Ethan Glenn never planned to start a clothing brand. Every Other Thursday began as a mood board on Instagram: vintage cars, old catalogs, the drape of a well-worn jacket. But one day he made a single hat with the account’s name on it and wore it in his videos—and people started asking to buy it.
That one hat grew into a multimillion-dollar apparel brand with a retail store in New York City, built with no outside investment and no formal fashion training. Drawing on a background in photography and marketing, Glenn grew the company one drop at a time, reading demand signal by signal. Here’s how he converted an audience into a business, funded every step from cash flow, kept his own face off the brand on purpose, and stayed disciplined about what he makes.
On making one hat and discovering a business by accident:
I actually had no desire to start a clothing brand. That was never on my vision board or anything I’d looked toward. I came from a marketing background—a lot of photography and video—but I had a bit of a personal brand and this mood board on Instagram where I posted cool photos.
One summer I just made a hat with the name “Every Other Thursday” on it, which was the mood board’s name at the time. I was wearing it in my videos, and people were like, “Oh, can I buy that hat?” And I was like, “I guess.” So I made 20 hats, and they sold out in a couple minutes.
That’s when I thought, “Wait a second, what else could I make?” It just kind of snowballed, and within 12 to 18 months it was a full-fledged merch brand. It was evolving faster than I could keep up with. When you see a demand for something, you kind of have to jump on it—so that’s what I did.
On the “look around my apartment” method for deciding what to make next:
Hats were just what I was wearing a lot of at the time. I still am—I’m wearing one right now. And it’s an easy first purchase for a customer. It’s relatively cheap compared to everything else.
So after the hat did well, I looked around my apartment and asked, “What can I turn into a product and use in my content?” I had this cool loft apartment that was a big part of my content, and I was always taking photos of the interior—the coffee table, whatever it was. So I made a little ashtray with the logo on it. I could set it on a pile of books, shoot my living room, and tag it. That worked.
Then I looked around again and thought, “I use a wallet every day, so why don’t I make a leather wallet?” I kept building with small pieces that were realistically easy enough to make my own—no full cut-and-sew garment, nothing too difficult. I just kept looking at my daily-use items and asking what I could turn into a product.
On treating his audience as a finite resource worth converting fast:
Before I had an audience of my own, I worked for a couple of influencers in the million-follower realm in Toronto—doing their photo, their video, their editing. So I saw the power of a large audience early. Part of that is brand deals, but part of it is the ability to channel an audience into a company and have this built-in ready-to-purchase customer base.
When I started growing my own following, I thought, “I don’t want to be an influencer forever. That’s not something I see doing for decades. So what can I do to capitalize on this momentum right now?” Because for a lot of people, it doesn’t last forever.
In my mind, an audience is a finite resource, whereas the brand could just infinitely grow into a much larger being regardless of audience size. That’s the difference. You don’t see an influencer carrying the same weight as a legacy company. So when the hat took off, our motto became: If it’s working, let’s just go as fast as possible. I put all my eggs in that basket, hired a production manager in LA, and started fueling the beast.
On funding every drop with the last one instead of taking investment:
Ever since the beginning, it’s just funded itself. I never put money in, and we’ve never taken investment. The first 20 hats sold, and I took that money and paid for the next 80. That sold, and I paid for the ashtrays. It snowballed from there, and every drop was bigger than the last.
For the first year and a half or two years, it was very drop-based. The website would sit empty for months at a time with nothing to shop, because we’d taken all our available capital and put it into the next batch. That was the whole model.
Coming from a marketing background helped a lot, because one of the most expensive parts of building a brand is the marketing side—photo shoots, editing, emails, the website. That was all stuff I already knew how to do, so I didn’t have to pay for any of it. Every dollar we made for the first few years went straight into making more product. And for the first two or three years, I don’t think we ran a single ad. My personal audience was still converting on its own.
On why he kept his face off the brand from day one:
We always kept the two separate. If you followed me, you got the behind-the-scenes—the sampling, the building of a brand, all the stuff that’s interesting to watch. But if you followed Every Other Thursday, you only saw the brand. You didn’t see my face. It was its own beast. We always hired models. I was never the model, so it could grow on its own.
A lot of people fall into the trap where the only way they’ll sell a product is if their face and name is attached to it. You see it with influencer-led brands—you follow the person, they make the product, and because they’re selling it, you want it. But if that person disappeared one day and it was only the company left, maybe you’re not as interested anymore.
Because I built the two as independent verticals, the brand got its own legs a lot quicker. It’s funny—about six months ago we opened a store here in New York, and I’ll be in the shop helping out, and someone will come in and go, “Sorry, do you work here?” We get to talking and they ask, “How long have you worked here?” And I say, “Well, it’s actually my business.” That’s the payoff. I look at the J.Crews of the world—they’ve been around for decades, and there’s a reason their name carries weight.
On “building sideways” instead of into a million categories:
I’m not a very big fashion person. I’m just making the things I actually wear every day. We only have one pair of jeans right now, because those are the only ones the team wants. Having that specific viewpoint has really sharpened our product catalog.
People ask how you get repeat customers off a narrow catalog, and for us it’s about building sideways rather than building into a million different categories. Our bestselling pants are our fatigue pants—a classic military cut, and our most popular color is this beautiful faded green that looks like old army pants. We spent a lot of time getting the fabric and fit right. People buy it, love how it fits, then come back for a different color. This year we introduced a linen version—in theory the exact same pant, but it feels and looks completely different because the fabric is so different.
Then you build out the wardrobe. You start with the pants, then the shirt—but there are 10 different options in a shirt, whether it’s color, fabric, pattern, or print. Same general fit, but a blank white cotton and a plaid linen are vastly different. That’s how you end up with customers who have 10, 20, 30 orders under their belt. It starts with one, they like how it fits, and it multiplies from there.
The basics earn the trust. Once a customer knows the shirt fits great, they’re more inclined to take a chance on something a little more out there. The trap I’ve fallen into before is thinking, “I need to make that because it’s what’s cool right now.” I’ve really focused on not doing that. Having a specific idea of what your world and vision look like matters more than chasing a trend.
On learning he can’t do everything:
I’m a workaholic. I could do everything all day long, and part of me wants to. But that’s not good for me, and it’s not good for the company, because true growth comes from having other ideas in the room—people who are better suited for different skill sets than I am.
So over the past year and a half, we’ve hired across the board: retail employees, people on the brand side. That’s opened up my creative ideas, because I’m not bogged down in production schedules or dealing with the warehouse day to day. At some point you hit a burnout stage where you’re too tired or too mentally exhausted to make anything.
I’m the creative fuel of the company, and your growth stops if you can’t keep being creative and interesting. So the biggest thing I’ve learned is that I don’t need to do everything. Building the team on the back end is what lets me keep doing the part only I can do.
Hear Ethan’s full conversation on Shopify Masters for more on how skipping wholesale keeps his prices under market, why he doesn’t love TikTok, even though it’s where he blew up, and how each city he’s lived in quietly decided the company’s next move.
