RtW: Sticker
A $3 sticker doesn’t mean much to most people.
But for us? It means history. It means presence. It means refusal.
Every sticker is mailed like a jail letter—because that’s where this work started. In cells where people weren’t supposed to matter. In spaces built to erase them. In moments where writing a letter was the only proof of existence.
A $3 sticker travels. Slips through fences.
Lands in the hands of someone who needs to be reminded - you are not alone.
And when you place it somewhere? A subway pole, a bathroom mirror, a notebook, a street sign—you’re not just sticking it. You’re marking territory. You’re saying: we were here.
Each order comes with a letter—because letters were the first form of survival. And because this work has always been about more than just words.
Want to send a sticker to someone inside? Email us at info@rootedinthework.com, and we’ll make it happen.
A $3 sticker doesn’t mean much to most people.
But for us? It means history. It means presence. It means refusal.
Every sticker is mailed like a jail letter—because that’s where this work started. In cells where people weren’t supposed to matter. In spaces built to erase them. In moments where writing a letter was the only proof of existence.
A $3 sticker travels. Slips through fences.
Lands in the hands of someone who needs to be reminded - you are not alone.
And when you place it somewhere? A subway pole, a bathroom mirror, a notebook, a street sign—you’re not just sticking it. You’re marking territory. You’re saying: we were here.
Each order comes with a letter—because letters were the first form of survival. And because this work has always been about more than just words.
Want to send a sticker to someone inside? Email us at info@rootedinthework.com, and we’ll make it happen.
A $3 sticker doesn’t mean much to most people.
But for us? It means history. It means presence. It means refusal.
Every sticker is mailed like a jail letter—because that’s where this work started. In cells where people weren’t supposed to matter. In spaces built to erase them. In moments where writing a letter was the only proof of existence.
A $3 sticker travels. Slips through fences.
Lands in the hands of someone who needs to be reminded - you are not alone.
And when you place it somewhere? A subway pole, a bathroom mirror, a notebook, a street sign—you’re not just sticking it. You’re marking territory. You’re saying: we were here.
Each order comes with a letter—because letters were the first form of survival. And because this work has always been about more than just words.
Want to send a sticker to someone inside? Email us at info@rootedinthework.com, and we’ll make it happen.