The similarities between Quang and Smathers & Branson were grounds enough to begin a working relationship. Carter and Branson packed a box with every component that went into making a belt: construction diagrams, instructions on the spacing of holes, designs painted onto needlepoint canvas, material swatches, and the very belts that inspired their business. Quang received the shipment in his tiny rice village outside of Hanoi and got to work making a sample, which he shipped back to Smathers & Branson for inspection. It was good, but not quite good enough. So they sent back requests for improvements—twice. In September and October, they went through three rounds of samples. Though there was improvement with each round Quang shipped back, the quality still wasn’t quite up to par.
Branson and Carter were frustrated, but Quang’s persistence over email kept them going: I’ll get this right. I know I can do this.
Branson’s father encouraged them to take a big but necessary leap. “Before you throw in the towel, go over,” Bob Branson said. “And don’t leave Vietnam until you get it right.”
IN NOVEMBER 2004, Carter and Branson touched down in Hanoi. The young men dressed in navy blazers for their first in-person meeting with Quang, who was surprised to learn that he had not been communicating with a middle-aged married couple. They spent the day getting to know each other in Quang’s windowless office.
“We didn’t have a translator,” Carter says. “There wasn’t enough money for that.” Humor—and a whole lot of pointing—were instrumental in getting their ideas across.
Carter and Branson spent a month in Quang’s hometown that first visit. They worked closely with the villagers hired by Quang to sew the belts, overseeing their progress and troubleshooting how to tighten up designs.
Over time, confidence in Quang—and the quality of the needlepoint—reached a level that satisfied both sides. “We left knowing this was going to work,” Branson says. “Or at least that it had a chance.”
Posing in Vietnam with some of the sewers who received reading glasses provided through a company-sponsored charity project. Photo courtesy of Smathers & Branson.
Using money saved from their summer jobs, Carter and Branson placed their first official order with Quang. In early 2005, 500 needlepoint belts arrived on the Branson doorstep in Bethesda.
THAT INITIAL BATCH of Smathers & Branson designs reflected a careful study of their target demographic. There was a fly-fishing motif, American and nautical flags, and a few drink-centered designs. Also in the delivery: a golf pattern and a horse-racing theme.
Armed with their first batch of inventory, Branson and Carter hit the road. First stop: South Carolina, where a friend of Carter’s mother had agreed to host the first Smathers & Branson trunk show.
“She invited friends over, and we told our story,” Branson remembers. “They loved the uniqueness of it. We didn’t fit the image of who should be selling needlepoint.”
Where they did fit, however, was with the potential recipients. The belts they were hawking were gift items, and the trunk show attendees were eyeing them for their husbands and sons—men who looked and acted a lot like Carter and Branson. Their belief in the product was all the convincing the audience needed.
“We sold 30 or 40 belts,” Branson says. “It was way more than we expected.”
Sixty percent of Smathers & Branson revenue came from trunk shows all over the East Coast that first year. The rest rolled in the old-fashioned way: from wholesale orders placed by men’s stores that Branson and Carter cold-called in each state they visited.
Some stores were initially skeptical about moving a $150 belt that wasn’t crocodile leather—but it worked. Charleston, South Carolina’s Grady Ervin & Co. was the first shop to sell Smathers & Branson products, and D.C.’s Sherman Pickey followed soon after. Of the 30 accounts they pursued, 29 said yes on the first try.
Business wasn’t huge, but it was growing steadily by the month.
“All of our inventory fit in the back of a station wagon at that point,” Branson recalls. “If a store called, we’d pull over and ship from the nearest post office.”
Thanks to low overhead—“We paid for what we made, and we’d sell it as soon as we made it,” Branson says—the company was profitable after its first spring.
“We never borrowed a cent,” Carter adds. “And we’ve never taken outside capital.”
The company’s belt collection includes themes such as fishing, golfing and hunting. Photo courtesy of Smathers & Branson.
OVER THE YEARS, Smathers & Branson has grown intelligently, deliberately and without any public relations efforts. Business boomed by word of mouth—one men’s store would tell another about the colorful needlepoint belts that were outselling traditional leather. At home, benefit sales at Landon School, Georgetown
Preparatory School and St. Albans School, Branson’s alma mater, became key sources of revenue and new contacts.
Product expansions happened no more than three or four at a time. “We can only grow as fast as we can stitch,” Carter says. Key fobs came first, then dog collars. Wallets, flasks and coasters rolled out in the next batch. At first, Quang contracted with about 50 sewers; now it’s close to 5,000. To this day, every Smathers & Branson product is hand-stitched in Vietnam.
One of Carter and Branson’s goals from their Bowdoin days was to make collegiate designs. They reached out to the Collegiate Licensing Company (CLC) and obtained the rights to sell merchandise for more than 85 colleges and universities. To date, key fobs stitched with school logos are among the fastest-moving Smathers & Branson products, scooped up like candy by alumni and students at bookstores and specialty shops in college towns.
The CLC partnership also paved the way for conversations with Major League Baseball and the National Hockey League. Fans can now show their support for 22 baseball teams and 15 hockey teams with needlepoint belts, flasks, wallets and more. Golf has also been a popular arena for the brand, and a chance connection with Bob Ford, the head pro at Seminole Golf Club in Juno Beach, Florida, has led to profitable partnerships with country clubs across the nation.
Five years in, Bergdorf Goodman came calling, and a five-year stint at the luxury department store in New York City was enough to introduce Smathers & Branson to Asian markets. Collaborations with Brooks Brothers, Duck Head, Southern Tide, Woolrich and other stalwarts of prep have followed.
Media and celebrity placements, important sources of exposure that are often fought for, hard, by hired publicists, happened without much effort. Jeffrey Pfeifle, then president of J. Crew, picked his Smathers & Branson belt as a “favorite thing” in a magazine profile, and in 2010, The New York Times Fashion & Style section ran a profile of the company. Though President Barack Obama has yet to sport one, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush and George H.W. Bush have been spotted in Smathers & Branson American flag belts.
Branson often brings his dog, Moose, to work with him at the company’s office in Bethesda. Photo by Sean Scheidt.
A staff that began as two recent college graduates now counts 23 full-time employees. But Branson and Carter haven’t forgotten the foundations of the company. Quang remains their sole partner in Vietnam—he’s replicated the belt-making processes he honed in his own village in dozens of others in the northern part of the country.
“What we do is difficult, but it’s nothing compared to what he does,” Carter says.
They’ve grown close to Quang’s family, as well: His son Nghia spent the summer of 2012 interning at Smathers & Branson
and living with Carter in Bethesda. Despite knowing almost no English upon his arrival, Nghia was a hit with the other interns, who were formally tasked with talking to him as much as possible while packing orders and checking inventory.
Nghia returned to work in the Smathers & Branson production department the following summer. With his English improving, he helped smooth out several communication issues between Carter and Branson and his father.
“He’s the only person that has seen operations on both sides of the ocean,” Carter says. Heir apparent to his father’s company, Nghia’s insight has been invaluable to Branson and Carter as they think about where the business might go from here.
ENTREPRENEURSHIP HAS a sexy image—huge risks based on gut instincts, flashy offices with frat house-worthy amenities—but like most successful small business owners, Carter and Branson have taken a more cautious approach. You won’t see pingpong tables or kegerators at the company’s headquarters in Bethesda’s West Wood Center II, off River Road (they moved out of the Branson basement in 2006). “We’re not frivolous with how we spend,” Branson says. “For better or worse, it’s one of our guiding principles.”
They also aren’t frivolous with how they plan for the future. Goals—even the lofty ones, such as a flagship store—are firmly grounded in realities. Though their 2013 holiday pop-up shop in Northern Virginia’s Mosaic District proved successful, it will take the right combination of size, location (they’re eyeing Bethesda Row or Georgetown) and nearby foot traffic to commit to a permanent retail spot.
Their strategy has paid off. Smathers & Branson declined to disclose revenue numbers, but said that they sold 230,000 products across all categories in 2014; in their first year, they sold 2,800. This year marks the 10-year anniversary of the company, and with it comes a partnership with the most ubiquitous retailer of prep right now: J. Crew. The retailer began selling select Smathers & Branson-designed key fobs and card wallets in stores this spring, and will debut a custom collaboration with Smathers & Branson this fall.
It will be their highest-profile partnership to date, but not an entirely necessary one. Smathers & Branson seems to do just fine on its own. Branson likes to tell a story of a former Smathers & Branson employee attending a bill-signing with President George W. Bush. When the employee mentioned that she worked for a needlepoint belt company, the president said: “Is that those Bowdoin belt boys?”
Sarah Zlotnick (zlotnick.sarah@gmail.com) lives in the District and writes often about fashion and weddings.
