Last January, Todd Lansky was in the stands of Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, Calif., with his son Tyler before the Detroit Lions’ most momentous N.F.L. game in about a half-century. The Lions were about to face the San Francisco 49ers in the N.F.C. Championship Game when Mr. Lansky’s phone buzzed.
Mr. Lansky, 53, is a lawyer by day. By night, he runs a fan-geared merchandise company called Detroit Army out of his Chicago-area home — a passion project that he thought was gaining some traction at around the time when the Lions, formerly woebegone, were making their playoff push last season.
Amid a torrent of texts and missed calls, Mr. Lansky realized what had happened: Dan Campbell, the Lions’ head coach, had worn one of Mr. Lansky’s Detroit Army trucker hats in a televised pregame interview with Michael Strahan of Fox Sports.
It turned out to be a tough day for the Lions, who ran up an early lead before collapsing in the second half. But at least Mr. Lansky came away with a win: Detroit Army received 379 orders in three minutes after Mr. Strahan’s interview aired.
“That number,” Mr. Lansky said, “is etched in stone.”
For a team that had been almost synonymous with loss and frustration for decades, and a fan base used to being on the receiving end of sports-talk mockery, rising to the top of the N.F.L. and having a grassroots clothing line has led to what once seemed an unlikely feeling: Being a Lions fan is cool.
Just as unlikely as the Lions’ rise was that of Detroit Army. Without the benefit of a licensing deal with any professional teams or leagues, it still managed to nudge its way into the hypercompetitive sports apparel market. It happened thanks to Mr. Lansky’s enthusiasm for the work; an assist from his 21-year-old daughter, Zoey; and the serendipitous involvement of Mr. Campbell, a popular coach whose surging Lions are back in the playoffs this season, this time as Super Bowl favorites.
“It’s a labor of love,” Mr. Lansky said.
The brand, he said, has everything to do with his affection for Detroit, where he grew up before attending college in Indiana and moving to Chicago for law school. Once in Chicago, he found that his social circle largely consisted of fellow Detroit expats. It was a lesson: You can take the person out of Detroit, but you can’t take Detroit out of the person.
“If you run into someone from Detroit,” he said, “no matter where you are, there’s this instant bond.”
In 2007, Mr. Lansky was preparing for a weekend retreat to play in a recreational basketball tournament with several friends who were also natives of Detroit.
That team needed a name, and Detroit Army was born.
A few years later, Mr. Lansky created a logo for the team — Detroit Army’s Old English “D” was inspired by the Detroit Tigers’ logo — and had jerseys printed. It was a fun diversion for a self-described “gear guy” who used to make T-shirts for his college fraternity.
But Mr. Lansky soon branched out beyond jerseys. He began sending Detroit Army sweatshirts, T-shirts and baseball caps to friends as gifts. For Mother’s Day one year, a large number of women in his family received camouflage sweatpants.
Still, it was not a business — not yet — even though Mr. Lansky had “Detroit Army” trademarked in 2016. He had a demanding job as the managing partner of a credit and collections law firm, and he had trouble grasping the idea of moonlighting as the sole employee of a start-up apparel brand.
But he always believed that Detroit Army could grow into something more. His gear tapped into the sense of community that he felt among fellow Detroiters, he said, and it seemed only a matter of time before he would be able to “move beyond just giving away free merch.”
The turning point came in June 2021. Mr. Lansky’s trademark was in danger of lapsing, and his daughter, Zoey, staged an intervention. Detroit Army deserved more of his attention.
“Dad,” she recalled telling him, “this is getting out of hand.”
It was time, in other words, for Mr. Lansky to turn his fun little hobby into a business. He knew that Detroit Army needed a webpage. His daughter informed him that it needed an Instagram account, too.
There was just one problem.
“He didn’t really know what he was doing,” Ms. Lansky said.
So, before she left for her first year at Ohio State University, Ms. Lansky became her father’s instructor. The course was Instagram 101. She showed him how to create a profile. She explained the difference between a post and a story. She demonstrated the importance of proper lighting.
Despite their many hours of hard work together, Mr. Lansky still felt a bit lost when his daughter, as he put it, “completely abandoned ship” by leaving for college.
“So I’m up at 2 in the morning trying to figure out how to do Instagram posts and stories,” he said.
A year later, when Ms. Lansky was a sophomore, a snappy-looking story popped up on her Instagram feed, courtesy of Detroit Army. She thought that her father must have hired an expert. But no: He had done it himself.
“I was so proud of him,” she said.
Thanks to social media and word of mouth, Detroit Army was slowly becoming more popular. Mr. Lansky had a so-called Detroit Army room at home, a work space of organized chaos (boxes, gear, packing slips). He had one rule for his three children: Don’t. Touch. Anything.
And then Mr. Campbell got involved.
When the Lions hired Mr. Campbell as their head coach in 2021, the team was terrible. But Mr. Campbell, a barrel-chested former N.F.L. player, coached the team to a winning record in just his second season. And he connected with Detroit’s loyal fans by looking the part of a throwback football coach and also sounding like one: He has spoken about molding his team into one that would “kick you in the teeth” and “bite a kneecap off.”
To Mr. Lansky, Mr. Campbell was Detroit personified — and a perfect match for his brand. That Mr. Lansky happened to live down the street from Mr. Campbell’s agent, Rick Smith, proved to be the opening he needed, with Mr. Smith encouraging Mr. Lansky to assemble a Detroit Army care package for Mr. Campbell.
Sure enough, Mr. Campbell wore one of Mr. Lansky’s hats when he showed up to a news conference during his first season with the team, and he has continued to wear Detroit Army apparel ever since. He has plenty of options: Mr. Lansky sends Mr. Campbell’s family a fresh box of gear every few weeks.
“Dan loves what the brand stands for, and he just wears it as a guy,” Mr. Smith said. “There’s no endorsement, there’s no anything. It’s just kind of a fun thing.”
More recently, Ben Johnson, the Lions’ offensive coordinator, started wearing Detroit Army hats on occasion. Mr. Johnson is also represented by Mr. Smith. (With the Lions preparing for a playoff game against the Washington Commanders on Saturday, neither coach was available for comment.)
Now, four years into Mr. Lansky’s “side hustle,” the Detroit Army account on Instagram has more than 10,000 followers. He has filled customized orders for apartment complexes, alumni groups and small businesses. Outreach comes in the form of sending merchandise to celebrities and athletes with Detroit connections, and then hoping they post photos of themselves wearing the gear online.
“You have to see what sticks,” Mr. Lansky said.
Last year, he said, Detroit Army turned a profit for the first time with nearly 2,700 orders.
Ms. Lansky is constantly seeking updates from her father on the business — and the Lions.
“I’m obsessed with Dan Campbell,” she said. “I’m obsessed with Ben Johnson. I’m obsessed with it all.”
Her father, however, still dwells on missed opportunities. When the N.F.L. staged its annual draft in Detroit last year, Mr. Lansky said he would have loved to host a pop-up shop near the festivities. But he did not have the time. Though Mr. Lansky now runs his business through the e-commerce marketplace Shopify and an online fulfillment center, Detroit Army is still essentially an army of one.
“There’s a lot more that I’d like to do,” Mr. Lansky said.
With that in mind, he said, he hopes that his daughter, now a college senior, becomes more involved and perhaps even takes over someday, building the company into something even bigger.
“It’s probably time,” he said, “to grow it up a little bit.”
