Essays

Building Thomas Alan: From 5–9

July 16, 2026 · 3 min read

People often ask me when I work on Thomas Alan. The answer surprises them.

From five to nine. Not nine to five.

By day, I’m a Customer Success Manager at Salesforce. I genuinely enjoy what I do. It’s a career that has challenged me, introduced me to incredible people, and allowed me to grow professionally.

But somewhere around five o’clock, my workday changes. The laptop stays open. The notebook comes out. Fabric swatches replace spreadsheets. Store layouts replace slide decks. Instead of thinking about customer success, I’m thinking about how a fitting room should feel, which cloth mill I want to partner with, or whether a product belongs in the Thomas Alan world.

That’s when my second job begins. Except it doesn’t feel like work. It feels like purpose.

There’s a narrative online that if you’re serious about building a business, you should quit your job and go all in. I’ve never found that advice particularly helpful. For most people, that’s simply not reality. We have responsibilities. Mortgages. Families. Retirement accounts. Health insurance. Bills that don’t care how passionate we are.

Building something doesn’t always begin with a leap. Sometimes it begins with consistency. Sometimes it begins with choosing, every evening, to invest a few more hours into the life you hope to build.

That’s the version of entrepreneurship I know.

The funny thing is that almost nothing about building Thomas Alan looks exciting. One evening I might spend three hours comparing garment suppliers. Another, I’m researching lighting for a future showroom. Sometimes I’m editing product photos. Sometimes I’m writing articles like this one. Sometimes I’m answering emails that nobody but me will ever read.

Most of the work isn’t glamorous. But then again, neither is laying the foundation of a house. No one admires the concrete. They admire the home that eventually stands on top of it.

I’ve started thinking of those evening hours differently. They’re not just time. They’re votes. Every night I decide to work on Thomas Alan instead of watching another episode of television, I’m casting a vote for the future I want.

One evening doesn’t change much. Neither does one week. But six months? A year? Two years? That’s where businesses are built. Not in dramatic moments. In ordinary ones.

One of the biggest lessons this journey has taught me is that progress compounds. People see a website launch. They see new products. They see a logo. Eventually, they’ll see a showroom. What they don’t see are the hundreds of evenings that made those things possible.

Businesses aren’t built during launches. They’re built long before anyone notices.

I think that’s also why I’m comfortable taking my time. Thomas Alan was never meant to chase trends. I want to build something that still feels relevant twenty years from now. A place where craftsmanship matters. Where hospitality matters. Where getting dressed still means something.

That kind of business can’t be rushed. And honestly, I don’t want it to be.

I’m thirty-eight years old as I write this. There are moments when I wonder if I’m starting later than I should have. Then I remind myself of something: there is no perfect timeline. There is only yours.

Maybe your dream is a coffee shop. Maybe it’s a consulting firm. Maybe it’s a bookstore. Maybe it’s something you’ve been quietly carrying around for years without telling anyone.

Whatever it is, you don't have to build it all today. You just have to build it tonight. That's what I'm doing from five to nine, One evening at a time. Somewhere along the way, those evenings are slowly becoming Thomas Alan.