Sales were growing, but problems with our manufacturers were growing faster. Domestic factories at that time were holdouts of a dying industry; with each year, they became weaker and getting product from them became harder. After a pant factory in Brooklyn fell six weeks past due, the owner told me, “We’ll get to your order when we get to it. If that’s not good enough, you need to make a decision.” I realized then that I had no control over my product. I had to either start my own factory or get out of the business. I decided to start the factory.

Within a month of leaving my job, I chose Los Angeles as my next move; the clothing industry was still active there and it felt logical. But before I left, a vendor urged me to speak with his business partners in East Rutherford, New Jersey. They offered me space in their building to get started—an opportunity to stay close to my existing relationships. That is how we landed in New Jersey in early 2012.

I moved into a back corner, bought my first machines, and posted a Craigslist ad for a jean maker. Gabriel replied; he had just arrived from the Dominican Republic, where he’d worked in a GAP factory, and he taught us how to make jeans. Next came shirts. We found Mr. Chin, a no-nonsense factory owner from India who spent three months with us. That is how we learned to make clothing.

It took 12 years to learn how to design, make, and sell. I used to wonder why it took so long when I saw entrepreneurs with no experience building what looked like successful apparel brands in a few years. But I chose to learn everything myself. Most entrepreneurs see the forest; I see the trees. That need for control is why I started a factory, even though the learning curve was long and the mistakes were expensive. I could not do it any other way. However, that focus diverted my attention and caused me to miss a major shift in the industry.

Between 2012 and 2016, while I was focused on the factory, online marketing entered a golden age. Brands built followings overnight as the cost to acquire customers on social media was at an all-time low. My competitors spent every extra dollar and hour on marketing; I spent mine on people and machines. I knew I needed to focus on marketing, but the factory always needed me more. When a waistband machine leaks air or a double-needle skips stitches, those fixes are the priority because production stops and customers are waiting.

The entire industry shifted to outsourcing and marketing because it is easier. Running a factory is harder, but it separated us from our competition. They got good at marketing; we got good at making.

When I said I cared about clothing more than normal, I was talking about fit. I knew what I needed to see in the mirror: if the fit was off, it was a distraction. I did not dress to impress; I dressed to stop thinking about my clothes. This made me empathetic to customers with fit problems, and because we owned the factory, we could fix them. If a customer needed an adjustment, we made it. If enough customers needed the same adjustment, we created a new fit option. Eventually, our options grew beyond what we could manage.

For over a decade, we focused on solving fit for every man who ordered. The factory enabled that. We built system with no gaps: home try-on programs and onboarding tools. We could fit anyone, but it required their involvement—forms, decisions, and answers. It worked, but compared to our competitors, shopping with us felt difficult. I realized I had to choose: remain a custom shop for a few, or become a consistency solution for many.

In late 2023, I announced we were simplifying our fit options. I was nervous to send that email, and we lost some customers, but we had a bigger change coming. We were making jeans, khakis, and dress trousers, but every fabric behaves differently; a khaki will never fit exactly like a jean. If a customer loved the fit of his jeans, he expected his khakis to feel the same. We were answering questions daily about why they felt different, and I realized that consistency was more important than variety.

I decided that focusing exclusively on jeans would allow us to be truly consistent. We discontinued khakis and trousers, walking away from 25% of our revenue. We gave a one-year notice, and in early 2025, we removed them from the site. It hurt the business and it felt like starting over, but it was the only way to protect the integrity of the solution we promised.

I had to remind myself why I started this: I did not set out to build a one-stop shop. I wanted a better fit than what stores offered, and once I found it, I wanted to buy that exact same fit years later. I wanted to figure it out once and be done. It took 20 years to learn how to make clothing, how to make it fit, and how to keep it consistent. Today, we focus only on the fit-critical garments that form the foundation of a wardrobe: jeans, shirts, and t-shirts. We make everything in our own factory and sell directly to you, keeping the collection intentionally narrow to make shopping easy and the product consistent. Our goal is to make the clothes you reach for every morning—the ones that simply need to be replenished, year after year.