Tiny Wins

Chapter I; We’ve Been Here Before

Element: Earth

The Lie

Growth is a straight line.

The Truth

Growth is cyclical. Life returns us to familiar places not because we’ve failed to move forward, but because each return gives us the opportunity to meet the same circumstance as someone new.

There are certain phrases that carry far more weight than the words themselves.

“We’ve been here before.”

Depending on when we hear it, those four words can feel comforting or devastating. They can remind us that we’ve survived something once already, or convince us that we have somehow failed to leave it behind. More often than not, they arrive with a subtle sense of disappointment, as though returning to familiar ground means we’ve wandered instead of making progress.

I have spent a great deal of time thinking about why that is.

Perhaps it begins with the story we’ve been told about what growth is supposed to look like. From a young age, we inherit the idea that life unfolds in a steady upward direction. We picture ourselves moving from one milestone to the next, each accomplishment carrying us farther away from the uncertainty that came before it. We graduate. We build careers. We fall in love. We make more money than we did the year before. We become wiser, more confident, more certain of ourselves, believing that each lesson, once learned, belongs permanently in the past.

It is a compelling narrative but it’s also one that bears little resemblance to life.

What fascinates me is that this expectation exists almost nowhere outside of ourselves. Nature has never operated this way. It has never promised uninterrupted ascent or permanent arrival. Every system that surrounds us is built upon rhythm rather than repetition, movement rather than permanence. The tide retreats only to return. The moon disappears before becoming full again. Trees spend months stretching toward the sky before surrendering every leaf they have grown, trusting that another season will ask them to begin again. Rivers rarely take the shortest path, choosing instead to bend, curve, and reshape the landscape over time. Even the earth beneath our feet is in constant motion, changing so gradually that we mistake it for stillness.

Nothing in nature moves in a straight line. Only humans expect their lives to.

That realization has stayed with me because it asks an uncomfortable question. If the natural world has always moved in cycles, why do we assume that our own lives should be exempt? Maybe that is why familiar challenges feel so unsettling. We mistake returning for regression. We encounter fear we thought we had outgrown, uncertainty we believed belonged to another chapter, grief that resurfaces years later, financial stress that echoes an earlier season, and our first instinct is to wonder what we did wrong. We convince ourselves that if we had truly grown, we would never have to meet these emotions again.

But growth has never promised that. Growth does not erase life’s recurring seasons but rather, changes the person who walks into them. That, I think, is where we have misunderstood the invitation. When life circles back to a familiar place, we instinctively measure the circumstance and compare it to the last time we stood there, searching for evidence that we have somehow lost ground. Rarely do we stop to consider the only thing that has fundamentally changed; ourselves. The person returning is no longer the person who first arrived. The years between have left their mark. We have loved and lost. We have failed and recovered. We have accumulated disappointments, friendships, scars, wisdom, responsibilities, and perspectives that did not exist before. Even if the landscape appears familiar, we are encountering it with an entirely different set of eyes. Growth has never been about escaping certain seasons of life but about becoming someone capable of meeting those seasons differently. That thought has changed the way I look at my own life. Because when I stopped asking why I found myself back in familiar places, I finally became curious about who I had become since the last time I stood there.

And that, more than anything else, is where this story begins.

When I think back to my early twenties, I don’t remember having a clear plan so much as I remember having an overwhelming desire to build a life that felt like my own. Like many people at that age, I was trying to reconcile two very different ambitions that often seemed at odds with one another. I wanted to make beautiful things. I wanted to live creatively, to chase ideas that excited me, to say yes to experiences that made me feel alive. At the same time, I was trying to understand the very practical reality of supporting myself, paying bills, making rent, and navigating adulthood for the first time without a map. Looking back now, it seems obvious that those two pursuits would collide.

I accumulated credit card debt. I missed payments. There were months when I carried far more anxiety than confidence, not because I was reckless or irresponsible, but because every lesson was arriving for the first time. Until you’ve learned how money works, you don’t know how money works. Until you’ve experienced financial uncertainty, you don’t know how quickly fear can begin making decisions on your behalf. It is easy, years later, to look back and imagine that a younger version of yourself should have known better. It is much harder to remember that every capable adult was once a person learning these things for the very first time.

What I recognize now, with the benefit of distance, is that those years taught me something far more valuable than how to manage a budget. They taught me what survival feels like. Survival strips life down to its essentials and removes the luxury of overthinking. It asks you to become resourceful before you feel ready, courageous before you feel qualified, and resilient before you know whether resilience is something you possess. It is an uncomfortable teacher, but an honest one. For me, it also awakened a quality that I didn’t yet have a name for. Gumption.

There comes a point in certain seasons of life where the fear of remaining exactly where you are becomes greater than the fear of asking for something extraordinary. You begin sending the email, making the phone call, introducing yourself to the person you admire, applying for the opportunity you assume is out of reach. Rejection loses some of its power because standing still no longer feels like an option. That season changed the trajectory of my life and eventually led me into the technology world, where I had the privilege of helping build a company during one of the industry’s most explosive periods. For six years, I experienced the momentum, ambition, and relentless pace that defined so much of that era. On paper, it looked like the story we are taught to want. There was stability where there had once been uncertainty, opportunity where there had once been limitation, and the reassuring feeling that I had finally arrived at the version of adulthood I had spent so many years working toward. For a while, I believed that too.

The interesting thing about achievement, however, is that it eventually will reveal whether you have been chasing the right destination all along.

I realized I no longer believed in the work I was giving every ounce of myself to and I could no longer ask my heart to invest in something my values had already begun to outgrow. Leaving was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made. Not because I didn’t know what I was walking away from, but because I had no idea what I was walking toward. At the time, it felt like I was choosing creativity over certainty. Only later did I realize I was choosing uncertainty all over again.

Over the past few years, my husband, Garrett, and I have been building Stachehaus. Like any new business, it’s brought with it equal parts excitement and uncertainty. There have been projects that exceed anything we could have imagined, opportunities that remind us why we took the leap in the first place, and seasons that seem to move with incredible momentum. There’s also stretches where the future feels impossible to predict, where every invoice matters, every inquiry carries weight, and every decision feels just a little heavier because there isn’t a corporation standing behind us. There’s only us. What’s surprised me most is not the uncertainty itself, but how familiar it feels.

Somewhere along the way, I started to experience emotions that I hadn’t felt in nearly a decade. The same anxious thoughts that had accompanied me in my early twenties began resurfacing, dressed in entirely different circumstances. The details have changed, of course. I’m no longer a young woman trying to figure out how to build a career from scratch or wondering if dying my hair pink was a terrible mistake. In every sense, I have a life that looks nothing like the one I had lived at twenty-two. Yet the feeling of standing on uncertain ground feels remarkably familiar.

At first it was met with resistance. How could I possibly be back here? Hadn’t I already learned this lesson? Hadn’t I already done the difficult work of becoming someone more confident, more capable, more resilient?

It’s taken me longer than I care to admit to realize that I’ve been asking entirely the wrong question. Because the point was never whether I would return. The point has been whether I’d notice who has returned.

There is one undeniable difference between navigating uncertainty in your twenties and navigating it in your thirties. You’re way more tired.

I don’t mean physically, although sometimes that too. I mean tired in the way that only life can make you. By your thirties you have accumulated responsibilities, disappointments, expectations, relationships, memories, and losses. You understand what can go wrong because you have already lived a bit more to know that it sometimes does. There is an innocence that naturally belongs to youth, a willingness to leap before calculating every possible outcome. Time replaces some of that innocence with wisdom, but wisdom has a weight to it. Being tired changes the way uncertainty feels and yet, it also offers something your younger self never possessed. Perspective.

When I was twenty-two, uncertainty convinced me that everything depended on getting the next decision exactly right. At thirty-two, I have enough evidence to know that life has a way of continuing, even when my carefully constructed plans do not. I have survived difficult seasons that once felt impossible, rebuilt after disappointment, learned that some endings become beginnings only after enough time has passed for us to recognize them.

For most of my life, I believed growth meant leaving old versions of yourself behind forever. I imagined it as a staircase where each step carries you farther from fear, farther from uncertainty, farther from every lesson you’ve already learned. When those emotions resurface, I’d tend to interpret their return as evidence that I had somehow slipped backwards. Now I wonder if we often misunderstand growth altogether. Perhaps growth is not measured by the absence of familiar emotions, but by the way we respond when they return. Perhaps courage is not reaching a place where fear no longer exists, but recognizing fear as an old acquaintance instead of an impossible enemy. Perhaps resilience is remembering that we have survived before.

The more I have sat with this all, the more compassionate I have become with myself. There is freedom in accepting that life will continue introducing familiar seasons, not because we are stuck, but because each return reveals another layer of who we are becoming. The challenge itself may not be new, but we are.

I recently heard someone say that success and money are wonderful byproducts, but terrible goals. I haven’t stopped thinking about that sentence because the longer I live, the less interested I become in measuring success by circumstances alone. Businesses will grow and contract. Opportunities will arrive and disappear. There will be seasons of abundance and seasons that ask more of us than we feel prepared to give. Those rhythms are inevitable and character is what remains. Character is built each time life returns us to familiar ground and asks, with remarkable patience, “How will you choose to walk through it this time?” That, I have come to believe, is the real work.

So the next time you find yourself standing in a season that feels uncomfortably familiar, resist the instinct to believe you have somehow lost your way. Resist the temptation to measure your progress by the fact that the landscape looks the same. Instead, take a moment to notice the person standing within it. Notice what experience has taught you. Notice what heartbreak has softened in you. Notice the confidence that now exists where uncertainty once lived. Notice the wisdom that could only have been earned by returning.

We’ve been here before.

Thankfully.

Because the person standing here today is not the one who stood here before. And that has been the point all along.

At the Haus, this year has marked a meaningful chapter. We entered our third year in business and our third year living in New York; milestones that carry their own weight and symbolism. On paper, these are moments that should feel celebratory. They represent growth, resilience, and the realization of things we once only dreamed about. Yet one of the more complex truths I am learning in this season is that success rarely arrives as a singular feeling. It does not always feel triumphant, expansive, or even particularly clear. More often, it arrives layered, carrying gratitude alongside exhaustion, pride alongside uncertainty, and joy alongside the heaviness of life’s inevitable losses.

At the beginning of this year, our little family experienced one of those losses. We said goodbye to Mella, Garrett’s beloved dog of sixteen years, our endlessly sweet, funny, adventurous girl who brought so much spirit and warmth into our home. For years, it was the four of us- Garrett, myself, Maui, and Mella- our perfectly balanced little crew, and her absence changed the rhythm of our lives in ways both immediate and subtle. Grief has a way of moving into everything. It settles into routines, colors your energy, softens your excitement, and makes even the most beautiful moments feel touched by sadness. When you are building something creative, something that asks you to remain expansive, imaginative, and deeply connected to your spirit, grief introduces a difficult tension. It asks how you continue to create when your heart feels heavy.

For the first few months of this year, that question sat with us daily. Alongside grief came the heaviness of winter, the unpredictability of a slower production season, and the mental work of trying to stay healthy, inspired, disciplined, and hopeful while wondering why everything suddenly felt harder than it should. And with that came a familiar inner voice, one I imagine many people know well, whispering guilt in moments where compassion is what is actually needed. You have so much to be grateful for, it says. You live in a beautiful place. You are building something meaningful. You are working on beautiful projects. You are successful. So why does it not always feel that way.

I have been thinking deeply about that question, and what I keep returning to is how distorted our understanding of success has become. We are conditioned to believe that success is a destination, a point on the horizon we race toward with the promise that once we arrive, we will finally feel settled, proud, fulfilled, or at peace. We tell ourselves that the next milestone will be the one that changes everything, whether that is a certain income bracket, a dream client, a beautiful home, a new title, or some elusive sense of arrival. Yet when we get there, we rarely stop long enough to fully inhabit it. We move the finish line almost immediately, shifting our attention toward what comes next without ever allowing ourselves to acknowledge what we have already built.

For a long time, I mistook that instinct for limitlessness. I believed relentless ambition was evidence of drive, discipline, and vision, and in many ways it has served me. It taught me how to work hard, how to endure, and how to build. But after years of operating in that mode, I have also learned that constant striving carries a hidden cost. It creates anxiety. It makes contentment feel just out of reach. It keeps you in a perpetual state of becoming without ever allowing you to feel rooted in where you already are.

Perhaps this is one of the great transitions of our thirties, the often uncomfortable work of unlearning. Unlearning habits that no longer serve us, definitions of success that were handed to us, rhythms that were built around productivity rather than presence, and beliefs about what should matter most. As someone who spent much of my twenties in the corporate world, where hustle was currency and busyness was often worn as proof of worth, stepping away from that mindset has not been as simple as changing careers. It has been a much deeper process of trying to understand what I genuinely care about, what I stand for, what kind of life I want to build, and what success actually means to me now.

Recently, I heard someone articulate a truth that shifted something in me. We tend to believe that life moves in a steady, predictable rhythm, and that hardship is the disruption. When something painful or difficult happens, we instinctively ask why it keeps happening, why just as things begin to feel aligned, something goes wrong. Beneath that question is the assumption that life should be smooth, that happiness should be consistent, and that stability should be the norm. But what if that is the illusion. What if life is not a perfect rhythm occasionally interrupted by chaos, but rather something inherently shaped by chaos itself.

The deeper truth is that life is naturally filled with peaks and valleys, grief and joy, abundance and scarcity, love and loss, clarity and confusion. That tension is not evidence that we are doing something wrong. It is evidence that we are alive. The moments that feel soft, abundant, peaceful, and deeply aligned are not the permanent state we are meant to sustain, but precious moments we are meant to recognize, savor, and hold with gratitude when they arrive.

What I am learning now is that success has very little to do with numbers, titles, or whether business happens to be in a busy season or a quiet one. Success is becoming skillful at navigating life as it is. It is learning how to sail through changing waters with steadiness, how to weather storms without losing yourself, and how to fully recognize moments of sunshine while you are standing in them. Success is found in the morning that feels peaceful, in a season where work flows with ease, in the abundance that allows you not only to be responsible but to genuinely enjoy what the world has to offer, in time spent with the people and animals you love, and in ordinary afternoons that feel unexpectedly sacred simply because you are present enough to notice them.

At Stachehaus, this is what we are learning in real time. We are still building, still dreaming, still navigating uncertainty, and still becoming, but perhaps that is the point. Perhaps success is not found in finally arriving somewhere permanent, but in becoming the kind of person capable of moving beautifully through it all.

What a remarkable few months.

From helping people set up their LLC’s from scratch, to bespoke creative mentorship, to brand positioning and strategy; the range of talent I’ve had the privilege of working with has been exhilarating. Discovery calls for the second wave are already underway, and I’m equally energized by who’s coming next.

But there’s one theme that has threaded through almost every single session:

Pricing.

More specifically-

Why are creatives so afraid to price according to their expertise?

Not aspirational pricing.

Not inflated ego pricing.

Just standard market-informed, experience-backed, fair compensation in a world where inflation is very real. And yet, I have found myself pulling teeth to help incredibly talented people charge what is already considered average in their respective regions and cities.

The Scarcity Loop

Here’s what I see over and over:

• A photographer who hasn’t raised their day rate in five years.

• A producer still charging the same fee they quoted when they were just starting out.

• A creative terrified that if they increase their rates, they’ll lose their clients.

The fear is simple:

If I charge more, they’ll walk away.

That’s scarcity mindset. And it’s understandable. Creative work is personal, rejection feels personal, and money conversations feel uncomfortable.

But here’s what I always say:

If you want to be a successful creative, you must also be a successful business person. And successful business people know their numbers.

They understand market comps.

They track inflation.

They reassess annually.

They communicate clearly.

They don’t avoid the conversation because it’s uncomfortable.

We Are in the Service Industry

This is the reframe I offer in Expand:

As creatives, we are in the service industry.

There is:

• Pre-production

• Strategy

• Planning

• Execution

• Delivery

• Revisions

• Administration

• Communication

You would not hire a painter to quote one room and expect them to paint a second room for free. You would not ask them to complete the job and then casually mention you’ll pay them in 30, 60, or 90 days. So why do we accept this structure for creative professionals? Why are extended net terms considered “standard” when the work has already been completed? Having worked on the brand side, I can confidently say this: most clients know their budgets before they reach out. Those budgets are approved (annually or quarterly). Yes, finance teams have processes. Yes, payouts may be scheduled. But “this is just how it works” is not a sufficient reason for creatives to underprice or accept convoluted payment structures without question…

Your Rate Is Not Just a Number

One of the biggest shifts I try to make in mentorship is this:

Don’t just send a number- communicate what the number represents.

Break it down:

• Creative development

• Pre-production planning

• On-site execution

• Equipment or rentals

• Post-production allocation

• Revision rounds

• Project management

When clients understand what they’re paying for, pricing becomes less emotional and more logistical.

And if the scope increases then the price increases. That is not aggressive, that’s just standard business practice.

The Real Problem

The real problem isn’t that creatives are greedy, it’s that we don’t talk about money openly enough.

We don’t share comps. We don’t normalize rate increases. We don’t teach emerging talent how pricing sheets are structured. We don’t discuss payment terms with transparency.

In an industry that markets itself as collaborative and open, money remains oddly quiet.

That silence breeds insecurity. And insecurity keeps people underpaid.

The Work Behind the Work

Expand was created because I was tired of watching talented people guess.

Guess at pricing.

Guess at positioning.

Guess at business structure.

Guess at what they “should” be charging.

Creative careers cannot be built on guessing. They are built on clarity, standards, and confidence backed by research and structure.

If any part of this conversation feels uncomfortably familiar and if you’ve been sitting on rates you haven’t revisited in years, or questioning whether you’re undercharging but unsure how to recalibrate, that’s exactly the work we do inside Expand.

It begins with a short intake form and a few thoughtful questions plus a bit of context about where you are and where you’re trying to go.

From there, I personally review every submission and schedule a 20-minute discovery call to determine whether it’s the right fit.

No pressure. No obligation. Just clarity.

Because knowing your worth is one thing but being able to articulate and structure it properly is another.

And that skill changes everything.

Book a Discovery Call!✨

Not because it feels new anymore, and not because it feels settled. But because clarity starts to replace adrenaline. You stop chasing momentum for momentum’s sake, and instead begin asking better questions about how you want to move forward.

As we wrap Year Two at Stachehaus (!) and step into Year Three, I can say this with confidence: this past year was not about growth in the loud, obvious ways we are often taught to measure success. It was about something deeper, more internal, and ultimately more foundational.

The Year of Inward Expansion

We use the word expand a lot. It has become a through line in our work, our conversations, and even the consulting frameworks we’ve built. But this year reframed what expansion actually means.

Expansion does not always look like scaling outward. Sometimes it looks like slowing down enough to listen. Sometimes it looks like asking questions you have avoided because the answers might require change. Sometimes it looks like allowing discomfort instead of bypassing it.

Year Two was a year of introspection, both personally and professionally. It was the year we began saying things out loud. Naming what felt aligned and what didn’t. Acknowledging the parts of our work that energized us, and the parts that quietly drained us, even when the projects themselves were exciting on paper.

And to be clear, this was still a year of meaningful execution. We moved from primarily social-first work into full-scale commercial productions. We collaborated with incredible teams. We pushed ourselves creatively. We built trust with new partners. We grew the scope and caliber of what we are capable of producing, and we are deeply grateful for that.

But alongside that momentum came an inner recalibration; a realization that expansion without intention is just motion. And motion without clarity eventually leads to friction.

If anything, the deepest expansion this year happened inside our thinking, our values, and our expectations for how creative work can and should feel.

From Softness to Fire

There was a collective softness to this year that felt necessary. A return to the body, to the nervous system, to what actually feels good to sustain. Many of us slowed down, reassessed, and allowed ourselves to be more human in how we worked.

That softness mattered. It gave us perspective, honesty, and room to breathe.

And now, something is truly shifting…

As we move in to 2026, there is a palpable change in energy. A readiness to take everything we learned internally and bring it into action. Less circling. More embodiment (my personal word for the year). Less questioning for questioning’s sake, more decisive movement.

This next chapter feels fiery. Not reckless, but alive. Not rushed, but purposeful.

Expansion outward asks more of us. It asks us to do things differently than we have before, to stretch beyond comfort, to build smarter systems and to take up space with conviction rather than caution.

From both a personal and business lens, this is incredibly exciting.

Where the Friction Lives

With clarity often comes discomfort, especially when it reveals structural problems we can no longer ignore.

One of the most consistent challenges we experienced this year surfaced any time our work passed through unnecessary layers of intermediaries. Middleman agencies. Diluted communication chains. Endless feedback loops that obscured rather than clarified the creative vision.

In many cases, these layers did not add value. They slowed momentum. They fractured trust. They introduced misalignment that ultimately required more work to resolve, not less.

We found ourselves asking a simple but important question: Who is this serving?

We are operating in a creative landscape where the people making the work are no longer siloed specialists waiting for direction. Creatives today are thinkers, strategists, and business owners. We have access to tools, resources, and collaborative processes that allow projects to move efficiently and thoughtfully, without the need for excessive gatekeeping.

There are absolutely moments where agencies are essential. Large-scale campaigns. Experiential activations. Fully integrated brand worlds that require multiple disciplines moving in sync.

But there is something deeply broken about a system where a brand hires a large agency, which hires another agency, which hires another agency, which then hires the team that actually conceptualizes, produces, and delivers the work. Only for that work to travel back up through layers of opinions, revisions, and approvals that dilute the original intent.

At some point, creativity loses its pulse.

This work should still feel exciting. It should feel collaborative. It should feel human. And too often, those qualities are lost when old power structures prioritize control over clarity.

What We Are Expanding Toward

Stachehaus was built with a different vision in mind.

Direct relationships. Clear communication. Mutual respect between clients and creators. Work that is ambitious, well-produced, and still enjoyable to make.

As we step into Year Three, we are expanding outward with intention. Toward partnerships that value trust over hierarchy. Toward processes that prioritize alignment over noise. Toward creative work that feels energizing rather than extractive.

This is not about rejecting collaboration. It is about evolving it.

The industry is changing whether we like it or not. And those willing to adapt, to listen, and to move with integrity will continue to thrive. Those clinging to outdated systems built on fear, ego, or redundancy may find themselves left behind.

Closing the Chapter

Year Two taught us how to listen. Year Three is asking us to move.

We are carrying forward the introspection, the discernment, and the softness that grounded us. And we are pairing it with action, conviction, and a willingness to expand beyond what feels familiar.

This next year is about execution with soul, growth with clarity, and most importantly- creativity that does not lose the plot.

And maybe you’re here because the word “entrepreneur” still feels a little foreign in your mouth, but also… tantalizing. A whisper you can’t quite shake…

If that’s you, welcome. You’re exactly in the right place.

Because wanting something different, or more expansive, or more aligned is one of the most thrilling, disorienting, alive feelings a person can have. And whether you’re leaving a corporate role, upleveling a long-standing creative career, or simply staring at your ceiling thinking, “Okay… but what else?” I promise, you are not alone.

In fact, you’re in excellent company.

The Questions We Don’t Say Out Loud

When people tell me they want to be a creative entrepreneur, I always want to ask them the real questions first.

Do you know what that means?

Do you have respect for the creative field you’re stepping into?

How strong is your foundation?

Are you leaving something stable because you’re running toward something, or because you’re running away?

What exactly are you asking yourself at three in the morning?

Because here’s the truth;

Every big leap starts as a tiny question mark you can’t ignore. Curiosity is a mirror, and once you catch your reflection, it’s almost impossible to look away.

If you’ve been having quiet conversations with friends, daydreaming on subway rides, or feeling that itchy little tug toward “something more,” congratulations. You’re in the doorway. And what a beautiful, privileged doorway it is.

To want more from life is a gift.

To be willing to explore it is even bigger.

It’s Actually Not That Serious

One of the most grounding truths I’ve learned, especially in the creative world, is this:

We’re not saving the world. We’re creating in it.

We’re meeting extraordinary people.

We’re telling stories.

We’re building things from nothing but an idea and a good cup of coffee.

And if we’re lucky, we get to make a living doing it.

That’s wild. And wonderful.

Even outside the creative space, I’ve seen this happen again and again.

You do the “right” thing. The degree, the job, the ladder.

You build stability.

You become a functioning adult.

And then suddenly, you realize: Oh… this can’t be it.

That moment is not a failure.

It’s maturity.

It’s clarity.

It’s the quiet courage to redirect.

Maybe you want to start a business. Maybe you want to create content. Maybe you want to focus on motherhood and build passive income. Maybe you don’t know the “what” yet, just that something inside you is shifting.

These are the spaces I care deeply about.

These are the stories I can’t stop thinking about.

My Throughline: Experience

If I had to summarize my entire career- fashion, marketing, tech, events, production- it all distills into one theme:

Experience.

How something feels.

How we receive it.

How it lands, resonates, expands.

That’s been my heartbeat from day one.

And this year, especially through running our own agency, I’ve realized the second layer of that calling.

Helping other people shape the experiences they want to create.

I meet so many wildly talented people who are sitting on brilliance but don’t know where to begin. And the truth is: beginnings aren’t glamorous. They’re logistical. They’re emotional. They’re overwhelming.

Which is funny, because the things that feel overwhelming to most people just happen to be the things I thrive on. Structure, discipline, clarity, systems, execution. The unsexy stuff that makes your dream real.

The Part No One Prepares You For

Here’s what no one told me when I was younger.

To be a functional creative adult, a truly successful one, you need two things:

1. Emotional intelligence

2. Operational intelligence

You cannot outrun those.

And you cannot build a business without them.

Over the years, and through jobs that were… character building, I learned both at a pace I didn’t always choose. But it shaped me into a person who isn’t afraid of the “how.”

How do you start an LLC?

How do you handle business taxes?

Do you need a PR team?

Which systems should you use?

How do you hire employees?

How do you structure your days?

You can have the world’s greatest idea, but if you don’t know how to execute, it lives and dies on the notes app page you wrote it on.

Execution is everything.

And sometimes, you just need someone to sit with you, help you brain dump the chaos, and turn it into a tangible, realistic plan.

From “Taking the Leap” to Taking Shape

This past spring, we held our first community panel: Taking the Leap.

And something cracked open.

People weren’t just asking about creativity.

They were asking about sustainability.

Structure.

Boundaries.

Next steps.

Identity shifts.

Fear.

Scaling.

Funding.

The reality of leaving or transforming a career.

The conversations were electric. The curiosity was contagious. And I realized this isn’t a moment.

It’s a movement.

So we built something with intention, with depth, and with the grounded frameworks I’ve spent years learning. Sometimes the hard way.

These programs aren’t “coaching” in the traditional sense.

They’re partnership, clarity, structure, and strategy, built for individuals and for brands.

They’re an environment for exploration, expansion, and that first brave yes to the version of yourself you know is waiting.

This week, we’ll be rolling everything out officially, inviting discovery calls, and holding space for the people who feel that quiet tug toward 2026.

The year you finally move differently.

The Real Truth

I’m still navigating my own entrepreneurial leap, too.

I’m learning, growing, messing up, refining, evolving in real time.

And I plan to be honest about that process because community isn’t built on polished perfection.

It’s built on shared momentum.

So if you’re standing on the edge of something, unsure but excited, brave but terrified, I get it.

I’ve lived it.

I’m still in it.

And I’d love nothing more than to walk with you as you take your next step.

Because isn’t that the point? To build something beautiful. To lift each other up. To grow together.

Book a Discovery Call

If you’re feeling that spark or that quiet yes, here’s your invitation.

Book a 20-minute Discovery Call with me✨

We’ll explore what your leap could look like, how to build your foundation, and what you’re truly ready for.

Free 20 Min Call

The conversations stretched from film and TV to policy and litigation, from the environmental impact of massive data centers to the fight to build guardrails that protect actors, models, writers- really, everyone in between.

It was fascinating, eye-opening, and frankly, exhausting. I left feeling full- not just intellectually, but emotionally. There was so much information. So much urgency. So much to absorb.

And somewhere between the innovation and the overwhelm, I found myself asking a familiar question:

What am I supposed to do with all of this?

The weight of knowing

As I get older, I notice this pattern more and more- the sheer volume of information that enters my orbit seems to multiply every year. News, politics, art, wellness, friendship, business; every conversation feels louder, faster, and more emotionally charged.

The conference was simply the catalyst that made me realize how saturated I’ve become. Because it’s not just AI panels that leave me feeling heavy- it’s everything.

In my work as a creative and business owner, I’m constantly absorbing client input: their visions, their fears, their urgency. Everything is important, everything is immediate. And while I love that energy and passion- it’s also a lot to carry. My role often becomes one of translation: taking all that emotion and urgency and distilling it down into something tangible. What’s real? What’s necessary? What will move the needle forward?

That process alone is a daily reminder that not everything requires reaction. Sometimes the most useful thing we can do is listen, filter, and respond with calm.

And then, of course, there’s the personal side. The friendships that fill my life right now are deep and meaningful- but they’re also layered with complexity. I absorb so much from the people I allow myself to become close to: their stories, their energy, their emotion. Sometimes it feels like I’m carrying the weight of multiple lives at once. And yet, every interaction, every conversation that tugs at me, holds up a mirror. It reflects what I’m craving, where I’m growing, and what I still need to confront within myself.

So here I am, surrounded by information in every direction- global, professional, emotional- and learning, slowly, to see it differently.

Information is not always instruction

Not everything we learn is meant to instruct us.

Sometimes information isn’t telling us what to do- it’s showing us who we are.

Information can be a mirror. A reflection. An invitation to introspect rather than react.

When I can see it that way, the flood of data, emotion, and external noise doesn’t feel so paralyzing. Instead, it becomes grounding and something I can actually use.

Because maybe the information that feels overwhelming isn’t meant to direct immediate action. Maybe it’s there to illuminate something we need: a conversation we’ve been avoiding, a boundary we need to set, a part of ourselves asking to be seen.

Keeping our side of the street clean

As adults (and especially as creatives) we absorb a lot. We see the cracks in the world, and we feel the need to fill them. But we’re not saviors.

All we can do is keep our side of the street clean.

To stay conscious of our impact. To show up with integrity. To act where we can, and to process where we can’t.

Life isn’t a movie. It doesn’t require constant emotional crescendos. It’s real, complex, and beautifully nuanced. And sometimes the most responsible thing we can do is to move through what’s in front of us with honesty and awareness, rather than spinning ourselves out trying to fix everything at once.

1% better

I’ve started thinking about growth in percentages-the idea that it doesn’t always need to be a 100% transformation. Sometimes, 1% is enough.

Are you trying your best?

Are you being kind?

Are you keeping your side of the street clean?

Are you listening to what life is showing you — even when it’s uncomfortable?

Because information- whether it comes from a global conference, a client call, or a quiet conversation with a friend- is always telling us something.

We just have to decide how deeply we want to listen.

A quiet optimism

Despite everything I learned at that conference- the looming risks, the uncertainty- I walked away oddly hopeful.

Yes, AI will change the industry. Yes, it will take certain jobs. But it will also create new ones. It’s sparking important conversations about policy, environment, and ethics that we need to have. And that kind of dialogue opens doors for the next generation in ways we can’t yet imagine.

Just like the information that mirrors our inner world, this moment in time is holding up a mirror to society and asking us who we want to be and what we want to create.

So maybe that’s the real task:

To let information move through us, not overwhelm us.

To let it mirror what matters most.

To absorb, to reflect, and to act- one percent at a time.

World-building has always been at the center of my work- from fashion to tech to now co-founding a creative agency. And today, it feels like the rest of culture is catching up. In this piece, I reflect on the rise of world-building through content, with lessons from Ralph Lauren, to Kith, to even social-first brands like Daily Drill and Dairy Boy.

We’re living through a creative renaissance in brand storytelling. No longer are campaigns isolated moments; the most forward-thinking brands are building worlds. We see this everywhere- from niche social media sensations to global icons. Content has evolved from endpoint to entry point, shaping how a brand wants to be felt, experienced, and remembered.

This movement isn’t about short-term hype or chasing clicks, but something much deeper. Content sets the tone for the story a brand wants to tell, shaping how people should feel when they encounter it. That feeling becomes the foundation for creative direction, eventually expanding into experiences, pop-ups, collectibles, and the cult followings that grow around them.

Ralph Lauren: Stories Within a World

Ralph Lauren is a masterclass in this approach. Take the Oak Bluffs campaign, a tribute to Black heritage on Martha’s Vineyard. It was culturally rich and deeply specific- and yet, it still felt undeniably Ralph. The same is true when the brand debuts new pieces with a Hamptons barn lunch or serves a summer menu at The Polo Bar.

The storylines shift, but the foundation never wavers. Every chapter- whether Black heritage, coastal Americana, or equestrian elegance — is part of the same book. That’s the essence of world-building: the stories change, but the feeling doesn’t.

Kith: Collaboration as World-Building

Kith expands its universe through collaboration and cultural curation. Think of the Aspen capsule collection, complete with snow gear and a retail pop-up that transformed shopping into experience. Or the brand’s ongoing partnerships with Nike, Coca-Cola, and BMW- each one could feel like a stretch, yet within Kith’s orbit, they’re seamless.

The through-line is always the same: a world where streetwear collides with lifestyle, rooted in community and elevated by design. Collaborations become more than marketing; they are vehicles for expanding the Kith world without losing its core identity.

Daily Drills & Dairy Boy: Social-First World-Building

Even newer, social-first brands are proving the model. Daily Drills, the Californian lifestyle label, has built its entire identity around sun-soaked ease. Their campaigns lean into the West Coast aesthetic- sandy beaches, golden light, effortless styling. Their models look like the friends you’d want to spend a Saturday with, and their events reinforce the same vibe.

Even their online community feels like an extension of this world: followers aren’t just customers, they’re invited into the Daily Drills lifestyle. That cohesion is why the brand feels larger than its size- it has built not just a product line, but a world.

Dairy Boy stands out with how seamlessly they’ve integrated their founder into the narrative. Drawing on a visual language reminiscent of Ralph Lauren’s timeless aesthetic — think tennis whites, equestrian elegance, countryside ease- they’ve crafted a world that feels both classic and contemporary. Every piece of content serves as part of a living moodboard: a place where customers who resonate with that look and lifestyle are invited to not just shop the brand, but to belong to it.

From Story to Community to Experience

For brands, this shift demands the question: What do you want people to feel — and why does that matter?

Content alone isn’t enough. To create resonance, brands must think holistically: story → content → community → experience. When viewed from a bird’s-eye perspective, does the content feel connected, cohesive, and true to the brand’s vision? Or does it feel scattered and misaligned?

We see this especially in the world of UGC. While user-generated content offers rawness and relatability, brands that rely solely on it often fall flat. The challenge and opportunity lie in blending UGC into a larger creative ecosystem where story and tone stay intact.

What This Means for Creatives & Agencies

For filmmakers, photographers, and creative partners, the mission is clear: align with the worlds you want to help build.

At Stachehaus, we think about this on two levels:

1. Partnering with brands already investing in storytelling, where synergy enables us to elevate and co-create vision.

2. Engaging with brands rich in potential but seeking clarity- where we step beyond production into strategy, helping define the story and build the world around it.

It’s not just about creating beautiful work. It’s about deep alignment- ensuring that the worlds we contribute to are ones we genuinely want to be a part of.

So I pose the same question to my fellow creators: What type of world do you want to be building- or be a part of building?

A Renaissance of Worlds

Content today is cultural currency. The brands that understand this- from Ralph Lauren’s timeless storytelling, to Kith’s cultural collaborations, to the social-first lifestyle brands we see across Instagram and TikTok — they’re redefining what storytelling can be.

For creatives, this isn’t just a trend to watch. It’s an invitation: not only to tell stories, but to help build worlds people long to step into.

Author’s Note ✨

World-building has always been at the center of my work — even before I knew to call it that. From shaping experiential retail and fashion environments, to guiding brand marketing inside tech companies, to now co-founding a creative agency, I’ve always been drawn to the act of building spaces — physical, digital, and emotional — where people can belong.

For me, this is where I feel most purposeful. It’s not just about campaigns or visuals, but about creating worlds that people want to step into, connect with, and carry with them. And what excites me most right now is how content itself has become the spearhead of this movement. Storytelling has always had a place in my heart and in the cultural zeitgeist — but today, it feels more alive, immersive, and expansive than ever before.

This is the work I feel meant to do. And this is the renaissance I feel grateful to be a part of.

But something’s changing.

Whether it’s post-pandemic reflection, the rise of remote work, or just plain burnout, I’ve noticed a growing movement: people are no longer interested in being defined only by their careers. They’re seeking something else — a more well-rounded sense of self. One that includes joy, curiosity, rest, and, perhaps most surprisingly… hobbies.

Yes. Hobbies.

The thing we were encouraged to abandon in our twenties as we chased success? They’re back. In full force.

We’re in an era where people are learning to value balance not as a buzzword, but as a framework. They’re going to Pilates in the mornings, organizing game nights, taking weekend trips, baking, painting, thrifting, walking dogs, gardening, learning to DJ, and just… playing. They’re finding out that joy is productive. That rest breeds creativity. That balance can coexist with ambition.

I’ve felt this shift in myself, too.

When I worked in-house, it was hard to find that space. I was deeply in the hustle — always on, always performing, always being useful. But now, as a business owner, I’ve started to rethink how I move through my days. I’ve learned to carve out moments that are just for me: a workout, a long walk with Maui, a visit to the flower market, cooking dinner with Garrett without a screen nearby. These things aren’t distractions. They’re fuel.

And oddly enough, leaning into these personal rituals and interests has helped me show up better for my work. It’s made me more grounded. More creative. More human.

I think that’s what’s really at the heart of this shift: a return to our humanity.

Somewhere along the way, we started to believe that to be professional meant being polished, curated, efficient — always in work mode. But now? People are craving softness. Depth. Texture. They want to know who you are beyond the job title.

I’ve noticed this in the content that resonates most on social media — it’s not always the highlight reel. It’s the little moments. The rituals. The details. It’s the life around the work that draws people in.

And the more we show up in that space — the space between hustle and hobby, between ambition and ease — the more others feel permission to do the same.

So here’s to reclaiming the things that light us up. To embracing curiosity just for curiosity’s sake. To staying open, soft, and curious in a world that’s always trying to make us sharper and faster. To building a life that inspires the work, rather than the other way around.

Because when we make room for joy, the rest tends to follow.

Author’s Note 🤍

This one came out of a quiet moment, somewhere between emails and an evening walk. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about who I am when I’m not working — and I think a lot of us are asking that question right now. For years, I was proud to be “busy,” to lead with what I did. But now I crave more softness, more time, more moments that are mine alone. And as I’ve made space for those things, I’ve felt more creative, more present, and oddly enough… more ambitious.

This isn’t a rejection of work. It’s a return to wholeness. If you’re somewhere in that space too — between hustle and hobby, between identity and inquiry — I hope this piece reminds you that you’re not alone.

— Chelsea

We recently posted a job opening for Stachehaus — a Brand Producer role — and while on the surface it is about hiring, it’s actually is about so much more… Writing that post gave me the space to reflect on what we’re building, where we’re going, and why this moment in time matters.

There’s momentum right now — new office, new energy, new people. Our projects are getting bigger and more complex. There’s more at stake, and also more vision than ever. I keep saying this, but I’ll say it again: we are not just a production house. Stachehaus is a creative agency and a brand. We’re shaping not just campaigns, but cultural stories, community moments, and tangible + digital products for creatives.

Lately I’ve found myself thinking a lot about legacy, and about how storytelling is shifting. The movie industry used to be the highest rung of the creative ladder — and in many ways, it still is. But the ladder itself? It’s not as rigid as it used to be.

Today, some of the most compelling storytelling is happening outside of Hollywood. It’s being built on brand sets, inside docuseries, through campaigns that actually move culture. It’s happening across platforms — through short-form, long-form, behind-the-scenes, and branded content. Social media didn’t kill storytelling — it expanded it. And if we’re paying attention, we can evolve with it.

I sometimes look at the creative partnerships that have shaped cinema — duos like Christopher Nolan and Emma Thomas — and wonder who that will be for the next generation, and why can’t it be us? There’s a real feeling and idea that we can build something enduring and cinematic without waiting to be chosen; that we can direct and produce our way toward something bigger — on our terms.

So when I say I think we can direct a film one day, or producing something that sits on a screen larger than life, I don’t say it because I’m trying to skip steps. I say it because we’re already building the structure. Not in the traditional way, maybe, but in a way that feels true to our version of this work.

The crews. The talent. The gear. The vision. The process. We’re doing it — on a different scale, but with the same care, detail, and precision. And with every project, we’re refining that muscle. If the day comes that we step into a bigger format — a documentary, a feature, a series — it won’t be a leap. It’ll be a continuation.

And that’s the lens I see everything through right now: continuation.

This next hire — the Brand Producer — isn’t just about handing off tasks. It’s about alignment. It’s about scale. We’re not trying to grow for the sake of growth. We’re growing because the work is demanding more from us — and that’s a good thing. It means the vision is working.

We’re bringing someone in not to simply “join a company,” but to help build a future. Someone who sees the shape of where creative is going — more integrated, more collaborative, more narrative-driven — and wants to be in the room where that’s happening.

The right person will understand that we’re not just telling brand stories — we’re building a brand of our own. And if they can see that clearly now, they’ll be able to contribute to what’s next in ways we can’t even predict yet.

Because yes, we have big goals. But we also have a strong foundation. We’ve spent the last few years putting in the reps, developing the taste, nurturing the network, honing the craft. Now it’s about momentum — about pulling the right people into orbit and building something that can move at the speed of culture.

We’re not waiting for permission.

We’re not waiting to be discovered.

We’re building it — brick by brick, project by project, relationship by relationship.

And if that gets you fired up… maybe you’re supposed to be part of it 😉

✍️A Note from the Author

This piece came from a very real place — a quiet moment of reflection between calls, shoots, and project planning. Sometimes when you’re building something, you’re so close to it that you forget to zoom out and see the bigger picture. Writing helps me do that.

If you’re reading this because you’re curious about what we’re building — or because something in your gut tells you you’re meant to be part of something bigger — trust that instinct. We’re always looking for people who feel the pull.

Thanks for being here, and for being part of the story.

— Chelsea

There’s been a steady theme running through our year so far: build boldly, stay grounded.

After a whirlwind 2024 — starting a business, moving cross-country, getting married, and riding every high and low that came with it — we entered this year with open hands. No illusions. Just a deep readiness to take charge and lead with intention. We stepped into 2025 with a stronger foundation, an incredible community behind us, and partners who believed in what we were building.

Six months in, I’m in awe of what’s unfolded.

Creative Shifts & Project Highlights

At the start of the year, we set a goal to shift our focus — moving from 80% social-first projects and 20% commercial to the reverse. It was ambitious. And hard. But worth it. We’ve begun to see the results in both the type of work we’re doing and the kind of partnerships we’re building.

• January kicked off with a long-term partnership with Mizuno USA — a fresh, dynamic relationship that’s allowed us to experiment and stretch creatively.

• In February, we took on our first beauty campaign — a studio-based production for Weleda. We told a visual story of clean beauty and warmth through photo and video, and teamed up with Stylo Creative to add an enchanting 3D animation element that elevated the work completely.

• That same month, we hit the road in Hyundai’s Ioniq 5, capturing content in Palm Springs — a campaign full of warmth, design, and the joy of escape.

• March focused on fashion-forward editorial campaigns with The Normal Brand and CUTS Clothing, one of our longest-standing partners.

• For Women’s Month, we hosted our first Stachehaus community event of the year — a panel and mixer centered around Taking the Leap from corporate life to entrepreneurship or freelance creativity. It was honest, inspiring, and a moment of real connection with our community.

• In April, we traveled to Portugal for Mini Cooper’s Countryman — continuing a growing thread of automotive storytelling, one we’re starting to embrace in new ways.

• And in May, we began what still feels like a dream collaboration — working with Leica. Their artist community, their design legacy, and their brand ethos deeply align with what we’re building. We’re incredibly excited about what’s to come.

Celebrating the Wins (Before We Forget)

We’re not sharing this to boast — we’re sharing it to pause and celebrate.

The truth is, it’s easy to get swept up in momentum. To chase the next deadline. To forget that we get to wake up every day and make things- that what we do is creative, collaborative, and alive.

Yes, the hours can be long. Yes, it’s demanding. But at the end of the day, we get to build cool projects with cool people — and that’s a gift worth remembering.

What’s Working (and What We’re Learning)

This year has made one thing clear: we are not just creatives — we are also business owners.

We’ve started paying close attention to what’s actually working — not just aesthetically, but economically. We’re watching where consumer dollars are going, how brands are repositioning, and what kind of work is not only resonating but scaling.

Look at the types of brands we’re partnering with. The trend is there — if you know what to look for.

That’s the thing about creative entrepreneurship: you have to do more than make beautiful things. You have to know why you're doing it, who you're doing it for, and how to do it well enough that people invest.

We’re building from both sides of the brain now:
→ Follow the money.
→ Create your own rules.
→ Set yourself up for success.

We’re still artists — fiercely protective of our style, our culture, and our voice. But we’re also clear-eyed, ready to build something sustainable and truly great.

Looking Forward

The second half of the year already feels charged with possibility.

We’ve just moved into a new apartment in Brooklyn that I absolutely adore, and opened our first official Stachehaus office — a real space for creative expansion. It’s symbolic in a lot of ways. It represents the next chapter — one rooted in clarity, collaboration, and growth.

There are exciting campaigns on the calendar. New ideas brewing. A deepened desire to expand our creative network, sharpen our brand, and refine the way we tell stories.

If you’re reading this — whether you’re building something of your own or simply trying to find clarity — I hope this serves as a reminder:

Take the pause.
Look up.
Celebrate what’s working.
Refine what’s not.
And don’t forget why you started.

We’re halfway there.

And the best is still to come.

—
Chelsea (& Garrett)
Co-Founders, Stachehaus™

This poem is a reflection of that journey. Of hardening. Of breaking. Of becoming soft again. And of beginning, once more, with childlike wonder and an open heart.

since i was a girl
i’ve carried a pulse that beat louder than most.
a hunger to build,
to dance through the world
and ideas that spilled from my mouth
faster than the world could hold them.

i wanted everything—
and i meant it.
to create,
to lead,
to prove i could stretch across every horizon.
i chased with open hands.
and for a while,
that was enough.

but life has a way
of carving you down.
not all at once,
but in whispers—
a no that lingers,
a room that quiets when you speak,
a heart that leaves,
a night that takes more than it gives.

you begin to build walls
out of wisdom.
you call it strength—
when really,
it is survival.
and you tell yourself,
this is adulthood.
this is what it means to be unshakable.

but then—
without warning,
the ground beneath you softens.
not a collapse,
but a quiet surrender.

someone arrives,
not with fireworks,
but with calm.
with presence.
with a mirror that doesn’t distort.

and suddenly,
you are not defending your fire—
you are sharing it.
you are not performing your power—
you are resting in it.

this,
this is the undoing.
the gentle quake that rattles
what no longer serves.

and you begin again.
not smaller,
but truer.
not changed,
but revealed.

there is grief in the letting go—
not of the past,
but of the person you had to be
to survive it.
you shed the hardened skin
you once mistook for self.

and what’s left
is a softness
you had forgotten.
a tenderness
you once knew.

you remember now—
how to move slowly,
how to laugh from your belly,
how to create for joy,
not just survival.
how to dream without armor.

and isn’t that something?
to begin again,
not at the beginning,
but somewhere even deeper—
where wisdom and wonder
exist in the same breath.

now,
i still build.
i still work,
still dream.
but with quieter hands,
a fuller heart,
and eyes wide open.

because what i’ve found
is not just love,
but a way back—
to myself.

Earlier this month, Garrett and I had the opportunity to sit down with The 505 Podcast for an episode titled “The Brutal Truth About Building a Creative Agency in NYC.” We spoke candidly about what it’s really like to build something from the ground up here — not just the logistics of launching a company, but the emotional endurance it requires. You can watch the full episode here.

In January 2024, we left California behind and moved to Brooklyn with a dream: to build Stachehaus, our creative agency rooted in cinematic storytelling, thoughtful brand strategy, and production. Garrett had already built a strong name for himself as a photographer with a loyal community. I had come from marketing and branding, working the last five years as an executive for a successful tech company. Together, we had vision, experience, and just enough naivety to leap into something new…

It’s been a year and a half of building, unlearning, relearning — and we’re still in it, evolving every day.

One of the biggest challenges? Educating people on what we actually do. So many agencies (especially the larger ones) churn out work that feels disconnected — a never-ending game of telephone between clients, account managers, and a creative team that’s often an afterthought. Budgets get diluted. Communication breaks down. And the final product? Often, it's missing soul.

We’ve seen it firsthand. And we’ve made it our mission to do things differently.

At Stachehaus, we believe in building with brands, not just for them. That means fewer middlemen. More intention. We fight for fair budgets, not just for ourselves, but for our crew — the producers, the editors, the creatives who make the magic happen. We make our pre-production, production, and post timelines clear and bill accordingly, because transparency creates trust. And we stand by the fact that what we do isn’t “social-first content.” It’s production; cinematic, elevated, and deeply considered.

This past year hasn’t just been about building a business — it’s been about building a life. Planning a wedding. Navigating new financial realities. Making friends in a city where no one slows down. There have been moments of doubt, exhaustion, and loneliness. But also triumph. Strength. Deep connection.

The thing is, Garrett and I aren’t just partners in business. We’re partners in every sense of the word. We move together. We learn together. We hold the vision when the other feels weary. That kind of partnership — in business and in love — is rare. And it’s the thing I’m most grateful for.

Because at the end of the day, isn’t that what this whole thing is about? To lead with your full, authentic self. To build something you believe in. And to move through life with love — for your craft, your people, your purpose.

NYC isn’t for the faint of heart. But it has a way of sharpening your edges while also expanding your heart. And for that, I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.

—

Listen to our full episode on The 505 Podcast here.

There’s a lot to unpack there, and much of it comes down to perception. Whether we like it or not, we all create assumptions based on what we see online. Myself included. People see that our agency Stachehaus™ is based in New York. They see Garrett and I traveling, working with brands that look cool on Instagram, living in a bright, well-styled apartment. I get it. From the outside, it all paints a very curated picture of success. And of course, I’m incredibly grateful for where we are at and what we have been able to grow. But let me be clear: it’s not those “cool” brands that always pay the bills—at least not directly.

Over time, I’ve learned that most creative businesses—ours included—thrive on a balance. There are the clients that pay the bills, and the ones that build your brand identity. And to be sustainable, you need both.

I learned this early on while working at a tech company with two core business models: a consumer-facing mobile app and a B2B software platform. Everything, at the end of the day, depended on e-commerce clients. Some of those clients were big names I’d never heard of—brands that weren’t niche or trendy, but did serious volume. And it was their deals—the big, sometimes boring ones—that funded everything else.

That revenue supported the marketing team, who then had the runway to pursue splashier collaborations and co-marketing campaigns with buzzy, well-designed brands. The ones that drove hype, boosted perception, and helped us punch above our weight in the eyes of the public—even if they didn’t bring in much cash. But we needed those logos. Those logos helped with consumer trust, impressed investors, and influenced even more clients down the line. It was a symbiotic system.

And the same exact thing applies when you’re running a creative agency.

In today’s landscape, where creative budgets are shrinking and competition feels endless, I often hear other creatives talk about “finding your niche”—as if that’s the golden rule to unlocking success. But I’ve always found that advice a little...limiting. Because in the early stages, the goal is often survival.

Yes, defining your voice and visual identity matters. But so does saying yes. Shoot the weddings. Take on the product photoshoots. Try a corporate campaign. You don’t have to box yourself in. In fact, I’d argue the opposite: working across a wide range of styles and industries is how you grow—creatively, professionally, and financially.

Garrett, our co-founder, gets asked all the time how he built his portfolio. But people often forget: he’s been doing this for over ten years. And in the beginning? He was shooting everything. School portraits. Events. Literally anything that gave him experience and allowed him to make a living. That was the foundation.

Now, we’re intentional about what we share. We’ve crafted a signature style and point of view. But that doesn’t mean every client ends up on our feed—and it definitely doesn’t mean every project looks like a magazine spread. Some of our most valuable clients aren’t the trendiest ones. But they’ve allowed us to stay independent, invest in our business, host community events, and build on our terms.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of comparison. To think that every beautifully lit campaign or city-view apartment is funded by the exact thing you see on screen. But the truth is more layered. More practical. And, honestly, more empowering.

Because once you understand how it actually works, you can stop chasing a singular image of success—and start building your own.

There’s so much I could say about reimagining partnerships in this industry—and trust me, that’s a conversation I’ll revisit in depth. But for now, I want to highlight the first brand that truly aligned with this vision: CUTS Clothing.

Garrett had previously shot a few campaigns for CUTS on an ad-hoc basis, but there was never a formal partnership. Yet, they kept coming to mind as an ideal brand to build something more meaningful with. Their aesthetic, their expanding product line (especially their growing focus on womenswear in New York), and their internal team’s creative ethos all pointed toward a deeper synergy. It felt like a missed opportunity not to explore ways to work together in a more integrated capacity.

One of the reasons we moved to NYC was to expand our portfolio—delving further into fashion, beauty, lifestyle, and hospitality. CUTS fit seamlessly into that evolution. So, when we landed them as our first retainer client, it felt like a pivotal moment. But what truly set this collaboration apart was that we weren’t just executing campaigns—we became true brand advocates. Garrett joined as an ambassador, giving our partnership an organic quality. Beyond editorial shoots, we actively pitch creative concepts, meet regularly with their team to ideate, and discuss how to extend beyond traditional marketing—whether reimagining community events or exploring what an exclusive product drop could look like.

Not every client relationship will allow this level of integration or creative freedom, but when they do, they reaffirm why we love what we do. These partnerships set the tone for how brands and agencies can grow together—rooted in authenticity, shared vision, and mutual support. Now, as we enter year two with CUTS, we have even bigger things in store. And trust me, you’ll want to stay tuned.

One of the most powerful moments of the night was the panel discussion I had the pleasure in moderating, featuring three incredible women: Kat Reilly, a PCOS dietitian with her own private practice; Erin Hill, a brand partnerships strategist and consultant; and Blaire Zierke, co-founder and COO of House of 1212. This wasn’t just another “women in business” talk—it was a real, honest conversation about taking major career leaps, betting on yourself, and facing the fears and challenges that come with leaving stability and corporate structures to follow your passions. The energy in the room was electric, and I could tell that everyone walked away feeling inspired and empowered.

Beyond the panel, I loved seeing how naturally people connected with one another throughout the night. One of my favorite details was having Hannah Monsour on-site, crafting personalized typewritten poems for guests—it was such a special and unexpected touch that added to the overall magic of the evening.

This mixer was our first Stachehaus event of 2025, and it felt like the perfect way to set the tone for what’s to come. We started hosting these gatherings just last year, and I truly believe they are becoming an essential part of what we do. At Stachehaus, we sit at a unique intersection, constantly building relationships with artists, photographers, filmmakers, brand founders, and entrepreneurs. Our passion for fostering community makes these events feel like more than just mixers—they are spaces where connection, collaboration, and creativity can thrive. I can't wait to see where this year takes us and the incredible moments we’ll create together.

This first year was a dynamic blend of social media collaborations, production shoots, and figuring out how “brand strategy” truly fit into our repertoire. To be honest, we're still navigating that side of the business, especially within a constantly evolving creative landscape where “brand and creative” budgets are often the first to be cut. Yet despite the challenges, we found ways to maximize this area—working with clients on campaign development, building out brand guidelines, and even venturing into website creation and development, an unexpected but promising avenue.

As Garrett would say, we went from a “me” to a “we.” A significant part of this year was spent educating our community on what Stachehaus is, what we offer, and how we’ve evolved from an individual pursuit to a collaborative team effort. Controlling the narrative is crucial—making sure people understand who we are and what we stand for. Clarity and consistency in our story became essential.

Reflecting on the year, a few standout projects truly defined our growth and ambition. One of my personal favorites was Garrett’s partnership with Polar Pro to create “The Everyday Filter.” It was a dream come true—not just a creative collaboration but the development of a tangible product that genuinely reflected our passion and commitment to quality. The Everyday Filter is a classic circular polarizer, thoughtfully designed with a 1/4 black mist to soften highlights—an elegant and subtle tool that makes a remarkable impact on imagery.

The road to launch was anything but simple. I watched Garrett spend countless months perfecting the prototype, deeply invested in every detail and refusing to settle for anything less than perfection. Of course, it wouldn’t be complete without his signature green color tone—a subtle but unmistakable nod to his aesthetic. When the filter launched in February 2024, the response was overwhelmingly positive, setting an ambitious tone for the year ahead. It was more than just a product release—it was a statement of intent. We wanted to make it clear that Stachehaus isn’t just about creating content; we’re committed to producing physical and digital products that add value to the creative community.

The Everyday Filter exemplified our mantra of “expansion” and opened the door to exciting new possibilities. It challenged us to think beyond content and imagine new ways to create and diversify our business. We’re always asking ourselves, “How do we do more?” The success of the filter served as a perfect segue into the rest of the year, which included an ambassadorship with a fashion brand we’ve admired for years. Stay tuned as we share more about our long-term partnership with Cuts Clothing and how it continues to shape the future of Stachehaus.

Looking back now, I’m truly in awe of the journey. The abundance that flowed our way, the beautiful moments that shaped us—none of it could have been predicted. Launching wasn’t easy, and while social media often highlights the excitement and success, the reality behind the scenes was far more complex. Starting a business is hard. An idea can live in your mind forever, but executing it—bringing it to life—is an entirely different feat.

We found ourselves navigating a labyrinth of logistics: registering an LLC, setting up business banking, rethinking taxes, and learning to wear every single hat, both big and small. Garrett’s experience in the photography and social media industry—honed over a decade of relentless hard work—proved invaluable, and I’m endlessly proud of him. His dedication and reputation certainly opened doors, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t make a difference.

For me, the leap was daunting in its own way. I left behind a corporate career that I once envisioned climbing throughout my thirties. My path had taken me through tech, fashion, marketing, and events—fields that shaped my professional identity and sharpened my skills. I was confident that blending our talents would create something groundbreaking—a new approach to producing remarkable content.

Now, as I reflect on this first year, I feel both proud and deeply grateful. There were countless hurdles, and I’ll be sharing more about those challenges in a separate post. But for now, I’m choosing to celebrate the progress we’ve made: the clients who believed in us, the collaborations that inspired us, and the growth that continues to propel us forward.

I’m putting together a roundup of our favorite projects from this past year and can’t wait to share more of what we’ve accomplished. Thank you for being part of this journey with us. Your support means the world.

Last month, we took a much-needed escape to Palm Springs for a campaign shoot with Hyundai, where we had the chance to experience the Ioniq 5 XRT. This project became more than just a shoot—it was an opportunity to break away for the weekend, connect deeper, and embrace the slower pace of life that the desert naturally brings.

Palm Springs, known for its bold, mid-century modern architecture and distinctive design language, felt like the perfect backdrop to showcase the Ioniq 5 XRT. Sleek lines, futuristic silhouettes, and rugged details across both the car and the landscape was a match made in heaven for two design enthusiasts.

What truly sets the Ioniq 5 XRT apart is its blend of cutting-edge technology and refined style. The spacious interior, complete with sustainable materials and minimalist design elements, feels both inviting and forward-thinking. We loved how the dual cockpit screens provided seamless connectivity while maintaining a clean, uncluttered look. Plus, the generous cargo space and flat floor made loading up our gear effortless—a huge bonus when you’re constantly on the move.

Throughout the weekend, the vehicle became an extension of our creative process—powerful, adaptable, and undeniably stylish. From winding roads to quiet city streets, it carried us with ease and made the journey feel effortless. We had so much fun discovering what makes this car unique, and it reminded us that design isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about creating experiences that leave a lasting impression.

This campaign was a chance to connect with the spirit of Palm Springs while celebrating a car that embodies the same dedication to craftsmanship and innovation.

I’m thrilled to give you a glimpse into the weekend—full of snapshots and stories that capture the spirit of our getaway.

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