After You Hit "Buy," Here's What Actually Happens

If you've ordered a crewneck from us, you've probably noticed we're not a two-day shipping operation.

I want to explain why, because "made to order" gets printed on a lot of websites and doesn't always mean much. Here it's literal. When you place an order, the thing you ordered does not exist yet. There's no shelf in the back with your Zion crewneck on it, waiting.

So here's the whole process, start to finish.

It starts with a blank

I keep blank sweatshirts on hand, because the blanks are the same no matter which park you pick — heathered grey, unisex sizing.

What I don't keep on hand is the design. We're up past twenty park designs now, in a range of sizes. If I pre-made all of that, I'd have a garage full of sweatshirts nobody asked for, and I'd eventually be throwing some of them away. I'd rather not.

Then I hoop it

This is the part that takes actual skill, and it's the part I can't rush.

Hooping means clamping the sweatshirt into a frame so the fabric sits flat and tight, in exactly the right place. If the hoop is off by half an inch, the design lands crooked on your chest and there's no fixing it afterward — you can't un-sew embroidery without leaving holes behind. So I measure, I eyeball it, I measure again. On a sweatshirt, which is thick and stretchy and has a seam running through it, this is harder than it sounds.

There's also a layer of backing that goes behind the fabric before it gets hooped. Sweatshirt knit stretches, and stitches pull — without something stable underneath, the design slowly distorts the fabric as it sews and you end up with a puckered mess. Nobody ever sees that layer. It's most of the reason the front looks right.

Then the machine runs, and I sit with it

I do the embroidery myself, on our machine, in our house.

I also don't walk away while it's running. Thread breaks. Tension drifts. A needle snags. If I'm in another room when that happens, I come back to a mess instead of a design. So I stay put and half-watch the stitches land, usually with a cup of coffee going. Honestly, it's my favorite part of the job.

Then I check it, fold it, and write on the box

When it's done I turn it inside out, trim the backing, and look at the front in good light to make sure the stitching is clean.

If something's off, I start over with a new blank. That has happened. It's not fun, but sending out a crooked one is worse. Then it gets folded, boxed, and a thank-you note goes in with it. I write those.

The honest trade-off

Here's what all of this costs you: time.

Your order takes longer than something that ships out of a warehouse the same afternoon. If you need a gift by Friday and you're ordering on Wednesday, we're not your shop — and I'd rather say that plainly than take your money and disappoint you.

What you get instead is a piece one person made on purpose, after you asked for it. Nothing sat in a bin. Nothing got made in a batch of five hundred. And if something's wrong when it arrives, you're emailing the person who made it, not a support queue.

That's the trade. I think it's a good one. I also understand it isn't the right one for everybody.

If you want to see what's in the shop, the crewnecks are here. Pick your park and I'll go find a blank.

Tara