When we graduated high school, our father asked us if we wanted to be doctors or lawyers. Our answer was no, so that meant straight to work. In 1999, we started working at our fathers clothing warehouse on McDonald Avenue in Brooklyn, New York. The day always started bright and early. We unloaded 18 wheelers filled to the brim with cartons. In the summertime, it was a humid 90 degrees and no air conditioning. For the brutal NY winters, there was a five foot heater hanging over head that only kept you warm if you stood directly under it. It was so cold, you cold see your breath. We wore thermals with a hoody over it, some sweats and beat up sneakers over two pairs of socks. Once the trailer was unloaded, the real work began. We sorted out the cartons by style and color and started to pick and pack our customers bulk orders. Lunch break was about 15-20 minutes and was usually a sandwich or pizza. There were no set hours. Our father only closed for the day once the work was complete and the warehouse was broom clean, ready for what tomorrow would bring. At the time, we didn’t understand why our father didn’t just hire some guys for $10 an hour to do the job. We worked in the warehouse for about six years before going on to do other work in the company. It was during this period that we were heavily into style and clothes. We would spend all the money we made on the latest sneakers or a vintage polo piece. Having our own brand seemed like an out of reach dream. Never forget where you come from.