We’ve been working with the same factory partner in Bangladesh since 2012. Over the years, I’ve come to understand just how vital it is to build personal relationships with everyone involved in making our products—not just the owner, not just the merchandiser, but the patternmakers, the sewing operators, the floor managers, the whole crew.

I don’t believe truly great products can be made without a strong, cooperative relationship between brand and supplier. Great design only works when it’s clearly communicated—and that takes more than emails, tech packs, or Zoom calls.

You’ve got to be there. On the ground. In the factory. Showing up, listening, collaborating, laughing, sweating, learning.

Here’s my hard-won roadmap for how we keep our supplier relationships thriving—and have a hell of a time doing it:

Eat the food. All of it. Enthusiastically.

Food is culture. It’s history. It’s hospitality. Saying yes to the meal is saying yes to the relationship. I’ve seen the eye-rolls that picky eaters get from factory teams. I’ve said “yes” to meals on the side of the Dhaka–Chittagong highway, including cow’s brain, curry so hot it made me cry, and more rice than I thought humanly possible. 

Engage in rigorous physical competition.

Want to build instant camaraderie with your factory partners? Lace-up your shoes and join the game.
Soccer, cricket, whatever’s happening on the lot after hours. Physical competition is the great equalizer between managers and operators. It builds mutual respect.

You can’t ask someone to go the extra mile on a mock-up if they’ve never seen you sprint down the sideline, drenched in sweat, giving it your all in 90° heat and 1000% humidity. And a balding, pink, tremendously sweaty man can be a source of great humour too, and laughter is the ultimate community builder. 

Talk the talk.

Learn the language. Not just “hello” and “thank you,” but really learn. Ask the operators about the slang. Get curious.

I kept hearing the phrase “Thik Achhe” all over the factory floor—after fittings, during quality checks, in casual conversation. I finally asked what it meant.

Turns out, it means “okay” or “fine, that works.” In a factory, it’s a power word. Now I drop “Thik Achhe” into conversations whenever I can. And it lights people up. They laugh, they nod—they know I’m trying. That matters. 

Accept the invitation.

You’ll be tired. Jetlagged. Brain-fried after 10 hours on the factory floor. But if you get invited to a wedding, a dinner, or a family event—you go.

A Bangladeshi wedding is nothing like its American counterpart. It might last three days. There might be thousands of guests. But your role is simple: show up, eat the food, say congratulations.

You’ll be in a hundred photos. You’ll feel like a celebrity. You’ll be a source of curiosity. But to your supplier, your presence means everything. You didn’t just visit. You partied. 

I’ve found that when you invest in the people who make your products, your products get better. It’s not a formula—it’s a relationship.