I’ll never forget the moment I realised I'd wasted $50,000 and years of production and sampling time with my fiancé and co-founder on our ethical and sustainable menswear label, MISTER BLADIN.
We'd spent two years piecing together the first range for two reasons: we both worked other jobs, which meant working on MISTER BLADIN after hours, and we didn’t want to rush things, so we took our time. MISTER BLADIN is an ethical, sustainable, organic, and Australian-made t-shirt brand for tall men and at first glance, you're probably thinking, “It’s a t-shirt. What took so long?”. But for me—someone who’s been in the industry her whole career—it had to be done ethically, it had to be sustainable, it had to be organic, and it couldn’t just be “another standard t-shirt” because the world has enough of those.
And for my fiancé, Rick, who is over six feet tall, these shirts had to be engineered differently. They had to be long enough but not baggy, they had to solve a problem for tall men, they had to be made impeccably well so they lasted, and they had to feel good—because they couldn’t just be “more standard t-shirts” when the world has enough of those.
So, we were meticulous with details, and after two years of planning, designing, sampling, changing, tweaking, and finding the right suppliers who shared our values and vision, we finally made it to production.
When we cracked open the first box of MISTER BLADIN's debut shirts, it felt like everything we'd worked so hard for had finally come to fruition. As Rick slowly reached into the box and ran his fingers over the luxurious organic cotton, I could already picture our range in stores, on hangers, and out in the world being worn by customers who loved our vision.
But that euphoria didn’t last long.
As we began checking each shirt, the issues started to pile up. At first, it was small details: missing care labels on a few shirts, brand labels and size tags completely forgotten on others. “Annoying, but fixable,” I thought, trying to reassure myself. But then Rick pulled out a white shirt and noticed a dark, greasy stain near the hem. Another shirt had a speckled patch of what looked like blood. My stomach dropped. “How many white shirts are we actually going to be able to sell?!”
The final blow came when Rick tried one of his shirts on. He got as far as the neckline but couldn't get it over his head. It wouldn’t budge. No give. No stretch. It was like trying to squeeze a chicken into a test tube.
The manufacturer had used a straight stitch instead of a stretch stitch around the neckline on the entire range of shirts—a detail we had explicitly outlined over numerous email conversations. It wasn’t just a quality issue; it made the entire collection completely unwearable. Manufacturing bills, fabric costs, and years of hard work, down the drain.
My heart raced as the full weight of the situation hit me. We'd spent everything we had on getting this brand off the ground. We’d prepped for years, pouring every spare dollar and all our energy into making it perfect. We'd spent thousands of dollars on a photoshoot with the final samples. We'd built the website and publicised our launch date. And now? It felt like we had nothing.
This wasn’t just a setback—it was a potential business-ending disaster. Every dollar we had was tied up in those shirts. We'd already spent nearly $50,000 designing, grading, sampling and shooting the rest of the six-piece range beyond this shirt, the first drop, and we'd bought hundreds of metres of Australian grown, luxury cotton fabric to prepare for the roll out. Our marketing plan was built around this first drop. We had over 5,000 followers on Instagram waiting for it, and we'd been dropping teasers and sneak peeks to build the hype. We had a handful of retailers on the line ready for our launch. We had hundreds of newsletter subscribers ready and waiting to buy. And now, we were staring at boxes full of clothes that were practically useless.
The logical part of my brain told me to calm down and assess the situation, but the emotional side was already spiralling. I knew I couldn’t afford to give up, but I had no idea where to start. I spent the next day drafting and deleting emails to the manufacturer, going over every invoice, and triple-checking the paperwork. And then, like a lifeline, I found it—the agreement our manufacturer signed before production began.
There it was, in black and white: every detail of our arrangement laid out clearly. The document covered the requirements for labelling, final production quality, and construction techniques—right down to who was liable to fix any mistakes that had been made during production.
With our assurance in hand, we sent an email with the agreement attached as a reminder, highlighting every clause in question, and requested a resolution. At first, we braced ourselves for pushback—excuses, maybe even silence—but our manufacturer responded quickly.
The agreement was legally binding, and it stated very clearly that any issues with final production needed to be corrected at their expense. So, within a week, the entire shipment of shirts was headed back to the manufacturer to be fixed. The necklines, the damaged shirts, the missing labels, all of it, and we didn’t have to pay for it.
It wasn’t a fast process, and it didn’t erase the stress we'd gone through, but it saved our collection and our entire brand. Without that agreement in place, we would’ve been stuck trying to sell defective tees or paying out of pocket for expensive fixes—either of which would’ve been a crushing blow to the brand and our timeline.
The experience taught me one of the most valuable lessons of my career: in fashion, a strong working agreement isn’t just a formality—it’s a safety net. It’s the difference between absorbing someone else’s mistake and being left to shoulder the burden yourself.
And it's why I’m such a firm believer in using agreements whenever you work with a supplier. Anyone who touches your brand—pattern makers, graders, graphic designers, web developers, sample makers, and manufacturers—needs to have signed your Fashion Supplier Non-Disclosure and Working Agreement.
It’s not just a piece of paper; it’s your protection against the unexpected. Whether you’re working with a local manufacturer or outsourcing overseas, this document ensures that everyone involved is on the same page—and that you have the power to act if things go wrong.
Get yours here and protect your fashion business. Pay for it once and use it again and again with as many suppliers as you need to. From my personal experience of spending $50,000 on the launch of our Australian made menswear brand, that agreement was the difference between giving up and being able to afford to go on.
Claire x
