Joining the Hells Angels isn’t about owning a motorcycle and growing a beard—it’s about following rules that make boot camp look casual. As one of the original one-percenter clubs, the Angels have been riding outside the law since 1948, with over 467 charters worldwide. Despite their outlaw image, they operate under a strict set of codes that every member must follow. We dug into their not-so-secret rulebook to see what it really takes to earn and keep that infamous patch.
You Have to Be Voted In
Joining the Hells Angels isn’t about having a Harley and a face tattoo. First, you become a prospect—meaning you’ll fetch beers and ride hard, but vote? Nope.
Prospects do the dirty work, stay quiet, and prove loyalty for as long as the club deems necessary. Could be months. Could be years. Good luck.
Only once the entire charter agrees you’re Hells Angels material do you earn that patch. Until then, you’re just background noise in black leather.
Don’t Ask How to Join
Asking how to join the Hells Angels is like asking a magician how the trick works. The answer is silence, followed by a slow fade-out.
Their official stance? “If you have to ask, you probably won’t understand the answer.” Translation: you’re not ready, and now you’ve annoyed everyone.
Full members do the voting. Prospects do the work. You? You stay quiet, observe, and hope you’re interesting enough to get noticed without trying too hard.
Only Men Allowed
The Hells Angels are a brotherhood, not a co-ed club. Women can ride along, support, even attend meetings—but they’ll never earn a patch.
The official term for a female companion is “old lady.” Romantic, right? They’re often just as involved, minus the voting rights and power.
If you’re dating a guy trying to join, prepare to lose your weekends. Club life demands time, loyalty, and a very flexible relationship schedule.
Law Enforcement Is Banned
No cops allowed. That includes prison guards, security officers, or anyone with a badge. The Hells Angels don’t mix well with uniforms and authority figures.
It’s a hard line: if you carry handcuffs for work, you’ll never carry a Hells Angels patch. Conflict of interest, to put it politely.
Some regions don’t even classify the club as criminal, but the U.S. Justice Department? Yeah, they’re not sending Christmas cards anytime soon.
There’s No Leaving Once You’re In
Becoming a Hells Angel takes time—sometimes years. And once you’re patched in, that’s it. You’re locked in tighter than most marriages. No prenup either.
Some members wear “AFFA” patches: Angels Forever, Forever Angels. It’s not just a motto—it’s a blood pact without the ceremony or the cake.
Want to back out later? Not really an option. It’s ride or die, literally. If you’re unsure, maybe join a bowling league instead.
Only Harley-Davidsons Allowed
You want to ride with the club? Better be on a Harley. No Hondas, no Yamahas—just pure American steel and the roar of tradition.
It’s not just a bike; it’s part of the identity. If you’re not riding a Harley, you’re not riding with anyone worth impressing.
From the beginning, Harleys were cheap, rugged, and loud—basically the club in mechanical form. That loyalty to the brand runs deeper than some family ties.
Not Every Chapter Is Harley-Only
Harleys dominate the culture, no question. Most charters treat them like holy relics—you ride anything else, you’re basically committing biker blasphemy in their eyes.
But here’s the twist: not every chapter is that rigid. A few will let you slide if your bike is American-made and meets their standards.
Buell motorcycles, for instance, get an occasional pass. They’re homegrown, tough, and close enough to tradition to avoid side-eye—though die-hard Harley purists still grumble about it.
The Vest Is Sacred
The vest is more than leather and patches—it’s a symbol of blood, loyalty, and years of proving yourself. It’s earned, not bought or borrowed.
Each patch is specific: your rank, your charter, your allegiance. Lose it, damage it, or disrespect it, and you’ve just invited major consequences.
If arrested, hand the vest to another member. In a hospital, protect it at all costs. This isn’t fashion—it’s holy fabric to them.
Choose Friends Carefully
Friendship isn’t casual when you’re involved with the club. Every alliance matters, and supporting enemies—knowingly or not—can put you in a very bad spot.
Mixing with rival clubs, street gangs, or sketchy associates can threaten the charter. Ignorance isn’t a defense; it’s just another liability.
Want to join? You may have to cut ties. If your best friend rides with the wrong patch, you’ll need to choose a side—fast.
No Fake Gear
Wearing club gear you didn’t earn is a bad idea. Like, “hope you have dental insurance” bad. The patches aren’t costumes, they’re credentials.
You’ll find imitation merch online—don’t touch it. Wearing unauthorized gear could be seen as disrespect, impersonation, or both. None of those end well.
Only full members get real patches. Unless the club gave it to you, keep it off your back—or prepare for consequences you didn’t order.
Fans Can Buy Support Gear, But That’s It
Non-members can show love with official support gear—shirts, hats, mugs—but don’t confuse that with member patches. One’s fandom, the other’s sacred.
The club even sells these items online to fund rides, charities, and events. Buying them says “I support,” not “I belong.” Big difference.
Wear it proudly, but don’t push it. Pretend you’re a patched member and you’ll find out quickly why real members guard their symbols so fiercely.
Respect Is Mandatory
The golden rule applies—but it comes with teeth. Treat others with respect if you want to be treated like anything other than a regrettable memory.
Respect flows upward, especially toward higher-ranking members. Cross a full-patch veteran, and you won’t just get a lecture—you’ll get remembered in a very painful way.
This isn’t kindergarten kindness; it’s about hierarchy, loyalty, and not being a disrespectful loudmouth. If that’s hard, maybe find a less structured rebellion.
Ride in Formation
They don’t just ride—they ride in order. The president leads, the prospects trail, and if you mess that up, expect glares or worse.
It’s not just pageantry. Formation means control, unity, and knowing your place. Cutting in line isn’t just rude—it’s reckless and disrespectful to club tradition.
Want to ride with them? Learn the formation, stay in it, and don’t freelance your way into a beatdown or traffic citation. Follow the leader, literally.
Patriotism Runs Deep
For an outlaw club, they’re surprisingly patriotic. The original members were WWII vets, and that pride still hums louder than their Harley engines decades later.
They wave flags, honor veterans, and embrace loyalty to their country almost as fiercely as loyalty to the patch. It’s baked into the culture.
Now that they’ve gone global, the same pride applies locally—Canadian Angels wave maple leaves, Australian Angels wave kangaroos, and everyone still respects where they ride from.
They Ride for the Fallen
When a member passes, it’s not quiet grief—it’s chrome, engines, and processions. The club treats death as a chance to honor, loudly and proudly.
Memorial rides, rallies, and tributes happen often. Photos, posters, and moments of silence mark their events. It’s family—loud family—mourning in the only way they know.
Even young members are remembered this way. In 2018, a tribute ride gathered to comfort a fallen brother’s family, proving bonds don’t end with the last ride.
Stop Together or Not at All
If one member pulls over, the rest follow—no exceptions. Whether it’s cops or a flat tire, the whole squad stops. It’s loyalty on wheels.
It’s not just for show. Safety in numbers matters, especially when enemies or law enforcement come sniffing around. Nobody gets left behind.
So next time you see them parked on the highway shoulder, they’re not lost—they’re watching each other’s backs like a mobile fortress on chrome.
Show Up or Get Lost
Club attendance isn’t optional—it’s expected. If you flake on meetings, don’t expect anyone to cry when you lose your patch. No-shows are dead weight.
Your vote matters in club decisions. Missing means silence. Silence means you clearly don’t care. And no one tolerates apathy in a so-called brotherhood.
You signed up for this life—so show up, speak up, and ride up. Otherwise, the door’s open and no one’s holding it for you.
Drive Thousands of Miles Every Year
Being in the club means riding. A lot. Around 12,000 miles a year, actually. Hope your back’s good and your calendar’s clear for decades.
You’re not here to polish chrome and wear cool patches. You’re here to ride—rain, shine, or riot. That’s the lifestyle, not a hobby.
If you can’t handle the road, don’t bother applying. And yes, your girlfriend probably has to ride too—on the back, through bugs, wind, and attitude.
Not All Websites Are Equal
There’s one official website. That’s it. The others? Either fanboys or fakes. Don’t go quoting nonsense from “hellzangels69.biz”—you’ll just embarrass yourself. Or worse.
Their actual site is guarded tighter than grandma’s secret chili recipe. If you’re not in, you’re not seeing what’s behind the digital curtain.
And no, you can’t DM them either. Hells Angels don’t run a customer support line. They’re not recruiting via Squarespace. Respect the silence.
Don’t Talk to the Media
Talking to reporters is a major no-go. If Anderson Cooper asks for a quote, your answer should be a solid “no comment” or just silence.
The club doesn’t do press releases. Interviews are for celebrities, not bikers who handle things internally. Loose lips don’t just sink ships—they wreck charters.
If you speak on the club’s behalf without permission, expect consequences. Bad ones. This isn’t a PR team. It’s a tight-lipped tribe of leather-bound secrecy.
Keep Your Mouth Shut, Always
You’re not just avoiding the press—you’re avoiding gossip altogether. No talking about other members, their business, or who’s gone missing. Especially not the ones gone real quiet.
The official line is, “We do not answer questions about members.” It’s short, blunt, and a good habit to live by forever.
Even if you think it’s harmless, it isn’t. Need-to-know means most of the time, you don’t need to know. And that’s not up for debate.
Dress Like You Belong
Yes, there’s a dress code. No shorts. No neon. No looking like you just rolled out of a rave or a dad barbecue. Keep it sharp.
Some charters wear jeans, others stick to black. But they all agree on one thing: don’t dress like a clown. Biker pride matters.
This isn’t Coachella. If your outfit screams “fashion experiment,” you’ll be told—unpolitely—to go change. The road may be open, but the dress code isn’t.
Give Back or Get Out
For a so-called outlaw gang, they do a surprising amount of charity work. Children, schools, community events—they give back more than most TikTok influencers.
Each charter is expected to contribute time and money. It’s good PR, sure—but it’s also tradition. One-percenter doesn’t mean heartless.
If you’re in it just to look tough, you’re missing the point. Even rebels understand service. Just don’t expect a selfie station at the food drive.
You Might Have to Guard Rock Stars
You wouldn’t expect outlaw bikers to double as security guards, but surprise—they’ve been hired to watch over concerts since the Beatles trusted them in 1961.
Their presence at shows is more intimidating than metal detectors. Crowds behave better when a row of patched bikers is staring back in total silence.
For the members, it’s easy money and free music. Plus, nothing screams “rock and roll” like guarding the stage in full biker regalia.
Protect the Brand
The club protects its image like a tiger guards its cubs—with lawsuits and, if needed, less friendly means. That patch isn’t a meme, it’s a trademark.
When Disney used the name without permission in Wild Hogs, the club didn’t send threats—they sent lawyers. And they meant business. Real, expensive business.
The logo, the name, the mythos—it’s all guarded. You mess with it, you’re either getting sued or stared at real hard by several angry men.
Don’t Mention the Apostrophe
Yes, “Hells” is missing an apostrophe. No, they don’t care. Grammar police are not welcome here, and your English degree won’t save you.
They’ve spelled it this way since 1948, and they’re not changing it because Microsoft Word says it’s wrong. Tradition trumps punctuation every damn time.
So, keep your red pen holstered. The patch says “Hells Angels.” That’s how it’s written, and if you bring it up, you’ll regret that grammar lesson.
Loyalty Is Everything
This isn’t summer camp. You don’t switch clubs when the vibes are off. Joining another motorcycle club while patched? That’s betrayal, plain and brutal.
You ride with them, only them. Anything else is treason, and the punishment is more serious than just losing a leather vest.
You can’t have one foot in the clubhouse and one in another. That kind of fence-sitting gets you shoved off—face-first—into the pavement.
Get Ready to Be Hazed
As a prospect, you’ll be hazed. No, not paddled in a toga. Think tasks, errands, grunt work. You’ll basically be everyone’s favorite human doormat.
You fetch, fix, and follow without complaint. For years, sometimes. If you’re waiting for the welcome party, spoiler alert—it doesn’t exist.
Survive the grind, and maybe you’ll earn a vote. Complain or slack off, and you’ll be shown the door before you even see a patch.
Although Hazing Is Brutal, Retaliation Is Worse
Prospects get hazed—badly. It’s part of the test. The rule? You endure every prank, insult, and chore without so much as a grimace.
Fighting back or complaining isn’t just frowned upon—it’ll kill your chances. Retaliation means instant failure, and your shot at the patch vanishes faster than your dignity.
Hazing proves loyalty, patience, and grit. Survive it, and you’re closer to brotherhood. Fail it, and you’re just another story members tell to scare rookies.
Don’t Interrupt Meetings
Meetings are serious. If you talk out of turn or interrupt the agenda, expect dirty looks and maybe a hundred-dollar fine. Yes, that’s real.
This isn’t a brainstorming session. It’s business. You speak when asked, or when it’s your damn turn. Otherwise, zip it and listen.
Think of it like biker church. There’s order, structure, and zero tolerance for blabbering. So take notes, not the floor, unless you’re told to.
Stay clean
Illegal substances? Huge no. If you’re using, dealing, or even hanging around it, you’re not just breaking the law—you’re breaking the club’s code.
The past may be messy, but now the message is clear: no drugs, no excuses. That lifestyle gets you bounced, fast and hard.
Not everyone got the memo—some charters learned it the hard way. FBI raids aren’t fun, and neither is 25 years in federal orange.
Consent Isn’t Optional
For all their outlaw reputation, there’s zero tolerance for crossing boundaries with women. Consent isn’t a suggestion—it’s law, enforced harder than almost anything else.
Derogatory behavior or predatory actions don’t just embarrass the offender—they put the entire club’s reputation at risk, which guarantees a swift and brutal response.
Cross this line and you’re not just out—you’re out bad. Respect is mandatory, and anyone who forgets it won’t last long enough to patch in.
Break the Rules, Pay the Price
Rules aren’t suggestions—they’re survival tactics. Break one, and punishment could mean expulsion, fines, or, in extreme cases, a very painful lesson in club justice.
Severity depends on the offense, and the charter. Some problems stay local. Others bring heat from other charters. You do not want that.
One wrong move, and you’ll lose your patch, your pride, maybe your skin. Rule-following isn’t square here—it’s how you stay breathing.
Respect Territory
Charters claim turf like wolves. That’s their ground, and any outsider stepping in without permission? That’s seen as provocation—sometimes the kind that draws blood.
If another club opens shop in a claimed zone, tensions flare. It’s not friendly competition—it’s war with handlebars and matching patches.
Territory means pride, history, and legacy. Cross the line, and you don’t just challenge a few guys—you challenge everyone they ride with.
Expect Violence
This isn’t a knitting circle. Violence isn’t the goal, but it’s always an option. If war comes, they don’t send emails—they send engines.
Clashes with rivals are legendary. The Mongols, the Outlaws, the Bandidos—these aren’t just names, they’re chapters in a violent saga of turf warfare.
You join, you accept that risk. No illusions. No tears. This world runs on loyalty, engines, and the ever-present threat of payback.
