It all started at a party.
Three of us talking — Joy, Mike, and me. Wally.
I remember it like it was yesterday. We were leaning against a kitchen counter, half drunk on cheap wine and delusions of grandeur, talking about fashion like it actually mattered. Joy was talking about what makes a good garment, and if you’ve ever met her, or watched her YouTube channel, you know she’s not faking the passion. She talks about fabric the way a paster talks about God.
But here's the thing about Joy — it's not just the closet full of designer pieces. She actually gets it. Ten minutes into her monologue that night, she was breaking down the difference between a Gucci logo slapped on something for brand-obsessed kids and the kind of Gucci piece made for people who understand construction and drape. Two completely different animals. Same stable.
Somewhere between the laughter and admiration, I leaned toward Mike. "If Joy ever wants to do merch, count me in."
Long story short: I've built companies. Three of them. Some made money, some nearly put me in the ground. Fashion though? Never crossed my mind. I always figured you should stick to what you're good at, or at least what you give a damn about. And for me, clothing was neither.
Still, two months later, Mike sent me some sketches.
Him and Joy had been working on a new line. The concept was simple: bring Chinese culture to North America without making people cringe. No tourist trap garbage. No fortune cookie wisdom. Real. Clean. Something with weight.
"Joy in?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Then I'm in."
That was it.
Guangzhou, China
Fifty grand in the bank and a one-way ticket to the heart of Chinese manufacturing. The Mecca of fabric and possibility.
We could've ordered samples online like everyone else, but somehow we convinced ourselves it was smarter to spend 20% of our budget on airplane tickets and accommodations. We thought meeting the people who'd actually touch our ideas—the ones who'd stitch them into reality—would make a difference. We thought it would be good for Joy to talk directly to the factories.
Turns out, it was torture.
Joy was relentless. Picture a textile mall that stretches for kilometers (literal kilometers) and this girl wants to touch every single roll of fabric. Three straight days and we still barely covered the whole plaza. Nearly lost my damn mind. But looking back, it was worth it. Her obsessive madness made us confident in our decisions. Every texture, every weight, every thread. We knew what we had.
Ten months later, the site's almost ready. The line's real. And we're stupidly excited to launch.
We're not just launching a clothing line. We're launching a point of view. One that says the logo doesn't matter if the craftsmanship isn't there. That the details you don't see are the ones that count.
It's an understatement to say that the three of us have been through it. We’ve fought, yelled, laughed, and cried. Mike’s loud, impulsive and impossible not to hear. Joy’s careful, calculated and quiet like thunder. I’m somewhere between the chaos and the calm.
In the beginning, our differences were gasoline and matches. But the more we worked, the more those clashes turned into rhythm. Mike’s noise became courage. Joy’s carefulness became strategy. And my middle ground became the glue.
It’s been a hero’s journey, sure. But you don't make anything real without breaking a few things along the way. Including yourself.
And if we’ve learned anything along the way, it's that dreams aren't something you find. They're something you build. One stitch at a time. Even when your hands are shaking.