Let’s Start From Here

I’ve written this 15 times. Once on a plane, once on a boat to Manly, in my driveway on a boat that’s not yet in the water. Once, after having sex with my favorite French baddie. The one—is he the one? Half asleep in Sydney, in Paris, and various random places around the States. And at times when I thought I was moving to Silicon Valley—and right now, not moving but back and forth between Seattle and my hometown. Hence, the boat in the driveway. Sitting here writing with no clear picture of the future, 580-some dollars—probably more like 400 by the time this is published—with a one-way ticket to Paris that my parents don’t know about. Just a dream.

I don’t have much, but I do have a passion, a mission, and a French guy who still makes my stomach flip even though I met him a year ago. (This is not an Emily in Paris vibe. I don’t have a job. She had a job.) A girl with a story, a startup sitting on a 12 million pre-money valuation, half a fucking clue. I haven’t gotten laid in two months since I left Paris. I’m 22. Twenty-two—and I’m spelling it out because I’m sick of being interpreted as 35 and expected to act that age as well.

This is a blog about the ins and outs of the startup world, immersed in an almost entirely male-dominated industry. What it takes to start a startup. Losing love, finding love, the unknown, the limbo, the unexpected. This isn’t a LinkedIn newsletter, and it’s certainly not for LinkedIn. It’s not gonna be aesthetic, probably not consistent, but what it will be is a whirlwind—insider thoughts of a young founder, real things that happened and that are happening.

You’ll read this and think to yourself, “God damn, this is just a few days of this girl’s life?!?” Yes. Get used to it. I am a blessing and an enigma to the curse of normality, unconstrained by the rules we’re supposed to follow. I make my own map every five minutes.

It’s for the girls, the guys, the gays, the corporate weapons, and baddies who wish they could tell their truth without being scrutinized on LinkedIn. If you want an escape from your 9–5, this is the old-fashioned style of TV. To the girls navigating heartbreak and delusion, who travel alone, who are alone. For the boys who talk about capitalism after sex. And for anyone and everyone who uses the Notes app as a form of therapy, and the founders with unfiled trademarks.

This blog is me—trademarked in words. Also, unfortunately, for the people who ghost you and still view your stories. The modern age: chic, fun, flamboyant, at times self-destructive, spectacular, chaotic mess. I’m tired of the fake internet, the fake positivity, the scams, seeing the same-looking girl on my FYP. I’m talking about the plastic surgery that’s giving all LA influencers. What happened to being natural?

I also can’t share this on LinkedIn because I would easily be canceled in less than 24 hours. You’ll see (well, read) the behind-the-scenes of the not-so-glamorous sides of being a young founder. I may step on some toes, but I simply don’t give a fuck. I’m done pretending everything is fine when I’m floating but sitting on an international board pretending—breaking my back to keep my composure.

You’ll follow me as I float through the States, Paris, Sydney, and who knows where else. I don’t know who I’m becoming, but I’m definitely onto something amazing—and that’s what the whole point is, right?

From breakups that still haunt you, fashion choices that say don’t look at me but look at me the whole time, I’ve seen the coral reefs before they’re gone and let me just tell you: Shein isn’t worth it. Also, like, no.

Startup girlhood in a VC world with some creeps, baddies, and just in general—men. I wear an engagement ring to events even though no, I’m not engaged. But everyone gets the idea. Advisors twice my age, sometimes triple—some with grandkids, some with kids my age. Quiet moments, wins, agony, chaotic cities, and lots of half-packed suitcases.

I don’t promise you’ll find yourself in the process, because I am quite literally in that process—and you’re following me. But I do promise honesty that isn’t polished or perfect, but that is personal, raw, and real.

This is for the girl who’s in Charles de Gaulle wondering if she made the right choice, my origin story in the hospital as an infant that led me to my company, and the girl right now who’s wondering what’s for dinner (I can’t cook). This is for her, and them.

Every Wednesday: a new blog with old stories, new stories, current happenings, and whatever else life throws me. So if you’ve ever felt unheard, buried, silenced by culture, between breakdown and breakthrough—then this is for you.