Sales were growing, but problems with manufacturers were growing too. Factories in the US at that time were holdouts of a dying industry. With each year, they got weaker, and getting product from them became harder.

An order with a pant factory in Brooklyn was six weeks past due. I called every week because my customers were waiting. Finally, the owner, Mr. Hertling, 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.”

It wasn’t just Hertling—we were having similar problems everywhere. I had no control over the product. I had to either start my own factory or get out of the business. I decided to start a factory.

Within a month, I chose Los Angeles. The clothing industry was still active there. It was the logical move.

I told a vendor from my day job I was moving to LA. He said, “Before you do that, come talk to me and my business partner in East Rutherford.”

They offered me space in their building to get started. It was an opportunity to stay close to existing relationships. That is how we landed in New Jersey.

It was early 2012. I moved into a back corner, bought my first machines, hired a full-time seamstress, and posted an ad on Craigslist for a jean maker.

Gabriel replied. He had just arrived from the Dominican Republic, where he worked in a GAP jean factory. He taught us how to make jeans.

Next came shirts. We found Mr. Chin on Craigslist, too. He was a no-nonsense shirt factory owner from India who spent three months with us. That’s 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. I saw entrepreneurs with no experience building what looked like successful apparel brands in a few years.

I chose to learn everything myself. The learning curve was long, and the mistakes were expensive. But I couldn't do it any other way.

Most entrepreneurs see the forest. I see the trees.

For example, we needed product photos, so I learned Photoshop. I still do that work today.

That need for control is why I started a factory. But it diverted my attention, and caused me to miss a shift in the industry.

Between 2012 and 2016, while I was in the factory, online marketing entered a golden age. Brands built followings overnight. The cost to acquire customers on Facebook and Instagram was low.

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.

A waistband machine leaks air. A double needle skips stitches. These types of fixes are the priority because production stops and customers are waiting.

The entire industry shifted to outsourcing and marketing because it's easier. Running a factory is harder. But it separated us from our competitors. 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 didn’t dress to impress. I dressed to stop thinking about my clothes.

This made me empathetic to customers with fit problems. Since we had a factory and talked directly to them, we could fix those problems.

If a customer needed an adjustment, we made it. If enough customers needed the same adjustment, we created a new fit option. Our fit options grew beyond what we could manage.

For over a decade, we focused on solving fit for every guy who ordered. The factory enabled that. We built a fit 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 competitors, shopping with us felt difficult. I had to choose between being a custom shop for a few, or 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 guys. 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. Most customers saw no difference, but many had questions. We were answering questions daily about how our jeans and khakis fit differently.

I decided consistency was more important than variety. Focusing on jeans would allow us to be more consistent. We discontinued khakis and trousers, and walked away from 25% of our sales.

We gave a one-year notice, and in early 2025, we removed them from the site. It hurt the business. It felt like starting over.

I had to remind myself why I started this. I didn't start it to build a one-stop shop.

I wanted a better fit than what stores offered. And once I found it, I wanted to buy the exact same fit the next year, and years later. I wanted to figure it out once, and be done.

It took 20 years to figure out 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 them in our own factory and sell them directly to you.

We keep the collection small because it makes shopping easy and the product consistent.

We want to make clothes you reach for every morning, and replenish them year after year.