a həsəl story [part 2]

Fade to Black

həsəl was finally in motion. After everything, it felt good to be grinding again—leveling up, gaining experience, pushing forward. But no matter how fast I chased the dream, my foundation never changed: family always came first.

My days were spent caring for the kids. As soon as my wife got home from work, I’d switch gears and dive into həsəl. I’d stay up late into the night, fueled not by caffeine, but by vision—a belief that I was building something real, something that mattered, and most of all, something that made me happy.

It started small. I was sketching out lettering designs, hunting for manufacturers, and trying to bring something tangible to life. I found a print shop in Santa Monica that promised high-quality heavy blanks. They assured me they could order the fabric, have it shipped, and print directly on it. Sounded perfect. So I trusted them.

Lesson number one? Always touch the fabric first.
When the samples arrived, they felt... wrong. The quality wasn't what I expected and the blank wasn't as they described. I couldn’t sell it. I wouldn’t. So I gave those shirts away to family instead. A small loss. A quiet redirection. Just part of the process, I told myself.

Back to the drawing board. More research. More trial and error. I realized that if I wanted the quality I wanted, I had to go the cut-and-sew route. But that wasn’t cheap.

I found a manufacturer with a solid track record and teamed up with one of their designers. We put together a custom sample pattern with premium cotton and clean stitching. I dropped $1,500 on that sample alone. When it arrived, I held it in my hands and knew—things were finally moving in the right direction. For the first time, the dream felt real.

Production was next. I sourced a textile manufacturer to create custom rolls of fabric. With limited capital, I planned to make 300 tees. Play it smart. But then came another curveball—MOQs. Minimum Order Quantities. I hadn’t realized fabric manufacturers had them. To even begin, I had to buy double the fabric just for them to get started.

When the rolls arrived, I was hyped again. It was everything I imagined—heavy jersey with vintage-worn softness. I sent it straight to the cut-and-sew shop. We had a plan for 2020. Tees by January. Brand launch in February.

Then, the world changed. Wins do...come and go.

A Pandemic

January 2020—COVID hit. My manufacturer called me with the news: production was on hold. They had to shift gears to produce Personal Protective Equipment (PPE). Everything stopped. Months passed. No movement. No progress. Just silence.

Eventually, I got the call—production could resume. But the setbacks weren’t over. My manufacturer dealt with employee turnover issues, and I cycled through three different production managers. Each transition meant more delays and more confusion.

Then came the disaster.

I was notified that the original sample, the one supposed to be the blueprint for my entire production, was gone. Lost somewhere in the shuffle. And worse—my rolls of fabric had been cut out of spec.

When I finally received the tees, I felt it in my gut—something was wrong. The neck openings were too wide. The logos? Crooked. Everything just felt… off. I inspected every single piece, pulling them one by one from the custom garment bags I had paid the manufacturer to bag them in. Out of the entire run, 60% were completely unsellable. The remaining 40%? Technically wearable, but not what I had designed. Not something I could confidently sell.

Unfortunately, I was only refunded for the labor. But the fabric, the time, the energy—that was all gone. And by then, cotton prices had tripled because of the pandemic. Restarting meant starting over with even more cost.

I was right back where I began.

As I searched for a new manufacturer, everything else started to weigh on me. The delays, the broken promises, the long nights spent sacrificing sleep and time with my family—only to end up back at zero. Again.

I kept telling myself to stay busy. To keep working. To push through.

But with everything at a standstill, the silence grew louder. All the emotions I’d buried came rising to the surface—doubt, regret, exhaustion.

I felt myself slipping. Not physically, but mentally—like I was falling through a darkness with no ground beneath me. Layer after layer. A slow descent into my own personal inferno. It felt like a twisted version of The Divine Comedy, except the only ones laughing were the demons echoing their whispers in my head.

I had strayed from the path. Wandering lost within myself, a Lost Soul.

To Be Continued…