantly likable and moves with the relaxed confidence of someone deeply attuned to his surroundings, making even the most fleeting interactions feel intentional. He is the kind of person who can pause a conversation, take in the entire room, and somehow make you feel as if you are the only one in it. His layered, slightly oversized fits—shapeless jeans breaking sharply at the ankles, sweatshirts draped in relaxed symmetry, unassuming cowboy boots, or well-worn sneakers—mirror the quiet assurance of someone fluent in both faith and aesthetics. But beyond the look, it is his vision that makes him magnetic.
Homebase’s visionary, Regan Henderson, shares his brand’s vision at the Launch Party on February 10, 2025. Used with permission from Noah Seidlitz.
Homebase began as a quiet experiment—a few screen-printed shirts, bold in message but softened in tone. The shirts started conversations: about faith, about fashion, about what it means to wear belief on your sleeve without feeling forced or contrived. “It was never just about clothing,” Regan said, standing amidst it all. The launch party sold Homebase as something people can step into—physically, spiritually, relationally.
But Homebase is not a one-man endeavor. Enter Bennett Peterson, Regan’s business partner. The two met during their time at Liberty University, bonding over a shared vision of what Christian community could look like beyond traditional forms. Where Regan is introspective and visionary, Bennett is the bridge-builder—the one who sees opportunity in connection. He has a way of making people feel seen, of instinctively knowing how to bring the right people together. 'Regan dreams it up, and I figure out how we actually make it happen,' he laughed, but it was only half a joke. Their partnership is a testament to the idea that creativity and strategy, art and logistics, can exist in perfect harmony. If Regan is the dreamer, Bennett is the architect—the one who ensures things happen. “Regan is the head of the vision,” Bennett explained. “The design, the events, the feel.” Bennett is the one making sure it all comes together—figuring out the logistics, the who, what, when, and how.
Together, they have created something that is both a brand and a space—an ecosystem where faith and creativity coexist without tension. “We wanted this to feel like a place people didn’t want to leave,” he said. “Like home.”
The House on Rivermont
The house on Rivermont was a fitting place for the launch party. And it filled quickly. Typically home to a few college guys who gather people effortlessly, it had been reimagined for the night—an intersection of gallery boutique and living room. In the main entryway, friends sorted themselves into intimate huddles. An old karaoke machine was backlit, transforming it into an impromptu photobooth, where groups of friends congregated to capture their portraits in its lo-fi black-and-white flicker. Around them, the walls bore traces of lived-in creativity. A hand-painted cardboard sign hung overhead, declaring the launch of the brand. Beyond the entryway, racks of tees organized by size and on-sale pieces hung in the front room. Crewnecks draped from a pole extending off the staircase, their soft folds inviting touch.
In the dining room, a projector sat atop a makeshift stand—a wicker basket—on the same wooden table where spoons and playing cards, cookies, and Mario Kart controllers were laid out.
“The Mario Kart in the back room was a concept from Reagan.” Bennet shared. “The brand name … is where you’re comfortable, where you find home, and where you find yourself relaxing. It’s where you find yourself able to roll your shoulders back and take a deep breath.” In Regan’s mind, that meant video games, playing cards, and coloring sheets. It was a deliberate kind of casual—like walking into your best friend’s house, knowing without question that you belonged.
Connor Benson chats with guests at the Homebase Launch Party, repping the new Jesus Loves You to Death tee. Used with permission from Noah Seidlitz.
Music layered itself over the space—an effortless mix of indie pop, lo-fi jazz, a few soft Christian hits, a playlist curated not just to be played but absorbed. “Something that people could get along to,” Regan said. The ambient temperature was perfectly forgettable, allowing the warmth of deep conversation and human connection to take center stage. The evening had the texture of an A24 film—rich with detail, effortless in its cultural cohesion, the kind of scene that only exists where creativity, faith, and friendship intertwine seamlessly.
Regan had envisioned a night where people could relax—where games, music, and conversation would fill the space naturally. But as the night unfolded, he realized it didn’t need any orchestrated entertainment. “What it turned out to be,” he reflected, “was more just a social gathering. Not something that had to entertain people, but something people could step into and just exist in. Hang out, enjoy the shirts, enjoy each other.” Homebase wasn’t just launching a product—it was creating a space, a feeling.
A Room Full of Friends
Faces, familiar and new, moved through the space. Jules and Mariana Peterson, sisters to Bennett, were there—Jules, warm and sharp, radiating effortless kindness; Mariana, more reserved, soaking in the moment with quite attentiveness. Near the staircase, Caleb Runey, resident of the Rivermont house, digital creative, and storyteller, stood surveying the night like a Christian subculture connoisseur. Across the room, Connor Benson floated through the space with a camera in hand, his crisp mustache and relaxed demeanor giving him the air of someone who belonged in every frame he captured. He’s the kind of guy who makes a good night better just by being there.
Matthew Smith lingered in the liminal space between the entryway and front room, unassuming in a zip-up and khakis—a wallflower in the best way—content to let the night happen around him, yet fully part of it. Then there was Chris—a Lynchburg staple, known only by his first name, a socialite in the best way, someone whose presence at an event makes it official just by showing up.
At the karaoke machine, Klara, Jules, Noah, and Bennett struggled to frame a photo, laughing as the reversed image threw them off. Across the room, Caleb had transitioned to the piano bench. He held his Sony a7 III in hand but focused on the piano at his back. 'I didn’t know how to play before we got it,' he admitted, resting his arm on the wooden upright. 'Now it’s my favorite thing in the house.' The moment felt symbolic—learning, adapting, finding music in unexpected places. It was a small, quiet act of creativity in a room that thrived on it.
“It felt nostalgic,” Jules later reflected. “Like a time before the internet, even though the internet was everywhere.”
Clothing the Kingdom
Homebase’s aesthetic lands somewhere between vintage thrift and modern minimalism—cropped and boxy, comfortably worn-in, distinctly homemade but impossibly cool. Tonight, the new designs made their debut: a black tee with Jesus [loves] you to death and back, featuring a cross emblazoned red heart on the front and empty tomb on the back; and a white tee titled King of Hearts, merging sacred iconography with a playing card motif. These weren’t just pieces of clothing; they were artifacts of truth. Groups of young women slipped them over their outfits, adjusting sleeves, smiling for cameras, turning the designs into something lived in.
“Homebase is a cultural current,” Jules said. “It’s moving. It’s evolving. And it’s giving people something tangible to carry into conversations about faith.”
Guests at the Homebase Launch Party relax and connect, sporting the brand’s newest tees. Used with permission from Noah Seidlitz.
What Lingers After
As the night wound down, the atmosphere didn’t fade so much as settle. Some people lingered, reluctant to step back into the cold. Others left with newly purchased tees, the weight of fabric in their hands a reminder of the night’s warmth. Bennett called it the beginning. Regan called it clarity.
For Regan, the highlight of the night wasn’t a big moment—it was a quiet one before it all got started. “Honestly,” he admitted, “I think what meant the most to me was seeing everyone jump in to help. No one had to, but the moment I brought the stuff in, it was all hands on deck.” It was an unspoken affirmation of what Homebase was all about: a brand rooted in community, not commerce.
The question now is what comes next. “More designs. More gatherings. Worship Nights. Maybe even just music nights,” Bennett mused. “Not quite worship, but still sacred.” The vision is unfolding, taking shape in real time. And that’s the thing about Homebase. It isn’t just about fashion. It’s about presence. It’s a brand, yes. But more than that, it’s a movement, a gathering place, a space where faith and creativity don’t have to compete. Where you don’t have to choose between being cool and being Christian.
For those who missed the launch, Homebase is just getting started. Follow @homebase601 on Instagram for upcoming drops and events.