It's hard to believe Princess Diana died almost 30 years ago. Since then, interest in the former Princess of Wales has only increased, and many ex-Royal Family employees have written books about their experiences. According to one of Princess Diana's former butlers, the royal kept one secret hidden in a drawer in her home.

Writing in his book A Royal Duty, former royal butler Paul Burrell revealed that Princess Diana used to sell her old clothing in order to generate money to spend on her sons, Prince Harry and Prince William.

According to Burrell, Diana's old clothing included designer labels such as Chanel, Versace, Catherine Walker—a Princess Kate favorite—and Armani. "An outfit worth £2,000 [approximately $2,660] would be sold for around £200 [approximately $266], and somebody, somewhere, would be walking around in the princess's clothes," the ex-butler wrote.

Diana would allegedly generate a lot of money from selling her old clothing.

"These regular sales netted the princess around £11,000 [approximately $14,650], which she kept stuffed into an envelope in a bottom drawer," Burrell claimed.

Unsurprisingly, the princess's decision to keep a large amount of cash at home shocked some of her employees.

"[I]n April 1997, she decided to hand it over to [her financial manager] Michael Gibbins, whose jaw hit the floor when he opened the envelope," per Burrell.

The ex-butler continued, "He took the money and banked it, unaware of how such a sum had been raised. Even the accountant had been left in the dark about the princess's most private finances—until then."

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There’s a genre of career content that has dominated the internet, the kind that’s upbeat, aspirational, and perhaps mildly delusional. Believe in yourself! Lean in! Your boss is rooting for you! But Colleen Bordeaux’s content is decidedly not that. The former Deloitte leader turned founder of Growth Inc. has built a devoted following on Instagram by doing something disarmingly simple: telling you what your boss is actually thinking.

Worried your boss has favorites? They almost certainly do, and if you’re waiting for them to feel bad about it, Bordeaux would like to remind you that they’re not your mother. Wondering what your manager really thinks when you complain about your coworker for the third time this week? That you should probably learn how to work it out yourselves, because they didn’t sign up to be a referee. Convinced your boss is ignoring your Slack messages because they hate you? Likely not—your ping is just number 47 in the queue.

Through short, satirical clips that exaggerate the inner monologue of managers, Bordeaux has given language to a tension most workplaces have been too polite to name: leadership has gotten exponentially harder, nobody prepared anyone for it, and the gap between what employees need and what their bosses can realistically give them is widening by the day. Her comments sections are predictably split—part relief, part rage, part “I hate that you just said that, but you’re so right”—and her audience keeps coming back because she refuses to dress it up.

We talked to Bordeaux about why her brand of workplace honesty is resonating now, what women still get wrong about likability, and the question everyone’s really asking: does my boss hate me?

What do most women have to unlearn about how they show up at work?

I talk a lot about the pressure to fit the mold at work. And I think the biases women face around likability are very real. In my career, I focused so much on how I was being perceived. Being liked and approved was paramount. And I hit this point where I realized in my own leadership journey that was coming at the cost of my own confidence and at the cost of building trust and respect, making difficult choices and decisions, doing things that needed to get done but would potentially be unpopular. If everyone likes you and approves of you, you’re not leading anything.

What’s a post that got the biggest reaction, and why do you think it hit a nerve?

I’ve had a few that have gotten really big reactions, but I think I had one that was about if leaders were honest when you complain about your coworkers. Something I’m hearing over and over and over again is leaders being put in this position to referee interpersonal issues. And so I think it hit a nerve because it was touching on a challenge that leaders are facing every day that they didn’t necessarily expect to face—in terms of navigating interpersonal dynamics and issues that they feel that their team should understand how to navigate on their own.

Career content has gone from inspirational LinkedIn posts to something more anxious: people decoding interactions for subtext. Why do you think that’s resonating now?

The bone I have to pick with a lot of this content and leadership development approaches is that it focuses on these visible aspects of leadership—how you fit the mold of success, how you project confidence and build your executive presence. And this invisible part of leadership, what I call the invisible capabilities of leaders, which is judgment, discernment, self-trust, emotional regulation—those are things we have never reinforced in leadership development but are now absolutely critical. I hear from thousands of leaders this experience of intense loneliness. That if you’re struggling, there’s something fundamentally wrong with you—I think recognizing that it’s actually a much more universal experience than you realize. What we are all craving is how to have our day-to-day experiences and struggles reflected back to us, to feel seen and heard.

Is the internet making people better at work or more paranoid?

I love questions like these. I think it’s both. I think that it is very easy for all of us to opt in to the type of content that reinforces our own worldview, tells us we’re doing things right, and reinforces what we want to believe. And I do think there’s a lot of workplace content out there that I personally have seen that does not translate to what success looks like, that listening to this advice will sometimes create the opposite of success for you. But I also think that there is a huge need, and I’m seeing a lot of creators in this space stepping into that need [who] have the credentials, the chops and experience to [use] social media as a channel to be able to reach people who need it and are genuinely looking for it. And I think there is a growing niche around that.

You talk about respect over likability. That’s a hard sell for women who are still punished for not being warm enough. How do you square that?

100 percent agree. And there’s more to it than just likability. There’s even tone of voice and appearance. And I think women are trained to understand that from a very young age. So I think it’s recognizing that that bias exists. And there is an element of logic, that you want to be able to set yourself up for success and do things that are going to help you move forward in your career. And just ignoring that bias exists is something that has ramifications. So I think it’s recognizing that these realities exist, but [also asking yourself], how do I start to build some constraints around what I actually allow to affect me? Where do I actually need approval? Where does that likability actually matter the most, and where does it not matter as much? And then give yourself the permission to be disliked and have people not approve of you—and look at that not as data that you’re doing something wrong, but as proof that you’re starting to step into your power.

What’s something a boss does that people are right to read into—and on the other side, something they’re way over-reading?

The hottest topic on that point is giving feedback. I hear from individual contributors that their boss doesn’t give them feedback, or if they do get the feedback it’s very vague, non-specific, they’re not quite sure what to do with it. And that is a very real experience that I think team members are having in today’s work. And on the other side, I have thousands of leaders telling me that they are deeply afraid to give feedback because when they have those conversations, they are trying to do everything they possibly can to help it land, but are oftentimes experiencing resistance to feedback or really disappointed employees that may take it the wrong way. There’s this sense of backlash, that if I provide anything that is sort of constructive in nature, that it is going to affect my likability.

Biggest misconception about bosses?

The biggest misconception is that leadership is an innate trait, that you either have it and you’re naturally good at it, or you’re toxic. I see that binary narrative perpetuated over and over again. And I think that this idea that the job has changed, fundamentally changed, it’s truly never been harder, but we haven’t changed the way we’re preparing leaders. They’re internalizing that as a personal failure, and this misconception is preventing people from actually growing. And something that I hear often—that my boss is unavailable, I’m concerned they don’t like me. And the reality is, many leaders have a mathematically impossible job. That’s a reasonable expectation for a team member to have with their leader, but if you have more direct reports than there are hours in the day and you have all of these pressures on top of you for how you’re navigating your work, it can be really hard to dedicate that time on an individual basis to everyone who desires it of you.

Is there a specific person you’ve impacted where you really felt it?

I got a DM yesterday from a woman who told me that she just wanted to say she’d been following my work for years and she just submitted her resignation at a job she’d been at for her whole career. And she said that she wanted to change her job to give her more time and space and capacity to live a day-to-day life that she actually felt fulfilled and energized by and wanted to spend more time with her kids and invest in her hobbies and her creativity. That means so much to me because I think we need more examples of women that are choosing to direct their careers in a way that gives them what they ultimately want—and gets out of this binary model of: you’re either ambitious and grinding in a high-profile job, or you’re giving up and getting “a lazy girl job” or being a stay-at-home mom.

If there’s one thing you’d want people to take away—both leaders and the people reporting to them—what would it be?

It’s impossible to lead anything and anyone if you haven’t figured out how to lead yourself first. You have to figure out: How do I develop the capabilities I need to have professional judgment, to trust myself, to have healthy emotional and relational interactions day-to-day? And this idea also of the role of a leader has fundamentally changed, and we’ve done a very bad job of fundamentally changing the way we prepare them. So whether you’re in a leadership role or individual contributor, the work to build that ability to lead yourself first is going to be critical no matter where you go in your career.

Everyone keeps saying women’s sports are having a moment. But it’s more than that. On and off the court, women’s sports are changing culture, conversations, and even our personal style. For Marie Claire’s Women in Sports series, we talk to the athletes, executives, and industry vets who are at the top of their game.

In Exit Interview, Marie Claire has a candid conversation with someone who’s left their job. We learn all about their experience—both the good and the bad—plus why they decided to leave and what life looks like on the other side.

Haley Carter left the Orlando Pride last year after building the club from a perennial underdog into National Women's Soccer League (NWSL) champions. Before that, Carter served as a Marine Corps officer, deployed to Iraq, played professionally in the NWSL, coached the Afghan Women’s National Team, and helped evacuate over a hundred people from Kabul when the city fell in 2021. She’s now president of soccer operations for the Washington Spirit, where she’s working to do something no women’s professional soccer team has done: break even.

For our series Exit Interview, Carter talks about building a championship system, the values she refuses to compromise on, and why she thinks the women’s game has moved well past “having a moment.”

You’ve been a Marine, a lawyer, an MBA, a player, a coach, and now a club president. How does all of that fit together?

I think when some people lay out my resumé, oftentimes they will sort of treat soccer as this surprise at the end. But I think they have it a bit backwards. Soccer has been a constant in my life and the rest is just what I bring to it. With my career, it’s really the same job in different settings and a different uniform. For 20 years, I’ve been building teams that perform under pressure. The Marine Corps taught me how to plan under uncertainty, how to build leaders. My experience in law taught me how to do deals and how to structure contracts and how risk actually works. My business experience and my MBA taught me the economics of sports. And then playing and coaching taught me what it looks and feels like from inside the locker room.

You built the Orlando Pride into champions. What did that take?

Building a system. I think external opinions and viewpoints of what happens behind the scenes can tend to isolate things. They’ll think, “Oh, well, you built a strong roster, or you had a clear identity in how you wanted to play, or you created a performance environment where players could succeed.” The reality is it wasn’t just one thing. It’s about creating a system that has a clear identity, has disciplined recruitment, and has a roster that’s constructed to a plan instead of just this wishlist. The emphasis in Orlando was: Can we get the culture right? Can we get the performance environment right? Could we start to develop this codified game model, plan, and roster construction strategy that allowed us to be successful not just in one season but in multiple seasons?

In 2021, you helped evacuate over a hundred people from Kabul, including members of the Afghan women’s team you’d coached. What did you learn from that experience?

Feeling accountable for empowering these women, and the work that we did to empower them and give them opportunities, is the very work that’s then going to threaten their lives—that is tough to struggle with. But I would say that coordinating the evacuation of those players and staff—and I will never offer it as a career highlight because I think it belongs to them and not to me—but it is the clearest answer for why I believe this work matters. We can’t forget that sport is what gave those women a team and a flag and opportunity, but it’s also what made them targets. Perspective is a hell of a drug, and being able to offer that to the people that I work with, to the athletes that I work with day in and day out, to remind them of what a privilege it is for us to get to wake up and do this every day, is truly incredible.

You’d just built a championship team in Orlando. What pulled you to Washington?

Michele Kang [Washington Spirit owner] is a force. The opportunity to work for Michele and her organization and her commitment to investing in women and women’s professional sports—not as this philanthropic effort or moral high ground to stand on, but treating it as the business it is—is exciting to me. Kynisca, our parent organization, is the first multi-team global organization built specifically around female athletes instead of just borrowing things from the men’s game. One of our big goals is to be the first National Women’s Soccer League team to break even and to run a sustainable business. I love that, because I appreciate that we’re talking about financial discipline and precision and transfer economics and these really advanced concepts in the women’s game. We’ve been asking for years to be treated as professionals, and a lot of things come with that. It’s just an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.

What’s the hardest part of being a woman in sports leadership right now

I’ve spent a lot of my career being the only woman in the room, whether it was in the Marine Corps, whether it was in corporate America, or here in sports. That experience shapes how I build teams now. I know what it costs when a room isn’t built for you. I know how much talent gets missed when it stays that way. So my job is to not be an exception—to make sure I’m not the last one. The biggest challenge that I see is other individuals not necessarily thinking that way. I get asked frequently, often by men: “We posted this position but no women applied for it. Where are all the women at?” Well, they’re everywhere. You have to go look for them, you have to do the work. I think the biggest challenge for me is convincing the stakeholders that are making hiring decisions to do the work to find qualified women, because they are plentiful—and then to make the investment in them once they give them the opportunity, so that we’re ensuring that we’re developing people as much as giving them opportunities.

Who do you lean on?

I have a village. I have a village of women in the game. I’ve got Lesle Gallimore, she’s the general manager in Seattle for the Reign. Amanda Vandervort, she’s the president of Gainbridge Super League. Lisa Cole, she’s an assistant coach with the U.S. Women’s National Team, longtime coach, has coached internationally in developing member associations as well and brings a lot to the table in terms of international experience and commitment to values and being very serious about that. Missy Price, who works at US Club Soccer. And Yolanda Thomas is an assistant coach in Orlando. It sounds like a large circle, but it really isn’t—it’s quite tight.

What does that village do for you?

Jobs come and go, especially in women’s sports and especially at the highest level. I can get fired any time, and most of my friends have been fired at one point or another. We’ve found that it doesn’t matter what job we’re in—there will be times when we’re opponents, there will be times when we’re in adversarial positions, there will be times when we’re for interests that aren’t necessarily aligned. But our friendships remain, and I think that’s really important, and I think it’s something that’s underrated and we don’t talk enough about when we talk about successful women. There’s very few women in the world that can relate and understand what you’re going through in this industry. Having that maturity and the perspective to be able to call and know who to lean on and when to lean on them and who to embrace when you need to bring them in and help them out, I think is really important.

What are you proudest of?

Being committed to my values and leaning into those two values of service and reliability—and, even when it’s hard, sticking to that. I have a 14-year-old son and I know how much he values women athletes and women in business and women in the law, and it’s come from the work and the opportunities that I’ve had and my dedication to my values. Those values dictate how I lead and how I make decisions, even when things get hard, like when we were navigating the sexual assault and sexual harassment claims with the Afghan Football Federation with FIFA and being adversarial with the world’s governing body. Standing for the things that are right and doing it in uncomfortable ways and vocally, and sometimes being a bit outspoken and being a bit of a pariah and somewhat polarizing figure—I think I’m most proud of that. It’s been hard to get into certain rooms because of that, but the benefit of sticking to my principles and sticking to my values has come through tenfold in other ways.

Any advice you’d give your younger self—or any woman coming up behind you?

Say yes to everything that comes your way because that is what is going to open doors and opportunities, and feel really good about that. But when you get to your 40s, no is a full sentence. And feel really good about that too. Be excellent at your craft, not just present in the conversation, and be unapologetic about being excellent in your craft. Know your numbers, know your contracts, know your operations—be the person who can actually run the damn thing, and then bring people with you. I’ve had doors open for me because of other women, and I take the job of opening them for the next person just as seriously as anything else that I do. The goal should never be to be the woman who made it, but to leave a path that is wider than when you found it. And for me, that’s the part I care about the most.

In a year marked by shifting conversations around sustainability, leadership, and innovation, the Cartier Women’s Initiative recently delivered a powerful reminder of what progress can look like when women are given the resources to lead.

Founded in 2006, the Cartier Women’s Initiative began with the belief that “empowered women transform society.” Two decades later, the proof is in the progress: the program has supported over 330 women impact entrepreneurs from 67 countries and awarded more than $14 million in funding to businesses that are tackling some of the world’s most urgent issues, including environmental and social causes.

To honor this year’s cohort of 30 fellows from around the world, Cartier held a week-long celebration in Bangkok, Thailand that included a series of dialogues, an immersive art exhibition, and opportunities for the fellows to connect with mentors, alumni fellows, and industry leaders. The theme of “Women Lighting the Path” illuminated the idea that women are often the spark for remarkable change.

The week’s events concluded with the Impact Awards ceremony held at Chulalongkorn University, where Amal Clooney delivered a keynote address to a room of over 700 people.

“We’re here to celebrate this year’s 30 Cartier Women’s Initiative Fellows, a formidable group of women entrepreneurs driving change across diverse sectors,” Clooney said. “I’ve seen how the Cartier Women’s Initiative fellowship not only accelerates these brilliant women’s careers but also creates a sisterhood committed to helping each other through its powerful community.”

At the Awards, each fellow was awarded a grant to continue their work. Among them are women like Vanessa Castañeda Gill, who founded Social Cipher to help neurodivergent children embrace their identities through games; Alba Forns, who is enabling everyday people to invest in renewable energy projects through her company Climatize; and Keely Cat-Wells, whose platform Making Space is helping companies train, hire, and retain disabled professionals.

“The Cartier Women's Initiative has been a profound validation of the work we're doing at Making Space, and meeting fellow founders from across the globe in Bangkok reminded me that the barriers people face in the workforce are universal, even when the solutions must be local," Cat-Wells said. "The recognition opens doors with funders, employers, and policymakers who can help us close the disability employment gap at the scale the problem demands. What I hope to accomplish is simple to say and hard to do, which is to build a world where disability and ambition belong together, where careers and dreams grow with the right access, belief, and opportunity behind them.”

While grant money is an important part of the Cartier Women’s Initiative, the program’s impact extends well beyond financial support. All fellows participate in a year-long fellowship program that includes executive education, leadership training, mentor opportunities, and access to a global network of entrepreneurs and experts.

It’s a formula that’s working: 66 percent of businesses that Cartier has supported are still operating, while 9 percent have been acquired or merged. Meanwhile, 76 percent of recent fellows have increased their revenue.

Next year, the program will take place in Amsterdam, where a new group of fellows will be introduced and honored. Proving that for Cartier, supporting women entrepreneurs is more than a moment—it’s a movement.

Prince Philip officially retired from his public Royal Family role in August 2017. But according to one royal author, the ex-Duke of Edinburgh wasn't necessarily happy about needing to step back from his career.

In her book My Mother and I, royal expert Ingrid Seward revealed that Prince Philip began to reflect on his life and career before he died. In fact, Queen Elizabeth's husband even spoke to some of his family members about his outlook on death.

"Harry had previously spoken to his grandfather about death and Philip had explained to him that although he was no longer capable of 'pursuing his passions,' the one thing he missed most was work," Seward shared.

As recounted by Seward, Philip told Harry, "Without work...everything crumbles."

By the time Prince Philip retired in 2017, he'd carried out a rather impressive 22,219 solo engagements on behalf of the Royal Family, per CNN. After a life of service, it's unsurprising that the duke found himself somewhat bereft in retirement.

Prince Philip died at Windsor Castle on April 9, 2021, and he was fondly remembered in obituaries.

As Seward shared, "He was a man of many outstanding qualities: intelligent, dutiful, hardworking, and capable of making a success out of anything he turned his hand to."

The royal author continued, "In many ways, Philip was somewhat the opposite of his wife, being outspoken on various subjects because he wasn't bound by the rules of impartiality. He was always forthright in expressing himself, even on occasions when his own actions might have appeared contrary to his stated views."

Based upon his own words, it's clear that Prince Philip took his role as a senior member of the Royal Family very seriously indeed.

In The Cost of Starting Over, Marie Claire speaks with women who have experienced seismic change in their lives. They reveal the true price of beginning again, from the financial stakes to the emotional toll.

Emily Loker poured herself into her work. As a career public servant, she was dedicated to the notion that a lot of good could be done through federal service. Loker, who holds a PhD in communications for social justice and worked an internship with NASA, was recruited by the Department of Energy in May of 2023. A job she expected to work for many years to come in her home of Boulder, Colorado.

Then the “Valentine’s Day Massacre”—the first wave of the Trump administration’s mass layoffs in 2025—left the 34-year-old Loker and thousands of other federal employees dismissed from service. The way in which her firing was handled, the fallout, and the sudden change to her life plan left her reeling. Loker spoke with Marie Claire about navigating the upheaval, both financially and emotionally, and how she processed the experience.

Before the Layoffs

My job was to be the person in a technical office (Hydrogen and Fuel Cell Technologies) to implement the Biden-Harris administration’s priorities for environmental justice. As the community engagement lead, I was trying to support federal dollars in having a more immediate impact by trying to address the social dimensions of research in hydrogen. That meant a lot of meetings, travel to hydrogen conferences, and supporting the office in implementing “Community Benefits Plans,” which focused on expanding the benefit of research to help those overburdened by the energy system. The work I was able to do with the Department of Energy under the Biden administration really fused my two passions of environmentalism and social justice. I felt so proud to be a part of this new wave of federal service with people who were committed to equity and justice.

I was living by myself in Boulder, Colorado, which has a high cost of living. I had been making just under $40,000 a year during my PhD. Then I kind of stumbled my way into salary negotiation [for the DOE job] and made more than three times what I’d ever earned by the end of my time at the DOE. I ended up being able to buy a condo, with the help of my parents. I was able to put away quite a lot into savings, make headway on paying back my mortgage, and save for my retirement. I was looking forward to the stability of the pension offered to federal employees.

The First Signs of Trouble

There were executive orders that came out within the first days of Trump’s inauguration that, in a multitude of ways, called out my job in particular. Then an internal email came stating that all work on Community Benefits Programs would be paused for the moment, so that also spelled bad news for my position.

It was a little like death by a thousand cuts and being bowled over all at once. Everything, other than the relationships I built with the human beings I’ve worked with, had been dismantled within the first two weeks of the administration. It was very swift.

My job turned more into emotional labor and support: I have a background in conscious communication and I was trying to offer spaces where [colleagues] could just be with whatever was coming up for them. It’s hard to articulate the volume of pain because I know each person experienced elements of their work being dismantled differently. Obviously, part of [offering space] was self-serving because I didn’t have anything else to do in my job and it was a really painful time.

We got our first “Fork in the Road” email on January 28, 2025, before I was fired. This email encouraged people to use a deferred resignation program. It didn’t seem credible because we had no internal validation that these terms will be honored and it seemed way too good to be true. The Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) is trying to get me to not work for six months and pay me? We also weren’t sure if it meant we’d continue working or be on administrative leave. My [initial] calculation wasn’t very financial, it was more emotional of not wanting to let go of the job and trying to be hopeful. I really did feel that if I were to take the deferred resignation program and not get paid that I would be incredibly angry for feeling like I’d sold out—and then not even getting the payout.

The "Valentine’s Day Massacre"

On February 13, 2025, I was running errands and my coworker texted me a Politico news article claiming that DOE probationary employees would be terminated today. That was an hour or two before my two supervisors put a one-on-one meeting on my calendar. Typically, supervisors and directors of the office are the ones who initiate termination. This situation was out of the ordinary and upsetting because the control was taken out of their hands. My supervisors were crying and really upset, while I felt more numb during that conversation. It was really heartbreaking after building such strong relationships and such a healthy working environment in that office, pre-Trump.

The Financial Costs

Health insurance was primary in my mind after getting fired. I am privileged to have a safety net. Not including retirement, I had about $30,000 saved. But I was worried about losing access to health insurance if I got sick. We did have a month's grace period, so I got my teeth cleaned, my eyes checked, and a new pair of glasses. I applied for Medicaid and Unemployment Insurance. I used Medicaid for therapy, but I ended up losing access to Medicaid when unemployment payments kicked in.

My plan was—if things got really bad—I could rent out my condo and move in with my parents. Practically speaking, and living in a high cost of living area, I think I could’ve afforded to live comfortably for six months, but psychologically, even with that buffer, it felt like I had to hop on getting hired again. I am in my mid-30s and want to start a family in the coming years. [As a result of earning less and having less guaranteed income in retirement], I’ve had to make adjustments as to how many children I may have, where we may live, and how my retirement would look if I maintain this salary long-term.

The Emotional Costs

I experienced it much like the loss of a loved one or relationship. I assume the loss of a job and being part of a vision I so badly wanted to participate in creating may never fully resolve itself. The energy I had poured into my work no longer had anywhere to go. The more I could get out of my thought loops and into my body, the more I experienced the energies of grief flowing. I found such satisfaction and peace expressing my grief through mediums like rug tufting and quilting.

Moving Forward

I had really wanted to just rest and to take a few months to recuperate because I was very burned out. But my director pushed me to be very proactive about my job search, because there would be a flood of highly qualified candidates in the job market after all the people getting unjustly terminated or choosing to leave themselves. She told me, “I know you’re tired, but I really think you should be applying for jobs.” I set very deliberate boundaries around the job search and would only look during certain hours of the day. Even though I was feeling a scarcity mindset, I wouldn’t allow that mindset to manifest in spending a long time on LinkedIn scrolling.

I’d prepaid a gym membership, and I’m so grateful for that. I ended up going almost every day and that was a great way to spend time and be in community with other people.

On my lowest days, I found it so supportive to hop on my bike and move with others. I really tried to focus on self-care, so I allowed myself to pay for massages and more acupuncture treatments to try and get my nervous system settled.

During this time, multiple civil action lawsuits were filed because the mass firings were illegal. A Federal court case was won, so in mid-March the DOE HR called us back to work. [At that point], I had applied to three jobs, had a series of interviews after being fired, and had just accepted an offer. I pushed back the start date on my new job in order to report back, for what I was sure would only be a few weeks. I decided to report back, even if it meant just coming back for a few weeks, to allow myself that time to reconnect with colleagues and hopefully heal a little bit of the trauma I’d experienced. And that allowed me to get that retroactive pay for that month. Once the next deferred resignation email arrived, it was a pretty easy decision for me, unfortunately, to say it doesn’t feel like I can still be of use in this role.

Life After Starting Over

The job I took was at a municipal planning organization. I lead community engagement for a federal grant whose mission it is to support as many Coloradans getting heat pumps installed as possible in as equitable a way possible. I feel lucky to have a job that allows me to pay my mortgage and expenses now while continuing to live my values.

One of the gifts of the experience of getting laid off was to tune back into what I wanted to be devoting my time to. I had previously considered going back to school to become a therapist, but I was recruited by the DOE before I acted on that curiosity. To supplement my income—and to explore my desire to work with people more one-on-one—I enrolled in a program to become a certified holistic coach. My focus is on supporting people through life transitions both from a mind and body perspective and through their physical spaces.

Going through this experience has made me, begrudgingly, appreciate the wisdom of what can unfold through things outside of my control. Now my life is spending my days leading community engagement and coaching clients on the weekends and evenings. It’s a life I could not envision when I got laid off in February.

The Money Lesson

For the better, I am paying more attention to how much I am investing, putting away in savings, and trying to maximize my retirement contributions. My best advice for people who are worried about a layoff in any field is to try and find a balance of staying present and engaged in their current role and searching for others that may be more aligned and stable. That’s on a more practical level. On an emotional level, my advice is to be with that anxiety. Be gentle with that anxiety, observing it from a loving distance, and see what you learn.

In Exit Interview, Marie Claire has a candid conversation with someone who’s left their job. We learn all about their experience—both the good and the bad—plus why they decided to leave and what life looks like on the other side.

Here, we talk to Wendy McMahon, who stunned the media world last year when she resigned as CEO and President of CBS News and Stations. After four years leading the network news division through a period of profound transformation, she is now advising Beehiiv, a platform that connects independent reporters with major institutions and newsrooms. In this conversation, McMahon reflects on her decision to walk away, what leadership truly demands in moments of crisis, and what keeps her hopeful about the future of journalism.

What guided your decision to resign from CBS?

The company and I didn’t agree on the path forward. That is the reality. As a leader, as a CEO within an organization, when you sense misalignment, when you believe your vision and your values are at odds with how the business is moving—that’s your cue, right? Then you have a decision to make. And that's a deeply personal decision; I know it was for me. But once I recognized that we weren't aligned, then ultimately it became clear that I would end up resigning, which is what happened.

I think it always starts with your gut, that sense of unease. When you have that, I do think you have to challenge your gut and surround yourself with people who are going to be real truth-tellers versus your cheerleaders. And I think it’s important to really identify and know for yourself: Am I running from something, or am I running toward something? That’s how I ultimately arrived at that decision.

Can you share what that moment felt like for you?

It was equal parts exhilarating and painful, and those emotions compete within minutes, hours of each other. You have to acknowledge that you’re standing in the middle of a storm and you’re doing everything you can to keep your footing. I feel like the loss actually comes later. In the moment, you’re inundated with people who want to talk to you, with people who want to tell you how much you mean to them, how much your leadership meant to them, and then things become a bit more quiet. That’s, I think, where the loss piece kicks in.

But when you leave a role that demands so much of you, that requires you to be available 24/7, you suddenly realize how big the world is—how many people there are who are working on incredibly cool projects that you feel a connection with, that you feel passionate about, and you feel a fire start to burn. And so your loss is somewhat replaced with what could be, with what’s new.

What does leaving a big job look like when the stakes are so high?

When I was leading through a big transition moment for CBS News and Stations, and I was sharing my talking points for how I was going to introduce that change, I received a critique on some of my language, that “It's too emotional. It's too personal.” At that moment I thought, Wow, maybe I am showing too much humanity at this moment. Maybe I need to be a bit more stoic, a bit more reserved. That led to an imposter-syndrome thing.

But then I recognized…that’s insane. That's ridiculous. Because those talking points were emotional, they were personal, they were authentic—they were me. It was my attempt to bring light into darkness and to bring some calm to a day that I knew was going to be difficult. And the confidence to show up as a human, to show up as a compassionate leader, is more vital than ever. Especially when the only thing that separates us now, from a messaging standpoint due to AI, is our humanity.

When you look back, what makes you most proud of your tenure at CBS?

We successfully united local and network news teams to pair the trust and connection of local journalists with the unmatched quality of storytelling at CBS News. We transformed legacy brands and operations to create a 24/7 streaming news channel, and, in doing so, became number one in streaming minutes consumed in a year. We introduced data journalism, augmented and virtual reality, and beats focused on issues of importance—climate change, immigration—all to ensure we were designing CBS News and Stations for the next-generation viewer.

None of it would've been possible without the people of CBS News and Stations. And I will always be proud of what we built and of the extraordinary people and journalists and leaders that I was privileged to champion and advocate for.

There’s been a lot of discussion about CBS’s new editorial direction, including the decision to bring on Bari Weiss as editor-in-chief. What was your reaction?

I will always be cheering for CBS News and Stations. So much of my heart, of who I am, is there. I do think the future of news and information will be shaped by how institutions and independent journalists work together. Legacy newsrooms provide the scaffolding; they provide the reporting power and newsgathering sources. Independent journalists bring the scrappiness, the intimacy, the innovation, the personality. I think both are essential. What we can’t have is institutions collapse and, as a result, have newsgathering commitments—to international coverage, to local coverage, to investigative journalism—go away. So much of what we see in the opinion space is built off the reporting of institutions. So what happens when that reporting is not there?

So for me, independent journalism and the ascendance of it is not about replacing legacy news organizations, but about bringing in reinforcements and creating new pathways for credible journalism to survive. And ideally, to thrive. Whenever there's movement of that scale, whenever there's a change that significant, you're going to have quite a bit of reporting and quite a bit of attention paid to it. There's a lot of projection; there's a lot of forecasting. I believe the proof is in what the work ultimately is.

Where do you think legacy news is really heading?

The speed of change is unprecedented. If you look at today's landscape and what leadership looks like within that landscape, it's a high-wire act. First you have to lead with an ambitious vision: "This is what I believe journalism and storytelling will be in the next decade." But that's all while staying true to the mission of the place, the thing that makes people proud to come to work every day. In the case of CBS News, it was the commitment to fact-based, objective journalism, and the calling to public service. So as a leader, you are developing a vision that's future-forward, but you're grounding it in the purpose of the place.

Lesley Stahl said to me once that it's a privilege in this life to test your mettle. I agree with that wholeheartedly. Leadership gives you that privilege.

Is there something lighting you up in this new chapter of your career?

The opportunity to help create the future state of a business, of an industry, of work that I believe is so vital. I do believe that our democracy does not exist without freedom of the press. And so, I’m advising companies and brands on commercial, culture, commerce, and media growth opportunities including at Beehiiv, a newsletter platform empowering independent journalists and creators to succeed.

I’ve also been doing quite a bit of public speaking, and my favorite part of that work is the people I meet across this country who care so deeply about local news, about freedom of the press, about the state of institutions like CBS News, like ABC News and NBC News. People care about journalism. That’s so rejuvenating.

This story appears in Marie Claire's 2026 Craftsmanship Issue.

In The Cost of Starting Over, Marie Claire speaks with women who have experienced seismic change in their lives. They reveal the true price of beginning again, from the financial stakes to the emotional toll.

Chloe Elise built a career teaching women how to feel confident with money. Her life in Kansas City, Missouri looked picture perfect, but behind the scenes, she says the person she trusted most was quietly draining her bank accounts over their five years together. Looking back, she describes the alleged betrayal as a form of financial infidelity.

The 30-year-old money expert and author of Deeper Than Money spoke with Marie Claire about how it all unfolded, the financial and emotional fallout, and what it took to finally walk away.

Before the Financial Fallout

In 2016, I was a full-time college student studying economics and Spanish and working multiple jobs. I was in the mailroom for workstudy, a babysitter, an after-school tutor at an elementary school, a personal assistant, and a “lunch runner” for a trading firm, which was basically DoorDash plus an office cleaning service. I also donated plasma twice a week and rarely ever missed unless my iron was low and I got denied. I was so fed up from working constantly and still feeling broke, plus student loans and a car loan had me in $36,000 of debt. A breakup got me really into personal development, so I made a list of what I wanted to change about my current circumstances and money was at the top.

I started teaching myself about personal finance. I checked out books from the library and watched YouTube videos, which is how I learned it’s important to have an emergency fund, even while paying off debt. I started saving and built up about $7,000 in a year. I spent pretty much every waking moment working to put money towards paying down debt, but I still managed to meet my ex-fiancé one night out at a bar. He was older and had graduated.

The relationship felt simple and fun. It was wining and dining in the beginning, which created this image in my mind that he had his life together. He’d also been working a corporate job, so I felt like the younger, more immature kid.

The First Red Flag

About six months into dating, I found out he was considering taking out a payday loan to cover a car loan payment. He claimed he’d lost his credit card and didn’t want to miss his payment. I knew how bad payday loans were and said he could borrow my debit card to make the payment and cover other costs while he waited for his replacement card. He ended up taking the debit card to ATMs all over town to withdraw the $7,000 in my emergency fund. I felt like I was being pranked and there had to be some sort of explanation.

He admitted to a gambling addiction and said he was going to pay me back every cent. I thought I should break up with him, but he was so charismatic, so visibly upset, and gaslighting me into thinking I’d be a bad human if I left him while he was struggling with addiction. Even one of his loved ones reached out to me to express concern that he might harm himself if I left.

The Escalation

After the loss of my emergency fund, I rebuilt it the same way I’d originally created it: I hustled. It was soul-crushing to think of the money he took from me, but I looked at it as a curveball—and it lit a fire under me to build a financial foundation that no one could take away from me.

As the years went on, I started sharing online about my journey to debt freedom and how I began building wealth without compromising my lifestyle. Seeing the impact of sharing my story and people wanting to learn about my process led to the creation of my financial literacy company Deeper Than Money.

Eventually, I was able to quit my corporate job and become a full-time entrepreneur, but my ex kept getting fired, so I ended up supporting him. Anytime he had any sort of assets, he would leverage them, and sell them to have money to gamble. We had good times too, though, and I thought everything bad in our relationship was because of his addiction.

Then he started to figure out creative ways to steal from me, like taking one of my cards to get groceries, buying some, but then also taking cash back. Or borrowing money from my friends and telling me, “You can let them be mad at you or you can pay them back.” Then things started to go missing. He’d convince me I’d lost them and berate me for misplacing my stuff. It made me so anxious and self-critical. Eventually, I found out he was selling it all on Facebook Marketplace.

He even forged confirmation emails that he’d paid off debts and lied about paying off his student loans. This started complicating my relationship with my online community.

I threw a party to celebrate him getting debt-free; beforehand, I discovered he hadn’t actually paid off any of it. It felt like such a betrayal to my community. At the time, it felt like I couldn't go back and tell them it was a lie because I was protecting him. It created so much shame and distrust in myself. In my mind, if he would choose recovery and sobriety, then everything else would be fixed, which is why I said yes when he surprised me by proposing publicly.

I thought to myself: "I did want this at some point, I'll just make sure he changes before the wedding." The day after getting engaged, he said, “By the way, I had your sister pay for the ring. I don’t have the money to pay for it, so you’ll have to Venmo her.” He’d told her we go over finances once a month, and he didn’t want me to see the charge on his account.

The Break-Up

Around the time of the proposal, I started going to therapy, which is how I realized I was in an emotionally abusive relationship. Oftentimes financial infidelity comes with mental and emotional toxicity and abuse. But at the time, I thought examples of financial infidelity were huge scandals—and not something that could happen to me as someone who was good with money. But now I see financial infidelity as one person in the couple betraying the other’s values and trust.

I also went to a support group for the partners of those struggling with addiction. One of the wives pulled me aside and said, "Are you married to him?" I said, “No.” She said, "Run." That shook me to my core.

An incident made me realize he was never going to change, so ​​I told him we’re going to break up and even offered him a lump sum to get his own apartment. He was dependent on me and I wanted it to end amicably. He was furious and didn’t think it was enough. He even said, “I’m two months away from getting half [of everything by getting married].”

The final night I saw him was frightening and resulted in my putting all his stuff in the hallway and telling him to come get it. I’ve never seen him since.

The Financial Costs

Over the course of our entire relationship, I’d ballpark that he’d easily taken around $100,000 from me between me manipulating me into repaying his debts, outright stealing, and me financially supporting him.

I did make a document with a timeline of everything and linked to receipts. I included text messages, bank statements, documents he forged, and Venmo receipts. My therapist had me do this in case I wanted to file a restraining order, if I ever wanted to try to recoup some of the money, or if he tried to come back and claim I owed him.

If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I want to calculate how much time the financial infidelity set me back on the path to my financial milestones. I never got paid back for any of it, but I was so happy to be free.

The Emotional Costs

All the lying and manipulation created such a distorted reality that I stopped trusting myself. I wasn’t honest with friends and family about what was happening, which was so hard, and created a lot of distance in those relationships.

Plus, I felt like I was betraying my community. I was sharing about financial literacy to an online audience of more than 500,000 while my partner was stealing from me behind my back. It made me feel like a failure.

My friends didn’t learn the full story until after we broke up. Luckily I have the best friends in the world and all of them immediately dropped everything to support me, and never held it against me that I had distanced myself.

It took longer to be open with my online community. I shared that we broke up, but it was triggering to keep getting asked what happened. It took about a year before I was ready to talk about it.

I did a lot of healing work in therapy prior to dating, but after my previous engagement I said I’m never getting engaged or married. I didn’t want to ever have to trust someone in that capacity. Then I met someone.

Life After Starting Over

I recently got married and going into a wedding feeling joy, ease, pure excitement, and love was so healing. It was opposite to how I felt prior. My intuition had zero hesitation and fear.

Deeper Than Money keeps growing. Hiring people is one of my proudest accomplishments. I wrote a book and I've purchased two properties now that are short-term rentals. In addition, I also purchased my first commercial property that I am renovating to become Deeper Than Money’s headquarters, and bought my dream home in 2023 in Kansas City.

From a personal perspective, I hit my goal of becoming a millionaire before turning 27 and am now a multi-millionaire at 30.

My experience with my ex, while traumatic, made me more passionate than ever about teaching women how to have financial independence to leave bad situations and to go after their dreams.

The Money Lesson

Make sure to create financial boundaries and have financial independence. In my story, the financial infidelity happened from the person who didn’t have the finances to the person who did, when it’s often the other way. In that regard, I felt incredibly lucky because ultimately, even though there’s trauma, I had the independence and power to get out of that situation.

It’s important in any way, shape or form to create some type of financial independence, like having your own savings account on the side.

As a young hedge fund analyst working on Wall Street, HeyJune Jeon always sensed she had an edge. Her job was to crunch numbers, track markets, and advise on trades. But what set her apart, she says, wasn’t what she could see in her spreadsheets—it’s what she could feel. “I just knew who would call me that day. I knew which client would reach out. I knew where the market would move,” Jeon says, on a call in October “And every single time, my gut was right.”

Still, no amount of perfect forecasts could fix the burnout that came with the hedge fund life. In 2017, hoping for a reset, she left for a tech startup. But even then, she felt something was missing. That’s when she met Frank Andrews, New York’s legendary “Psychic to the Stars,” who often sat outside his Lower East Side apartment with his dog, just a few blocks from her office. Intrigued, Jeon began reading with him—until one day he suggested she learn the craft herself. “He doesn’t take on too many students,” she says. “I was like, okay, why not?”

That private curiosity eventually developed into a full-blown side hustle when Jeon’s peers in finance and tech began asking her for financial readings at happy hours and client dinners. “I was already in the right environment, and I had the street cred, because I was already working with people who just so happened to know that, ‘Hey, she’s a good analyst from a financial analyst perspective, but she also happens to be a reader,’” Jeon says. “I had gotten so many names under my belt just doing readings for free that I had a waitlist.”

When the pandemic hit, Jeon started posting tarot and astrology videos on TikTok, which went viral almost instantly. Then came a 2020 appearance on Fox Business, where she was interviewed about her financial readings live on air. “It felt like a calling,” she says. “So I made the decision to be like, you know what? Let me just quit my job and go full-time with this.”

Today, 35-year-old Jeon runs Pheydrus, working with a team of specialists in astrology, feng shui, and numerology to diagnose clients’ energetic and financial blind spots. With more than a million followers on social media, her roster runs the gamut from traders and VC investors to women trying to reach the C-suite, paying anywhere from a few hundred dollars for a single reading to $10,000 for a full program. One seven-week course provides “assignments, live coaching, and personalized workshops” to help entrepreneurs.

Jeon isn’t an anomaly so much as a signal of a broader cultural shift: the merging of money and mysticism. A 2024 survey found that eight in 10 Gen Z and millennial Americans believe in cosmic guidance, including when it comes to their careers and finances.

Across social media, women like Jeon are part of a fast-growing cottage industry of “money mystics.” On WitchTok, hashtags like #manifestation and #moneyspells have amassed billions of views, turning tarot cards and natal charts into financial planning. Their accounts traffic in the parlance of “vibrations” and “consciousness,” and offer a supernova of options, including monthly memberships, coaching programs, and astrological consultations for traders, investors, and those seeking unorthodox financial advice for unorthodox economic times.

For Jessie-Susannah Karnatz, otherwise known as the Money Witch, that disillusionment became a business plan. The 44-year-old built her San Francisco–based practice after what she calls a “tower card” moment: a divorce, an eviction, and a financial collapse that forced her to rebuild from scratch.

“I had become intrigued by why it's not just the financial literacy gap,” she says. “When you give people the information they need to have the financial habits that are going to support them in their financial goals, why do they still not do it?” Drawing on her experience running small businesses and doing bookkeeping and tax work, she began to merge those practical skills with her growing spiritual awareness.

Now over a decade later, Karnatz’s practice blends traditional financial services with psychic guidance. A typical two-hour session with a new client begins with a simple question: “When I first sit down with someone, I just say, ‘What can I do for you?’” she says. From there, she uses what she calls a mix of “psychic capacity and technical financial knowledge” to start pulling apart “what is working and not working.” She asks about “family history around money”—how they were raised and what beliefs they inherited—then studies their astrological chart, using their birth details to trace those patterns.

Karnatz describes her intuitive process as “clear knowing,” explaining, “I rely heavily on my intuition, my psychicness, to help people understand what their real problems are with money,” Karnatz explains. “It’s not so different from what you might uncover in a therapy journey.”

On the low end, Karnatz offers a membership group, Money Coven, for $99 a month. It’s community centered, with daily discussion threads and five guided sessions a month where members can budget together or join group workshops led by Karnatz and other guest facilitators. For those who want something more intensive (and have the cash), there’s a one-on-one coaching program that costs $5,000 for three months, which includes bi-weekly meetings with Karnatz and WhatsApp support between sessions.

Christine Lewis Czyska, a self-employed business owner, turned to the Money Witch after nearly a decade of overwork, burnout, and financial whiplash. “I was looking for someone I could be honest with about my financial journey,” she says. “It’s been trial by fire.” After years of cycling through over-spending and debt, she wanted to understand the emotional patterns behind her habits. In their first session, Karnatz told her that “my financial life may be one of the places where I don’t have the same emotional maturity as other parts of my life”—a moment Czyska describes as “a light bulb.” She’s still early in the process but says she finally feels “supported and witnessed without judgment.”

It’s the kind of conversations you’re not going to have with a traditional financial planner, who can advise you on how much to save for retirement, but not why you can’t seem to stick to the plan. For many of Karnatz’s clients, especially women, that emotional excavation is the missing piece in a system built around patriarchal ideas of money as purely mathematical.

Karnatz sees the surge in financial mysticism as part of a broader reckoning with the stories Americans have long been told about money. She points out that many younger people have followed the traditional playbook: they get degrees, work hard, and do everything they’re told would lead to stability. Yet they still find themselves without job security, unable to afford a home, and “potentially six figures in student debt that the government does not care about.” She adds, “You’re having your existential crisis, and then you start seeking answers. That’s what mysticism, magic, religion all do: they meaning-make.”

It’s no coincidence that most of Karnatz’s clients are women and nonbinary people—groups that have always had to fight harder for financial footing. Women, for instance, hold just 12 percent of global portfolio-management roles, control roughly a third of retail financial assets in the U.S. and Europe, and still earn only about 80 cents for every dollar men make in the U.S.

On a gray Friday afternoon in October, I join one of Jeon’s final sessions with a client over Zoom. The woman on screen —a veteran entrepreneur who’s built and sold companies, survived boardroom betrayals, and is now trying to rebuild both her business and her confidence—has asked to remain anonymous to speak candidly about her career, financial decisions, and business relationships. Soft-spoken and visibly drained, she admits she’s “very exhausted” after years in a toxic partnership and is now facing another pivotal decision: whether to invest millions in a new venture.

Over the next hour, Jeon toggles effortlessly between mystic and strategist, pulling cards, referencing planetary transits, and offering grounded business counsel. She reads the client’s chart like a roadmap, noting that Pluto is “going through your first house,” a transit she says marks deep transformation and personal reckoning. She explains that a “second Saturn return” is pushing one potential partner toward “a fresh start in her career.” Then she draws another card: “I got the retirement card,” she tells the client, explaining that it suggests a turning point in the next six months: either the sense of having earned enough and being ready to slow down, or reaching a new milestone that brings real closure.

But her guidance isn’t only celestial. A self-described “Reflector” in human design terms (a system that blends astrology, chakras, and astronomy), Jeon sees part of her role as mirroring her clients’ energy back to them. Jeon gently reminds the client, “Your value is not tied to whether or not you can just dish out 10 million. I hope you recognize that.” By the end of the session, the shift is visible: the client sits taller, sketching out how she might re-approach her plans with newfound clarity.

That same blend of intuition and strategy is what ultimately led Jeon to this work. After years of watching both Wall Street and wellness culture miss the mark, she began to see a gap she could fill. “We’re all in an energetic enmeshment with these things around us,” she says, but traditional finance doesn’t account for the “unseen forces” that shape people’s relationships to money. Mainstream manifestation culture, on the other hand, can feel too vague to be useful. “‘Just think positive’?” Jeon says. “Well, if you have a very traumatic childhood or you come from a third world country, that just doesn’t work.”

Jeon views her approach as more of an evolution of traditional finance than a rejection of it. She’s quick to point out that Wall Street traders, too, will “think the market’s going this way, and then find evidence to support their gut. They’ll never admit that, but that’s how a lot of analysts operate.” She’s just made the process explicit and systematic. Her clients, many of them high-achieving women in business and tech, “want details, they want facts. They don’t like the generic,” she says. “Because of my experience, I can tangibly tell them: they want this percentage, this sort of leverage points or multiplier… that's something that other readers can't really go into as much because they can't really come up with the specifics of what to say. That's industry language.”

It’s a method that’s earned her a loyal following and more than a few success stories. Jeon says she has advised a founder to turn down a $20 million offer that later became $50 million, helped a YouTuber pivot into stand-up comedy and start touring internationally, and even nudged the creators of the viral Big Red Boots, MSCHF, to take the leap that landed them on Jimmy Fallon’s late night show. “Her guidance completely changed how I show up—personally, professionally, spiritually,” Manjari Kalia, a nurse practitioner who built her own concierge-care business, shares over an email. At the time, she was “floating through pandemic healthcare—doing the work but not really connected to who I was becoming.” Through Jeon’s courses, she began realigning her business with what she calls her “path of greatest purpose.”

The process wasn’t easy: “It was a lot of deep inner work—slogging through the mud, shedding old patterns, redefining what success looked like.” But the results, she says, were tangible. “Clients and independent clinicians who were in alignment with me started finding me naturally. Referrals increased, and the mission of the company expanded.”

Talk to a traditional financial expert and they have a different read. Many caution that while there is always a certain amount of risk when it comes to investing and making money, there are still safeguards in place. A licensed fiduciary is legally bound to act in your best interest. A mystic, by contrast, might be a leap of faith, especially since there are no certifications or qualifications to calling yourself one.

“If astrology or spirituality gives you an accessible entry point into something you might otherwise avoid, like your finances, great,” says Stefanie O’Connell, the author of The Ambition Penalty: How Corporate Culture Tells Women to Step Up — And Then Pushes Them Down. “If it helps you live, spend, save, and invest in better alignment with your values, great.”

The danger, she warns, is mistaking self-reflection for strategy. Manifesting can’t replace budgeting, and a moon cycle won’t rebalance your portfolio. “It might work as an addition to regular financial check-ins,” she says, “but it should not replace those fundamental practices of financial wellness.”

Natalia Benson, a Los Angeles–based astrologer and money coach, has leaned fully into that philosophy. After years of living paycheck to paycheck, she began merging her longtime spiritual practice with practical money management in 2018, teaching clients to read their birth charts as personal finance tools. She’s since built a six-figure business around that balance.

“When the world feels chaotic and frightening, people want to feel a personal sense of power,” she says. “And astrology, when it’s utilized in a healthy way, gives you that.” Through her membership program, Magical Women & Money, Benson helps clients map their “money blueprints,” studying placements like Venus, Jupiter, and Saturn to identify their values, purpose, and earning potential. Her clients are often “empathetic, sensitive, or creative people”—those who find traditional financial advice too “left-brain,” she says.

Still, she emphasizes that astrology alone isn’t the answer. “It can help you understand yourself,” she says, “but you also need sound, healthy financial practices.” That blend of intuition and structure, she adds, can “give you a sense of empowerment, and a sense of self knowing and connection that can help you weather challenging times in the world.”

Across the spectrum, each woman’s method points to the same idea: that understanding your money might start with understanding yourself. And according to them, that philosophy has transformed their own finances, too.

Jeon credits intuition for helping her sell stocks ahead of market crashes, time her exit from Wall Street, and buy two homes using her own numerology method. Karnatz rebuilt from divorce and eviction as a single mother, growing her business into a growing, self-sustaining practice by confronting her own “shadows around money.” And Benson, who once had “fifty bucks in my bank account,” says that when she finally started to “show money that I respected it and I was willing to take care of it and not be so avoidant,” everything shifted.

Jeon, for one, has stopped apologizing for it. “Following the rules didn’t really help,” she says. “So we’ve got to create and follow our own magic.” After all, fortune favors the bold. And betting on yourself? That’s just good business.

In Exit Interview, Marie Claire has a candid conversation with someone who’s left their job. We learn all about their experience—both the good and the bad—plus why they decided to leave and what life looks like on the other side.

Here, we talk to Sandy Brondello, who spent four seasons as head coach of the New York Liberty, and led the team to its first-ever WNBA championship in 2024. In November, Brondello headed North to take on a brand-new challenge: serving as the inaugural head coach of the Toronto Tempo, the WNBA’s highly anticipated expansion team. In this conversation, Brondello reflects on leaving New York, building a team from scratch in Canada, and—for the first time—the other offers she received before choosing Toronto.

What does this new chapter feel like for you right now—and what are you most excited about?

It's exciting. I've been a professional athlete, a basketball player, for a long time. I retired, went into coaching, and I've loved every part of the journey. Phoenix was great for eight years, and then I had four great years in New York and won their first-ever championship, so that's very special. But I just feel renewed energy—excited to start building a team from scratch in a great city and a new country.

I get to do something and build something from the ground up and have a big input into that. Because of the movement of the WNBA, the Olympic Games, and the World Cup, we've got more eyes on us than ever before. But while we'll be a Toronto team, we're also a Canada team, and that excites me. They've got players in the WNBA and some great young talent coming up, so it's an opportunity to continue to grow the game.

When did you first realize your time in New York was ending, and that a completely new chapter was beginning?

Right after we lost, I knew this was the end of the chapter. And obviously that's sad because you can build such strong connections with these players and the people around you. But in the end it wasn't sad for too long. I love what I do and other opportunities, and I had people reaching out immediately after, so that was nice.

[The other offers she received] were from the Seattle storm and the Dallas Wings. Once I decided, it was leaked, and then the other teams and I knew that I had to make a decision. All of them are just different, but I just felt excited to build something from scratch with the really good people in a really great city [Toronto] and with the whole country behind you. How cool is that?

You’ve been part of the WNBA for decades. When you look back, what feels most different about women’s basketball today, and what gives you the most hope for where it’s headed?

It’s a real movement. There's so many eyes on our game. We've had great players back in my day—Lisa Leslie, Lauren Jackson's—and they were the trailblazers, but now the players are finally getting the recognition that they deserve. And they're more than just basketball players, they’re human beings, obviously. They have their own passions off the court as well.

I’ve been in the WNBA for all but three years, and just to see the growth of the league—the standards have raised, the players keep getting better and better, the technology, the training methods. And now people are watching and taking notice and loving our sport. So women's sport is a real movement. The WNBA is a real movement at the moment. And that makes me very happy.

Looking back at your career as a whole, what are you proudest of—and what stands out most from your time with the Liberty?

I’m a mother—that will always be the proudest thing, my children and my pride and joy. But I’m also very proud that I get to do what I love, which is my passion. Basketball’s been my passion since I started playing at the age of nine. Throughout my whole career, I didn’t win every game. I lost championships—they hurt—but I see it as an opportunity to grow.

[On coaching the New York Liberty]: Winning their first championship, creating history—always being the first head coach that brought a WNBA title to New York—that’s special. But for me, it’s more about the people. The people that you work with, the amazing players, and the great journey together.

What was it like to leave the people you’d built such strong connections with, and what do you hope people remember most about your time in New York?

That I built a really strong culture there that the organization and the players are proud of, and the city should be proud of. I continue to hold myself to the highest level and continue to grow, and that's what I demanded of the players. That we had an enjoyable journey with a leader that was committed to excellence, but also wanted to enjoy the journey as well—and I did.

The players and I will always have that connection—after over four years, going through so many highs and lows—that won’t change. I have so much respect for those ladies in that locker room. I'm a former player too, so I know what it’s like to be in that area. Those relationships will always be ongoing, even though I won’t be their coach.

You’ve mentioned that you’re always striving to grow. How do you think you’ve evolved as a coach—and what are you looking ahead to next?

I was a pretty good player back in the day, but I was quite shy when I was playing. Basketball was my haven. So I'm just more confident, and I've grown in everything—being a better coach, being a better leader. But I haven't changed my values from when I grew up. Even my friends who I haven't seen for years, regardless of what I'm doing or what I've achieved, say, "You haven't changed," and that makes me happy. Why should I? This is my job.

I'm one of two coaches that’s won two championships with two different teams. I’d like to be the first to win it with three. How about that? It's about building sustainable success, playing an attractive style of basketball and growing the game of basketball in Canada.

How do you usually celebrate your wins—and how do you handle your losses?

I might do a dance here and then in front of the players. Over the years, sometimes I wouldn't celebrate the wins enough because the expectation's always so high, and that was expected every single time—and guess what? You're not always going to win. So I made a conscious effort to celebrate wins more in terms of just showing my joy in front of the team, even if we didn't play so well. We are playing in the best league in the world, and it is a journey. I don't like negativity—I don't feel that allows you to get back to where you want.

And that doesn't mean I don't hate losing. So I would always be like, ‘okay, what's our solution to be better? What's our process to be better and to grow and stay together?’ I’m very big on that—on building the culture and making sure all these women are feeling empowered and valued. The lesson of experience is always positive, even if at the time it feels negative.

Who has been the most influential role model in your life?

There are so many, but I had a coach from the AIS (the Australian Institute of Sport, now called the Center of Excellence) who was also the Australian men’s team coach. When I first came in, I grew up on a sugarcane farm. I was a pretty good player, and he told me, “You’re going to play for Australia one day.” I was 17 or 18, and he worked with me and believed in me, and it happened one year later. It’s very rare for a player to make a national team at 18, and I did that. He believed in me more than I believed in myself at that time.

When you’re young, you’re not sure what you can do. I had to continue to grow as a player, but he’s a role model I look up to. I’ve had other great coaches too, and I’ve coached some great players and I’m still very close to a lot of them. I always tell any young coach—‘you need mentors,’ because this journey can get lonely at times. You need people who support you, give you advice, listen—all of it. They believe in you and they've got your back. That's important.

In Marie Claire’s monthly series Role Models, we ask women we admire to share the details of their careers, from the pivots and setbacks to the life lessons that shaped their path. To kick off the column, we’re talking to Abby Phillip, the veteran CNN anchor known for her steady presence and sharp political insight. From politics reporter to primetime host, she’s made a career out of following her gut. Her new book, A Dream Deferred: Jesse Jackson and the Fight for Black Political Power, which revisits the civil rights leader's groundbreaking presidential campaigns, channels that same instinct: looking for the bigger story in moments people tend to overlook. Here, Phillip reflects on building her career from the ground up, learning when to bet on herself, and finding balance while writing her first book and raising her young daughter.

On what being a role model means:

I think a role model is someone who makes you feel like who you want to be. I think it’s aspirational, but it’s also kind of self-affirming. For me, when I look up to other people, it’s because I see something of myself in them and I also see what I can be. Sometimes role models are people who have achieved things I’ll never achieve, but they’re encouragement to keep going.

On my role models:

I sometimes have a hard time saying, this person is the model for who I want to be. People ask me that all the time. And a lot of times it’s because the circumstances I’m in as a journalist are so fundamentally different from what other people I really admire have had to experience. I think you have to come to terms with the uniqueness of your experiences and pull strands from the people who had different experiences but have fundamental lessons for you in how to persevere. But at the end of the day, there is no person that exists whose career I want to clone. There is no clone for your life. You have to make your own path. I realized that pretty early on and I think that has been an important lesson to me.

On the journey to my current role:

It’s been unconventional, I would say. When I started out as a journalist, I was a print reporter with zero aspirations to be on television. It’s hard to believe at times that I’ve ended up here. In a way, that’s the beautiful part of the journey—because it’s been so unexpected and it’s been organic. There’s been this great balance between always understanding what I needed and wanted more from my career, and being open and flexible enough to try new things and take risks.

When I started out, I was working at Politico. I was such a big political nerd—this was my dream job. I was covering the White House; what else could I want? Eventually, it became clear that I needed to grow more, so I left. I took a big chance and I went to New York and worked at ABC News, a television company that I knew nothing about. It was really difficult.

There were so many times during the journey when I asked myself, is this really what you should be doing? Should you just go to law school and get a degree and get a real job? Or is this a moment that I need to keep going? Time and time again, I decided to keep going. I decided to not give up.

I also think that the setbacks I had—and I certainly had setbacks where I felt like I wasn’t fulfilling the job and I wasn’t doing great, and I was told essentially that I wasn’t doing great—those setbacks really taught me to dig deeper into myself and figure out what I was good at and to keep trying and maybe go somewhere else where I could learn new skills. I just kept deciding to keep at it.

I left ABC, I went to The Washington Post, and I also thought I was in my dream job there working at my hometown newspaper. I loved it there. I had dreams of being a war correspondent. When CNN came knocking, I was like, don’t think so. I don’t really want to be on TV. I don’t need to do this whole hair and makeup thing. But it was a risk that I took to try a different platform that I realized had a different impact on people. I look at it as an open door that I chose to walk through despite the risks to my career, despite the chance I could suck at it. I’m glad that I did. And so at all of these different junctures, I just said, it’s probably a good sign that you’re scared to do this, so just do it.

When I was in all of those jobs, I didn’t know what was coming down the road. I didn’t know how the world was changing or how the news business was changing, and that was scary at times. But I think there’s so much opportunity in that.

A career highlight:

Well, honestly, when I flew on Air Force One for the first time as a journalist. I was like 22 years old. As somebody who did not think I could make a career out of journalism, I was walking onto that plane as a White House Correspondent. And it was crazy. It was so surreal. I was so scared to even take pictures because I didn’t want to be that person. I was definitely by far the youngest person on that airplane. So I’m surrounded by all of these veteran White House correspondents. It was a moment. It was a moment for me, for my parents, for my family. I wish that I had taken it in more. I was trying to be that person who wasn’t impressed, but it is impressive and so cool to be on that plane and to have that card that has your name on it. Even after all of these years and all these things I have done, that was the most amazing time.

Who I still want to interview:

There are a lot of different categories of people, but none of them are politicians. They’re all artists. I would love to sit down with Oprah. I would love to sit down with Beyoncé. I would love to sit down with, like, a Viola Davis and people who have these interesting, more unconventional careers. There are people in the business world I would love to sit down with. I love the stories of people’s journeys, from how they got from point A to point B. Those are the kinds of people I find really interesting and would want to have conversations with.

How my job has changed:

When I first started as a reporter, it was kind of at the beginning of this cadence of the news. It was when Twitter was becoming a big part of how we did our jobs. I was working at Politico—that really crystallized the 24/7 news cycle, the constant blogging, the minute-by-minute documenting of the news. That has escalated to a degree that I didn’t even think was possible.

I also think that things have gotten way less serious. The substance that used to characterize the news has declined dramatically. We are in a place where there is so little substance, there is so little real stuff being talked about, even while the issues deeply affect the lives of real people. That is scary and sad because I think the way we conduct politics has become much less substantive, and yet people are much more impacted by the day-to-day decisions that are happening in Washington. That’s an unmistakable shift.

Literally: government accounts are conversing in memes and insults. It’s just gotten dumbed down. I don’t think that’s beneficial to anyone. There are so many important issues that we used to be able to talk about in real substantive ways, and it’s getting harder and harder to do that. In part because our political leaders are not willing to and, in some cases, they don’t know the subject matter all that well themselves. As journalists we used to need to know a lot of policy, and nowadays you don’t. And that’s not a good thing.

How I maintain my mental health while working in news:

Especially recently, it’s been super important to take care of yourself in all the different ways. I’ve had boundaries in this business for a long time, almost to my detriment. There were times when I thought that I really wasn’t committed enough to my work, or to covering politics, because I would not feel compelled to be on social media tweeting about politics on the weekend. Thank God that wasn’t true. But it’s tempting to feel that if you’re not plugged in all the time, you can’t hack it.

From a pretty early point I knew I needed to create those boundaries for myself. On the weekends, I don’t really engage. I work a lot but I try to create time for myself. My social circle is completely outside of the news and politics and journalism. I have a life outside of this where I’m around people with different interests, so I’m not constantly engaged in it.

Recently, even more, I’ve been trying to do a lot more active mindfulness like meditation and acupuncture. I’m 36; your body is shifting alongside your mind and your mental state. I have a daughter, and I have a lot of demands on my time and energy. Taking care of your mind is also taking care of your body. So that mind-body connection is something I’ve been spending a lot of time on.

I know people want to stay informed and be engaged, but people should be mindful that not everything that’s out there is true, or worth consuming. You can still be informed without taking wholesale the constant rage bait that is out there on the internet. That does degrade your mind, your soul, and your spirit. You should create boundaries around that, because what you take in can stay with you.

What I learned by writing a book:

In a way I feel like I learned everything writing this book. I didn’t start out as an expert in this era of American politics. I was born about three weeks after the 1988 campaign ended, so I wasn’t even here for it. I wrote this book for people like me, who I think needed to understand that it didn’t start here and there was this time, before Obama, when a Black man tried to run for president and got pretty far. And did so on a platform that’s so unique, that there are politicians today who are attempting a similar type of politics—and knowing where they got it from is super important to try and understand. People like Bernie Sanders, like AOC, and others, are the inheritors of Jesse Jackson politics.

I wrote this book for me. I wrote this book for people who lived through those campaigns. I learned very quickly that so many people who lived through it felt in real time that Jesse Jackson was being underestimated and wasn’t being given his due. I think it was worth it to say: ‘Let’s actually take a look at that, let’s take a look at what really happened and what he ran on and what the impact was.’

In the 1980s, you wouldn’t have known the impact he had. But 40 years later it’s very clear what that impact is. Obama wouldn’t have been the Democratic nominee had he not changed the rules. People like Bernie Sanders and AOC—the bedrock of their politics is the politics of Jesse Jackson, popularized on a national scale.

Democrats wouldn’t be talking about universal healthcare, a two-state solution, even though it’s controversial. There are so many things that he put on the agenda that just weren’t on the agenda, like women being equal players in politics. He was the very first Democratic candidate to say a woman should be on the ticket. It’s a massively undertold story in our history that I think people will find super interesting.

How I wrote the book while working full-time:

It wasn’t easy. I always joke that I am the wife. I am both the working person and the writer, but I’m also the mom and the wife. And if you know, you know what that’s like.

I had to be kind to myself because there were so many times during this journey that I was like, why can’t I do this? Why can’t I breastfeed my newborn baby and also find time to focus on a book? I wasn’t even prepared for that.

When I started writing this book, it was a month before I found out I was pregnant with my daughter. The pregnancy journey, the nausea. I also launched my first show at that same time. There were so many things that were unexpected that I just had to get to a point where I was kind to myself. ‘It’s okay that this is something that you can’t do all at once.’ It took longer than I would have liked for it to take. But I’m very proud of myself that I persevered through those moments.

Ultimately, sometimes that’s what it takes, even when it doesn’t come easy, when it’s not fast and quick and there’s not this instant gratification—and you still do it. The book is the opposite of instant gratification. When you’re writing your first book, when you don’t know what the process is like, when going through it it can feel like it’s never ending. I had to stay up late many, many nights after working very full days. Especially when I was anchoring Inside Politics Sunday—that was like a six-day-a-week job. I was doing a Sunday show and also working all the other days. So I was working more than I had ever worked in my life, and trying to write this book on top of it. There were weekends, holiday weekends, I would have to say: ‘I’m going away for the weekend, locking myself in a hotel room, and writing for three days straight—for 14 to 15 hours a day.’

And that’s how I wrote this book. It was a grind. Sometimes that’s what we have to do. We just have to be patient with ourselves but also do what needs to be done.

In Exit Interview, Marie Claire has a candid conversation with someone who has left their job. We learn all about their experience—both the good and bad—plus why they decided to leave and what life looks like on the other side. Here, we talk with Melinda French Gates about her new ambitions, the secret benefit of transitions, and the Monday morning tradition she's been doing for 30 years.

Tell me about your decision to move on from the Gates Foundation.

It was a difficult one. But I knew I could have more impact by stepping away to focus on other issues, many of which were outside the foundation’s scope. As I kept seeing women’s rights rolled back, I started to think differently about the last chapter of my career. I am simply not willing to accept that my granddaughters could grow up with less freedom than I did. And so I stepped away from the foundation because I wanted to devote all my time and resources to that fight. There are so many brilliant leaders committed to advancing women’s rights, but they don’t have as much support as those committed to reversing them do. My intention is to help even the playing field. I am going to spend the rest of my life trying to get more power in women’s and girls’ hands.

Whom did you turn to for advice as you prepared for your new chapter?

For the past 30 years, I’ve kept a standing date on Monday mornings to go walking with three of my best friends. We’re strict about it. If you’re in town, you’re there. I call them my truth council, because we consult each other about almost every major decision in our lives. That word truth is key. I have to be willing to tell them the truth about what I’m thinking and feeling. And then I know that they’ll tell me the truth, even if it’s a hard one I won’t want to hear. We all need people like that in our lives—people who know us deeply and will help us stay true to ourselves.

Can you explain what Pivotal Ventures is and why it was your next step?

I created Pivotal in 2015 to start working on issues that were important to me but didn’t align perfectly with the foundation’s work. We’ve built really strong relationships with organizations working on issues ranging from improving adolescent mental healthcare to supporting caregivers to helping women rise to positions of power. So it was a no-brainer that Pivotal would be the center of my philanthropy in this next chapter.

What’s a lesson you learned in your last role that you’re bringing with you?

When I first got started in philanthropy, I had a much narrower definition of what it means to be an “expert” in something. I sought out the people who had studied the issues we worked on, and only over time did I realize how important it was to be seeking out the people who were living those issues, too. When I traveled for the foundation and sat down with women all over the world, I realized that as much as I cared—and still care—about grounding our work in data, the stories behind the statistics matter, too. That’s why, at Pivotal, we’re trying a lot of things to invite in more perspectives. We have a deep respect for expertise, but also a much wider definition of what expertise means.

How do you feel about life transitions?

One lesson I’ve learned about transitions—and there’s a chapter in my new book, The Next Day, about this—is not to rush them. I didn’t always think this way. I have always been a dedicated planner. I kept lists for everything, and I did that because I had so many things I wanted to achieve. But gradually I started to see how limiting that approach actually was. If you’re always going from one thing to the next according to a preconceived plan, you never look up, look around, and see the world from a different perspective. Transitions force you to pause. And if you linger in that wide-open space between chapters and pay attention, they have a lot to teach you. I’m still in my current transition, so I’m still learning how I will grow this time. I want to meet new people, learn new things, stay open to new possibilities, and see what happens.

Does anything scare you about this next phase of your work?

The stakes are so, so high. Will women have the freedom to make decisions about their health? Will women get the support they need to care for their loved ones and earn a living? As AI continues to play an increasingly prominent role in our daily lives, will the technology be developed by people who understand women’s lives? The list of really important questions goes on and on. So, yes, it can be daunting, but I’m optimistic about our ability to make progress, because I see it happening every single day.

What advice would you have for someone who is looking to take a leap?

My book starts with one of my favorite stories, from the spiritual leader Ram Dass: There were two waves traveling through the ocean, one big and one small. As they get closer to land, the big wave sees what’s about to happen. The waves ahead of them are crashing on the shore. The big wave warns the small wave that the end is near, but the small wave says, “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. You’re not a wave. You’re water.” I love that story because it captures what it’s like to experience an enormous transition without losing the core of who you are.

This article appears in the 2025 Changemakers Issue.

The morning my new job asked us to map out our “vision and goals,” I was still reeling from a night at my sick mother’s bedside. Around the bright boardroom, my co-workers—mostly women—scribbled furiously, as if they’d been waiting their whole lives for this prompt. One by one, they stood to share their goals, while my pen still hovered over the printout. Is it pathetic to write “buy a BBQ”? I wondered. That was my plan for Saturday: it was tangible, close, survivable.

My mom had been diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma two years earlier. I was in my early twenties and working as an associate stockbroker when I became her primary caregiver, handling everything from scheduling appointments to cooking meals to sleeping overnight in the hospital. The volatility wasn’t just in the markets—it was in the office too. Moods rose and fell with the numbers, and with everything unraveling at home, it was just too much instability for me. So I left and joined a company that emphasized wellness culture, drawn in by its promises of community. In my final interview, I said, “My mom has cancer. She’s my priority.” The hiring manager’s response struck me as understanding and encouraging.

A values-driven company, I thought. One that emphasized community and wellness. Surely it would hold space for the weight I was carrying. I thought I’d found a workplace where I wouldn’t have to hide how hard things were. But what I quickly learned is that corporate wellness often rewards performance—not honesty. And when you’re grieving, when you’re unraveling, when you’re just trying to survive the day, there’s no room to opt out.

So there I was, sitting in that boardroom, staring at a blank worksheet while everyone else eagerly shared their five-year plans. Just as the facilitator called my name, I crossed out what I’d written and mumbled, “I’m not quite…” before my new boss cut me off: “Make sure your goals are crystal clear by next week and ready to share.” I nodded.

Months had passed since that first “vision and goals” session, and on the surface, I was doing well. I smiled in meetings, I made friends and enjoyed wearing sweatpants to work. But underneath, I was unraveling. My mom was getting worse. Every day I was splitting myself in two: one version learning and contributing, the other bracing for the next scan result, the next hard conversation, the slow fade of the person who made me.

When I still hadn’t posted my goals on the wall or shared them in a team meeting, my boss took note. With a tone that straddled concern and condescension, she asked, “Why haven’t you shared your goals?” I tried to explain, but as they’d say in that office—it didn’t land. Over time, my struggle to fit the company’s personal-development culture was met with quiet disapproval. It often felt like my grief was being interpreted as “a lack of clarity”—but I was just in survival mode.

After my mom passed away in 2015, I wanted to keep moving. I showed up. I worked. I tried. But I was also grieving, acting as her power of attorney, managing life insurance, selling my childhood home. I began to notice things: how all the women around me seemed effortlessly upbeat. They practiced nodding. The “uh-huh, tell me more.” The oat milk lattes. The back-to-back sweat sessions. The identical visions taped to the wall: white beachfront homes, half-marathon medals, corner offices. Maybe they’d found clarity through the work. Or maybe, like me, they were performing a version of themselves they thought the company wanted.

When I looked at that blank page, all I could see was that in ten years, she wouldn’t be here. Every goal felt hollow—something she would never know or witness. How was I still expected to plan, to strive, to want more? But eventually I gave in. I filled out the worksheet with goals that didn’t feel real. I took on more. I asked for stretch roles. But the more I leaned in, the harder it became. Though the culture had supportive elements, its emphasis on positivity and future planning was difficult to reconcile with my grief. It’s especially difficult for women, who are expected to be emotionally available and endlessly productive, nurturing and strategic, resilient and forward-thinking.

Eventually, I arrived at the next company offsite ready—or at least trying—to show up differently. On the first day, we were asked to define our life’s purpose and present it to hundreds of peers. I scoffed. Distill your life’s purpose in an afternoon? Still, when it was my turn, I stood up and said, “My purpose is to live life to the fullest in my mom’s honor.” For the first time in years, I felt proud. It was real. Later that night, as I recall it, my boss pulled me aside and said, "Your whole identity can’t be that your mom died." I was gutted. In one breath, it felt as though something sacred had become shameful.

Driving home the next morning, I started to question whether workplace wellness programs were helping anyone at all, or just adding another layer of pressure. In 2022, companies spent $51 billion on these initiatives, yet employee stress remains at an all-time high. Nearly 85 percent of large U.S. employers offer wellness programs, but burnout continues to rise, and less than half of workers say they feel supported by their employer’s efforts. Eventually, I realized I wasn’t broken for struggling to keep up. The system just wasn’t built for someone carrying what I was.

I wasn’t ready for more change after losing my mom, so I stayed with the company for another four years. The familiarity allowed for some steadiness while I slowly began to imagine what could come next. It wasn’t all bad there—I made lifelong friends, and the experience helped clarify what I didn’t want in a workplace: the pressure to always be emotionally aligned, upbeat, “on.” That clarity, in turn, led me to something new. I started a small floral business out of my garage and began writing my upcoming memoir—two projects connected to her in different ways. Maybe I was right: she’s had a hand in my future all along.

With distance, I can see that grief reveals an essential truth: the real work isn’t chasing goals others validate—it’s having the courage to live within your own template. Living in honor of my mom isn’t an identity to outgrow. It’s a foundation I grow from. Wellness culture might empower some, but for others, especially those in crisis, it becomes yet another metric we’re failing to meet. Sometimes, the most radical act of growth is just surviving the day. And sometimes, the most honest version of wellness is letting grief be true.

In Exit Interview, Marie Claire has a candid conversation with someone who has left their job. We learn all about their experience—both the good and bad—plus why they decided to leave and what life looks like on the other side. This time, we talk to Tania Flynn, who spent nearly two decades rising through Nike’s design ranks before joining Athleta as head of design. Almost a year into the new role, Flynn finds herself writing a new career playbook that involves a more hands-on approach to designing sportswear around real women’s lives.

When did you know it was time to move on from Nike?

I look back on that time fondly. It shaped who I am as a creative, a designer, and a leader. But after that long in one place, you naturally start to wonder: What’s next? I became more curious about where I was heading than what I left behind.

When I stepped into my first leadership role at Nike as a design director for the brand’s youth apparel team, I had a chance to help young girls build their confidence through clothing. The stats show a lack of body confidence as a major factor discouraging developing girls from participating in sports. I realized that my work could actually help to change that.

Then I became the label’s VP of Apparel Design, where I worked more broadly across styles, overseeing product design for women’s, men’s, kids', and accessories categories. Because of the scale of my role, I was more focused on leading large teams and overseeing a broad vision for global product lines. While I had influence over product direction, a lot of the day-to-day creative decisions were managed by others.

So when Athleta offered me the chance to reconnect with my passion for helping women and girls unlock their potential—while being more involved in design choices—I knew it was the right move for me.

At the time, I was also pregnant with my little girl, Lucy. And when I thought about the world I could help create for our future generation of young women, this new role felt like the perfect place to do that.

What did it feel like to make such a big career shift while you were pregnant with your daughter?

Leaving Nike while pregnant was both exhilarating and overwhelming. It felt like I was stepping into two new chapters at once—one in my professional life and another in my personal life. There were definitely moments of self-doubt, as there often are when you’re navigating major life changes. But I maintained my confidence by focusing on the lessons I gained from the transition. For one, I learned how to manage my time and energy more effectively, both of which become increasingly limited during pregnancy. I also developed a stronger sense of patience, with myself and with others.

What was the most emotional part about the move from Nike to Athleta, and what unexpected challenges came from the transition?

I was emotional about walking away from the legacy that I had built at Nike. I created lifelong friendships with coworkers, contributed to designs that became cultural icons, and experienced the evolution of sport and style on a global scale.

Leaving such a familiar world felt extremely daunting and I surely didn’t anticipate the adjustment period that followed my departure. Adapting to new processes and unfamiliar people required patience. I had to recalibrate how I led teams and communicated my ideas, but in those moments I was reminded that meaningful growth rarely happens inside our comfort zones.

Are there any personal experiences that influenced your decision to move to Athleta?

Athleta’s commitment to empowering women resonates deeply with my own story. Similar to a lot of other girls, I struggled with my self-esteem while going through puberty. I got my period when I was 11 years old and I had boobs in the fourth grade. I had an ill-fitting bra that I layered underneath my school uniform, and I wore two of them to do any physical activity. Developing early—and ahead of my peers—was a really emotional experience. I can think of so many embarrassing moments—not only as a child, but also as an adult—that could have been avoided if a sportswear designer had considered my not-so-unique set of pain points.

Now, I’m in a position at Athleta where I can be that conscious-driven designer. That’s what keeps me fired up every day.

What was the toughest piece of criticism you received in your previous role, and how did it help you to become a better leader?

Someone once told me I’m too direct in my communication style. I took that to heart and began studying leaders who deliver honest feedback with both clarity and respect. Their example showed me how to stay candid yet considerate, and that’s the standard I work towards.

I want my teams—past and present—to see what authentic, courageous leadership looks like. By bringing my full self to work—as a woman, a person of color, a mother, and a wife—I’m modeling a multifaceted identity in leadership and encouraging others to do the same.

Which lessons from your previous work experience are guiding you now?

Early in my career, I took several roles that—on paper—didn’t match the long-term vision I had for myself. One example was moving into a position leading Nike's kids' business, which felt like a sharp departure from the work I had done—and candidly, not as exciting.

At the time, I was frustrated, but with distance, each detour stretched my skill set and widened my network. That experience ended up unlocking a new sense of purpose. It taught me the importance of showing up where I’m needed most, even if it doesn't fit my original "plan.” Rather than resist the change, I chose to lean in. I viewed those pivots as opportunities to stretch and grow. Each of those roles added dimension to my career and prepared me to be a better steward of the business.

At Nike, I also discovered how a strong narrative can give every seam and zipper a reason to exist. That insight forced me to listen harder to the athlete, not just what she does, but how she feels. Empathy became foundational. My team and I map the emotional context of a woman’s life—whether she’s moving from teen to adult or juggling a new baby and a marathon plan. We ask, What motivates her? What challenges her? And then design with that awareness.

Getting dressed is an emotional decision; what we put on our bodies is an extension of identity. So every product has to work twice: perform technically and serve as a tool for self-expression.

In hindsight, the sum of all those winding choices—and the narrative focus I honed at Nike—brought me exactly where I’m supposed to be.

For anyone eyeing a career pivot but paralyzed by “what-ifs,” how would you help them reframe that fear?

Making a career pivot is rarely easy—in fact, it’s usually uncomfortable. But if you find fear along the path toward your purpose, that’s actually a good sign; those uneasy moments are where the biggest growth happens.

Transitioning from Nike to Athleta felt intimidating. Not only was I pregnant, but I had to navigate an entirely new environment and its dynamics. However, taking that leap was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I had to look inward for the strength to navigate tough stretches and trust that my skills and experiences would carry me forward.

I also leaned hard on my trusted tribe—mentors, close friends, and especially my family. Spending time with them always re-centers me—drawing superheroes with my seven-year-old, playing peekaboo with my eight-month-old, or debriefing the day with my husband. Stepping away from my desk and connecting with my people brings me peace, recharges my energy, and reminds me that I’m never tackling a pivot alone.

In Exit Interview, Marie Claire has a candid conversation with someone who has left their job. We learn all about their experience—both the good and the bad—plus why they decided to leave and what life looks like on the other side.

Here, we talk to ex-Nike employees Vida Delrahim and Ronit Menashe, who forged a remarkably close and supportive relationship as each other’s work wives for nearly 20 years. Together, they navigated some of life’s biggest milestones—with serendipitous synced marriages and firstborns—and leaned on each other during more complex challenges, including trying to conceive. After both experienced miscarriages in their late 30s and early 40s—dismissed by doctors with comments like “You’re lucky you even got pregnant”—they set out to find better guidance, ultimately leaving Nike to launch WeNatal, a California-based prenatal supplement.

Marie Claire: How did you land in the wellness space after your marketing careers?

Vida Delrahim: When Ronit and I met in Nike’s corporate marketing department 20 years ago, we instantly became best friends. We always assumed we might team up professionally one day, likely in events or marketing. But life had different plans. In early 2020, we both had miscarriages within a week of each other—my second and her first—and our doctors were surprisingly dismissive, saying, "It just happens.” Separately, we were both given little optimism or practical guidance—basically told there was nothing we could do. The doctors' offices were very matter-of-fact, which just happened quite a bit with "geriatric pregnancies." Since this wasn’t my first miscarriage, I took it at face value and assumed it was my fault.

Ronit Menashe: I’ve always wanted to work in the wellness space. When I got my MBA at USC, all my classmates interviewed for every job under the sun—places like Taco Bell, Kellogg’s, or General Mills. Those are considered prestigious positions from business school because they pay well, but there was a disconnect for me. I wanted my career to make a real impact.

While at business school, I had just one interview at Nike, which I got. I thought, “Wow, this will be the best thing ever. I’m going to make an impact at a huge company.” But after eight years at Nike, I realized I still didn’t feel like I was truly changing lives in the health and wellness space, so I decided to pursue functional medicine.

After Nike, I got a job with Dr. Mark Hyman, who I worked with for four years. He's a leading functional medicine doctor. When I had a miscarriage at that time, I knew that what my conventional doctor was telling me was a little bit of gaslighting and just a little bit of lack of information on her end. Researching on my own, I learned there are many root causes of miscarriage; women can do a lot to improve egg quality at any age, and men account for half the fertility equation.

VD: I was still working at Nike and remember getting a call from Ronit where she revealed what felt like a groundbreaking discovery—that men contribute just as much to fertility as women, yet nobody discussed men’s prenatal. We realized there was not only a nutritional gap but also an emotional gap: women often shoulder the entire fertility burden. Given our own experience with pregnancy loss, we knew something had to change. We wanted to educate, shift gender paradigms, and spark a broader conversation. It was the start of the brand.

MC: How did your experience at Nike shape the way you developed WeNatal?

VD: Nike is at the top of their game, and being a premium brand was ingrained in both of us when we started working on the start of our own company.

RM: We learned the importance of a strong visual identity and brand experience there. They excel at integrated storytelling across all platforms and that premium experience from customer service to how you check out, how you open the box, and the messaging. That mindset has been rooted in everything we do.

It's why we initially contacted Brightland's brand designers but received quotes in the hundred-thousand-dollar range—way beyond our budget. That led us to work with Kati Forner, who had recently left a design agency. She’s an incredible designer who helped us establish our brand’s foundation and brought our vision to life, creating the elevated experience we learned to value at Nike.

MC: What was it like getting a small brand off the ground?

VD: We kept telling ourselves, “We’ll launch next month,” only to discover we needed to do something else. We were meticulous about our formula, continually updating it as new research emerged and double-checking every detail. Our background taught us that we’d only have one chance to make consumers fall in love with WeNatal, so we invested heavily in the brand experience—from the website design to the packaging—ensuring every touchpoint would be memorable, innovative, and unlike anything else on the market. Otherwise, what’s the point of launching another prenatal product? That commitment to getting it right explains why it took two years, but it also shaped a truly holistic offering that addresses real needs in prenatal care.

MC: Vida, you still worked at Nike at the time. How did that go?

VD: I was open about the project from day one, sharing updates on social media because it truly was a labor of love—and a healing journey after my two miscarriages. It felt good to help other women facing similar struggles and to let them know they’re not alone. Since we bootstrapped the entire venture, I couldn’t afford to quit my job. I even mentioned it in Nike meetings, explaining that this was my second passion, but it had nothing to do with athletic apparel or footwear—I never wanted to compete with Nike. Since it was so different from Nike’s day-to-day work, it didn’t conflict with my role. I squeezed in work on nights and weekends. Ronit and I would get together, and while our kids played, we’d be busy cranking out work.

MC: How did your co-workers react?

VD: My boss had an idea, and honestly, so did everyone else. Every now and then, people would say, “I heard you started WeNatal!” Everyone who knew was incredibly supportive. Even now that I’ve fully left Nike, it’s rewarding to hear former colleagues—sometimes even current employees—saying they loved hearing me on a podcast or seeing what I’m doing with the brand. Friends from our Nike years have been an enormous source of support, and we’re all still cheering each other on as our careers evolve.

MC: What did you learn about work culture?

VD: My time at Nike taught me that people are at the heart of a brand; they’re the ones who truly bring it to life. We’ve been fortunate to hire people we love, respect, and admire—those who genuinely believe in our mission. The work will get done, but it’s crucial to surround yourself with a community that cares as much as you do. For instance, one of our newest hires had been taking WeNatal for two years before reaching out because she wanted to be part of what we’re building. That kind of passion is a blessing. We treat our team like family, and that’s something I learned there: when you invest in people above all else, the brand becomes real.

MC: Would you have done anything differently?

RM: The biggest learning I think we've both had is to trust our gut. When we saw red flags, we knew we should not proceed, but we didn't have the expertise to negotiate out of a contract or say the money is sunk—let's get out now and move on.

VD: Sometimes, as a first-time entrepreneur, you second-guess yourself. And I think the reality is we've been around the block long enough to trust our intuition.

Now we go back to that, and we're like, "Nope, let's stick with it. We know what we need for this brand." And trusting our gut as a female founder, I think, is a very important skill set you need to reinforce.

When Lauren M. and her now-husband decided to get married, they threw traditional rules out the window, including societal standards around who should buy her wedding ring. At the time, Lauren, a 31-year-old writer and editor, was making about $90,000 a year, while her partner pulled in $12,600 annually. That salary discrepancy led her to buy her own wedding ring, an understated $500 band that she loves; it felt more “her” than something flashy.

Lauren was fine with buying her own ring. Her family? Not so much. Her dad, especially, was skeptical. “The first thing he said was, ‘I just want to make sure he can take care of you,’” Lauren recalls. She knew he meant financially, and she felt like she had to defend their situation. She told him that her partner was the most caring person in the world; maybe he couldn’t provide for her monetarily at the moment, but he supported her emotionally—and that meant much more to her.

Still, her father’s comment stuck. It made her question her decision to buy her own ring. She says it fits her current lifestyle—as a nomad, she doesn’t want to wear something she’ll be anxious about losing while traveling—but she’s game for an upgrade in the future. Right now, she still feels like she has to downplay the fact that she’s the primary earner in her relationship, especially when introducing her husband to people she’s nervous about impressing.

Lauren is part of a growing number of young women who make more money than their male partners, and as a result, have taken on the role of engagement-ring-buyer and financial provider. While you wouldn’t know it from Instagram “we-did-a-thing” announcements, the number of women buying their own engagement rings has doubled from seven to 14 percent in recent years, with women spending around 33 percent more on their rings than men.

The wage gap is still a very real issue, but Gen Z and millennial women are narrowing it, with younger women in 22 cities making the same as or more than guys their age, according to Pew Research Center data. This is likely because women, in Gen Z and millennial generations especially, are getting college degrees at a higher rate than their male peers, which sets them up to earn more over their lifetime. Younger women are also forgoing or delaying having kids at higher rates, which helps keep their income steady.

All of this is great news for women’s financial independence, but somewhat-more-complicated news for those of us who were socially conditioned to believe that, in a straight relationship, the man should make more and be able to afford a nice engagement ring for his partner.

“I have feminist friends who are still like, ‘He needs to be the one to buy the ring and ask me,’” says Candice Maier, Ph.D., a licensed clinical therapist and associate professor in the Marriage & Family Therapy Program at the University of Wisconsin-Stout. “There’s this incredibly steeped patriarchal idea that women aren’t pursuers; they should be pursued, and the ring is part of that.”

On Reddit and Quora, posts with titles like, “Thoughts on brides buying their own engagement rings?” and “Has anybody bought their own engagement ring?” abound, with women nail-biting about whether it’s okay for them to make the purchase themselves and what it says about them and their partners. Most of the women who write these posts provide caveats about how their partners aren’t deadbeats—a defense that only needs to be deployed because of deeply entrenched beliefs around who should buy the ring.

To understand where these beliefs come from, it’s worth examining the history of engagement rings: They can be traced all the way back to Ancient Rome, where rings made of materials like bone and flint were worn to symbolize love and, unromantically, ownership, obedience, and business contracts, according to the Gemological Institute of America. In 850, Pope Nicholas I gave betrothal rings their more modern meaning, declaring that they represented a man’s financial sacrifice and intention to marry.

But the average engagement did not involve the exchange of an expensive ring until less than a century ago. As more diamonds were discovered in South Africa in the late 1800s, the stone lost its scarcity value and became commonplace. The British industrialists who owned the mines fixed this by creating De Beers Consolidated Mines, Ltd., to control diamond supply and create a marketing strategy to reestablish the gem’s rarity and power. In the 1940s, De Beers launched their incredibly persuasive “A diamond is forever” campaign, running ads that made it clear that a successful, loving marriage was only guaranteed if a man spent one month’s salary (this later jumped arbitrarily to two, then three months’) on a diamond engagement ring for his fiancé. They loaned jewelry to movie stars—the OG influencers—and essentially birthed the first hellish installment of the wedding industrial complex.

Knowing the dark history and marketing-manufactured meaning of exorbitant rings can make the quintessential engagement seem much less appealing. But for a lot of people, the desire for a traditional proposal and money dynamic is somehow just still there. “Most of our parents modeled a relationship where the man made more, and that’s generally seen as socially acceptable,” says Beth Gulotta, a licensed mental health counselor, founder of NYC Therapeutic Wellness, and host of the podcast, Quiet the Clock. “Anything outside of that isn’t seen as normal, and there’s so much pressure for relationships to look and be a certain way. It’s baked into us.”

When Dana S. and her boyfriend were ready to get married, the fact that he couldn’t afford a ring was a major roadblock. Dana, who lives in Brooklyn, New York, wasn’t willing to wait until her partner was in a better place financially. She had a timeline—she was 27 and really wanted to be married before she turned 30—and she was determined to make it happen. Her then-boyfriend was 24 and making ten dollars an hour as an audio engineer; she was working as a researcher at a website and had a $45,000-a-year salary.

Trying to put together a classic proposal when she wasn’t in a textbook-gender-roles-relationship really stressed Dana out. Money was an issue all around; she wasn’t exactly making a ton, either, but she couldn’t let go of the idea of a traditional engagement. “Especially before we were married, I never felt like, ‘Oh, I have a job, I should pay for everything.’ I had an old-school mentality drilled into me that things should be split equally or taken care of by the guy, and I didn’t want to be taken advantage of,” Dana says. Stubbornness felt like the antidote to settling for an unconventional proposal. And she didn’t want to take away her boyfriend’s opportunity to make the gesture. “Even though he couldn’t get something expensive, I think he wanted to pay for the ring for me,” she says.

She and her boyfriend Googled “white sapphires,” which look like diamonds but are more affordable, and asked their parents about family stones they could use. "We were really looking at everything to check off traditional wedding boxes while doing it in a way that made it work for us,” she says. “You’re just so conditioned from a young age to want some ginormous ring. The finger-spread Instagram effect is a real thing.”

Dana ended up having a diamond of her great-grandma’s reset, her boyfriend paying for it on layaway for a year and a half. “I orchestrated it myself, and it wasn’t traditional or a surprise in any way, shape, or form,” she says. “I know how this sounds, but so many of my friends who waited until later to get married have much better rings than me, and I know so many people look at my ring and make judgments. It can make me self-conscious. My friends will make jokes that my husband got off so easy.”

Distress over an engagement ring purchase is just a symptom of the larger dynamics that come into play when women are the breadwinners in straight relationships.

“As men do less well structurally, that shakes the foundations of patriarchy, which increases the importance of upholding patriarchal roles personally through rituals like engagement,” says Laurie Essig, Ph.D., a sociologist, professor of gender, sexuality, and feminist studies at Middlebury College, and author of Love, Inc.: Dating Apps, the Big White Wedding, and Chasing the Happily Neverafter.

As society shifts toward gender equality, women and men fall into the trap of uplifting patriarchy within their relationships, mostly subconsciously, and it hurts them both. It’s incredibly hard to avoid this pitfall, especially for Gen Z and millennials, who are among “the first generations having to navigate it in real life,” Essig says. Examples of older couples thriving in flip-flopped gender roles are difficult to find. “Younger generations are being tasked with living out this shift.” Hence the hesitation many women have about buying an engagement ring even when it may logically make sense as the higher earner. We haven’t yet established new romantic aspirations, ideals, and fantasies to match up with the reality of many couples’ financial arrangements.

If cultural benchmarks, like the classic proposal, are meaningful to you, being unable to achieve them can feel terrible. They poke at highly sensitive and deeply ingrained aspects of identity. “These gender roles are deeply toxic, and they can sneak their way in even if a couple is otherwise super well-connected and able to communicate,” says Hanna Morrell, a financial coach who works with couples at Pacific Stoa Financial Wellness. “When men earn less, they can feel like their autonomy is taken away and they’re ‘less of a man,’ which often means they’ll respond with rebellion or resentment, and women feel like they have to downplay their success, and that somehow making money is a bad thing.”

Women who are breadwinners end up taking on the pressures inherent with supporting someone financially, while also protecting their male partner’s ego. They don’t want to emasculate them, a concept that only exists because we’ve tied money so tightly to what it means to be a man. “Why would it be embarrassing to have a female partner who makes more than you? That should be good for everyone,” says Essig. “But under the conditions of patriarchy, you can’t be proud because men should have control of women.”

When men don’t have that authority, they’re inclined to obtain power in other ways, notes Maier, which can range from being abusive to not picking up their share of housework and emotional labor. Even when women are the higher earners, they still tend to take on more domestic and caregiving responsibilities than their male partners, an unfair setup that leads to major burnout. This might be one reason why straight couples with higher-earning women are more likely to get divorced.

It may also be why a lot of women, despite feminist ideologies, still want a partner who makes more. They know that even if they’re the financial provider, their partners won’t become the homemaker or primary parent. In other words, being the breadwinner means double the work—holding down a full-time job and holding down the household.

Wanting a higher-earning partner doesn’t make you a “bad feminist.” You could think of it as a survival strategy in a patriarchal, capitalistic society. But for younger generations of women, it’s becoming less realistic to find a partner who makes the same as or more than them. Ultimately, though, if it’s what you want, that’s valid.

“The beauty of third-wave feminism is that it’s about choice. If you want to be supported as a stay-at-home mom or have your partner propose to you, that’s great. Nothing should be done purely in the name of feminism,” Maier says. “But nothing should be done in the name of tradition either.” Given that we’re socialized through the lens of patriarchy, it can be hard to determine what’s an authentic preference and what’s been shaped by misogynistic stereotypes. “You have to be intentional about your choices, and question them, and figure out what’s really right for you,” Maier says. Examining your attractions and desires, and uncovering their origin, can be incredibly freeing.

We have a long way to go before men and women stop feeling the pressure of gender roles. It starts with imagining what our lives could look like without them, and having the courage to live that way now.

Émilie Gille, a 28-year-old living in Nashville, Tennessee, split the cost of her engagement ring, which was roughly $3,500, with her husband. When they made the decision to get married, he was a Ph.D. candidate making about $25,000 a year, and she was working in public relations with a $55,000 salary. “It felt weird to say, ‘Here’s the ring I like, and I want you to buy it for me,'” says Gille. “It felt old-fashioned that he would have to buy it to prove that he wanted to be with me, when really, getting engaged is about a partnership.”

Gille and her husband have no regrets about splitting the cost of her engagement ring. He’s Korean, and in his culture, engagement rings aren’t really even a thing. Their cultural differences made the whole process easier, Gille says. It helped her realize that stressing over the size and price of a ring—and who pays for it—is a uniquely American anxiety. Lauren, who spends most of her time abroad, echoed that sentiment.

Still, Lauren says, unlearning traditional money dynamics doesn’t happen overnight. When she first started splitting her income with her husband, she caught herself wanting to police his spending. “Like if he wanted to get an $8 latte at the airport, I’d want to say you can’t have it, but if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t think twice about spending his money,” she says.

Critiquing your reactions is difficult and crucial work, and talking about them with a partner is itself a big step. “Just having a conversation together about what it means to be a man or a woman is challenging social gender norms,” Maier says.

Liberation lives on the other side of that conversation. When Naomi Clarke, a 35-year-old from Austin, Texas, was deciding how she wanted her engagement to look, she simply took what resonated from the traditional model, and left the rest. She bought her own ring for about $3,000, as well as a watch for her partner. After they’d talked about marriage many times, she surprised him with a proposal.

“Having a ring was more about symbolizing our commitment rather than fulfilling a tradition,” Clarke says. “We both appreciate the meaning behind wearing something representing our bond, but it didn’t have to follow conventional standards. For me, it was about having something tangible to signify the next phase of our relationship.”

Clarke, who works in HR, makes slightly more than her husband, a software engineer. But she says that wasn’t the main thing that pushed her to buy her own ring. She simply wanted to take the lead in the purchase. “It was never about who should buy it, but about what felt right for us.”

We need to hear more stories like Clarke’s, where women and men push past the confines of gender roles. Showing them in the media is a great place to start. When I asked Marie Claire’s pop culture experts if there are any movies, books, or TV shows where a woman buys her own engagement ring, they couldn’t think of a single example. Women proposing has been normalized (for example, Monica on Friends and Miranda on Sex in the City) but we need to take it a step further. We should see women making more money than their partners, and feeling empowered to buy their own engagement rings.

For Gille, who also bought a set of modest promise rings for herself and her husband (a Korean tradition), splitting the cost of her engagement ring just made sense, no matter who made more money. “I liked the idea of us starting on equal footing,” she says. “We’re equals in this relationship, so why wouldn’t we equally invest?”

Lauren says she still goes back and forth on whether she “missed out” on a traditional proposal. Ultimately, having a partner who provides emotional security is her biggest priority, and her husband gives her that in a way no other guy has before. Male earning power has lost its sheen since they met, but the engagement ring she bought herself has not. She tells people the truth about it, too. And her family has come to love it, and their relationship.

“My ring represents how I've been able to break out of the wedding blueprint and do it the way that makes sense for my partner and me,” she says. “I don't feel ashamed about doing it differently.” Doing whatever works for you has a nice ring to it.

When Jane Pratt reflects on her tenure as the editor-in-chief of Sassy, a teen magazine she founded at the age of 24, chewing gum is one of the first things that comes to mind.

Pratt, now 61, did a lot of press to promote Sassy’s debut in 1988. At the time, it was on-track to become one of the most widely circulated magazines of the era with her as its enterprising-yet-edgy, fresh-faced leader. Photographers would ask Pratt to sit cross-legged on a desk and blow bubbles with bright pink gum. It underscored her age while ever-so-slightly undercutting her success; she was being praised as an early innovator while being styled like she’d stumbled into her success. Whatever the intent of the images, what captured the collective gaze was Pratt's enviable accomplishments so early in life. That having it all was fun. It was something worth staring at.

The ranks of bright, young, heavily profiled professionals have only gotten more visible in the decades since Pratt was the new star in print media. Read a profile of a groundbreaking innovator, a Silicon Valley supergenius, or a visionary artist, and you’ll find an age between 20 and 29 cited in the first paragraph—and then brought up again and again throughout the story. Lists rank and quantify the millions—sorry, billions—they’re raising in venture capital and generating in social media impressions. Fortune runs a 40 Under 40 list of business leaders. The website Her Campus publishes a 22 Under 22 ranking of industrious college students. And then there’s the Forbes 30 Under 30 list, whose annual November unveiling is tantamount to a national holiday on X (formerly Twitter).

If you say you don’t admire and envy them, you’re either very evolved or a flat-out liar. A recent Cardrates study found that 86 percent of Americans do not consider their current profession to be their “dream job.” Most abandon the idea of ever having one by age 25, on account of finances (35 percent) and lack of opportunity (34 percent). Can you blame us for being fascinated by the lucky ones?

But as we on the outside idealize what the inside has, weaving together age and accomplishment into a single goal, we’re overlooking what reality feels like. There are real sacrifices made to make it big early on; there are also fears that the high won’t last, or worse, was a fluke to begin with.

“The founder nation that we live in has kind of changed expectations for people,” says Dr. Madelaine Ellberger, the lead practitioner at Downtown Behavioral Wellness, a private practice therapy center populated by many high achievers. “It's the shift in the expectation that is the most salient for mental health. We live in a world now where there's exposure to the idea that you can literally do anything—and there are actually people doing anything.”

The odd thing about culture’s obsession with young high-achievers is that they’re still widely the exception to the rule. According to a Payscale study, American women tend to hit their peak earning years in their 40s. Dissatisfaction with early roles, even the prestigious ones, is fairly common; so is wanting off the career rocketship after it blasts off into an unknown, highly-stressful orbit.

Even professionals who hit their biggest goals on the first try struggle with the non-Pinterest board version of their reality. “We, as a society, love to reward ingenuity at a young age. We're fascinated by it, and I get it—it's appealing and it has been something that has been monumentally formative in my life,” says Tea Obreht, a novelist whose first book, published when she was 26, became an instant New York Times bestseller. “I think that so much of anyone's career has to do with hard work, but it also has to do with luck and it has to do with timing—so many external factors that you have no control over.”

The setting where Cami Tellez founded the intimates brand Parade is a famous one in direct-to-consumer and fashion circles: The year was 2019, the place was her Columbia University dorm room. The bra and underwear market was, at the time, still largely shaped in the polar opposite setting: the cold, corporate boardrooms of the mass brands like Victoria’s Secret. Tellez’s distance from the traditional industry gave her a perspective no one else in the market had. It eventually positioned her brand for a $200 million valuation and share in thousands of millennial and Gen Z customers’ top drawers, all before her 25th birthday.

“Parade hugely benefitted from my inexperience in the underwear category—it was a space that was hardened in its arteries and needed new blood in every facet,” she says. "I think that the scale was shocking to people—and as much as it was what I envisioned, it was even shocking to me.”

That level of early success, its recipients say, is a form of validation. “I felt like I knew exactly what I wanted to do and I didn't have the barriers of insecurity from past failures to hold me back or make me question myself,” Pratt, now the founder of the Substack venture Another Jane Pratt Thing, says of working on her first magazine. “So I just went for it, and most of all, it felt really great to keep hearing that I was the youngest person to be doing what I was doing.”

Praise and attention weren’t on these founders’ vision boards, of course. (If it was, they didn’t say so on the record.) From field to field, the goal was more so realizing the dream of making something. Tea Obreht, the writer, remembers feeling fearless in the lead-up to the 2010 release of her first novel, The Tiger’s Wife—because she didn’t know another way to feel. “I'm really grateful that I was so young because I was too green to be afraid of the things that one might be afraid of,” she says. She didn’t worry about negative reviews or a ticking clock on the follow-up to her first book; she was just grateful that her story made it to the printer, and then the bestseller list.

The shiny veneer of success can belie the realities behind it, though. Phillip Picardi had aspired to run titles with Teen Vogue’s reputation from his mid-teens. He worked several odd-jobs at once to land the first internship that would lead him to his corner office elevator in his mid-20s. It was a punishing schedule, but a rewarding one, to eventually found the first queer-focused magazine at publishing company Condé Nast (Them), while also reinventing Teen Vogue as a hub for activism. All before he was 30. “The things that you feared about it were true and the things that you hoped would happen also happened—which was like, I got to interview Beyoncé,” he says. “It was somewhat like what I wanted it to be, but there was some tough shit, too.”

It took a public scandal at Picardi’s second major job, as editor-in-chief of Out, and a resulting personal mental health crisis, for the former editor to consider leaving the industry he’d always dreamed of working in for other pastures: roles where he could still be in touch with his passions, while having more separation from work outside of the office. He enrolled in Harvard Divinity School’s Masters Program, and has since worked at the Los Angeles LGBTQ Center and WeightWatchers—companies where he can use his skills as a storyteller without necessarily being a public face.

“I had sold myself this story, this myth that my career could enhance all elements of my life and that the work that I was doing was my life,” Picardi says. “And so therefore I was going to be successful in life because I was successful at my job. But I didn't count on how sometimes, things happen in your career that make you unsuccessful. And if you haven't been tending to the garden of your personal life, you have no safe place to fall.”

This is the double-edged sword of success: Pouring all of yourself into an early, career-defining job can come at the expense of everything outside of work. Pratt tells me a story about going into her room with earplugs when friends would come to see her roommate in their West Village apartment; she could have spent time being a 20-something, but she always chose her work.

The fear that the first opportunity may be the last opportunity can also lead early achievers to overexert themselves, at their own expense. “I’ve always loved saying yes and trying to do it all—especially in my 20s, when every opportunity felt worth exploring,” says Dianna Cohen, the founder of haircare brand Crown Affair and, before that, the branding agency Levitate. “But that mindset led to burnout at times, and working in some intense, even toxic environments only added to the challenge. It’s taken a lot of unlearning and personal work to build a healthier balance.”

As voices outside ask for more—the sequel album, the next breakout product, just more in general—imposter syndrome can set in. “I’ve seen many women say it was luck that they had the quick career progression and not fully believing in their skills and achievements that got them there,” says Jenna Greco, a career counselor.

It took Obreht six years to write her second book: a process that included crafting two entire novels that never crossed an editor’s desk. Nerves slowed her down after her big debut, as well as her sense that the literary press would comment on how long the follow-up took. (Every major book review did mention the 9-year gap in their coverage of Inland in 2019.) “I think the biggest fear you have as someone who has a big hit right out the gate is the idea that actually you're an imposter, right?” she asks. “Are people going to realize the emperor has no clothes?”

In her case, the answer was no: Obreht’s second book was mostly well received; she’s gone on to write a third this year with a reception to rival her debut. She’s experienced a longer career arc than she could have anticipated for herself.

The pressure she felt, and that others echoed, came from a place of deciding their jobs were their end-all, be-all purpose. Tying self-worth to your job is toxic in mid-manager settings; it’s weightier when it’s making headlines. Then, “if there's rigidity or a black and whiteness around ‘insert whatever identity’ here, whether it be professional or otherwise, if something about that changes, it's going to rattle you.” Dr. Ellberger says.

Ultimately, success stories have to learn what the rest of us tell ourselves: that a high isn’t necessarily a peak. No one wants to feel like a one-hit wonder; part of that comes from reframing how we talk about success to begin with. “When you reach a certain goal or level or whatever it may be, that doesn't mean that there's no further places to go after that,” says Dr. Ellberger.

The economy of founder media also needs a face lift, as nice as being on a list feels. The same press that praises young founders is also quick to tear them down the moment they make a mistake. The comments section on social media, too, can be unforgiving when an author releases a less-than-stellar book, or a business owner doesn’t follow up their first viral product with an equally buzzy sequel. All the voices can unduly exert even more pressure.

“I used to fantasize about being anonymous and letting Parade speak for itself. I now know that it’s impossible—the public will always be interested in understanding the contours, interests, secrets and of the people who dictate culture,” Tellez, now the creative director of the hosiery brand L’eggs, says. “I don’t know a single female founder who hasn’t had to mourn the loss of their privacy while embracing the birth of their new platform—and every day presents new twists and turns in that journey.”

Learning to separate the personal from the professional is a daily effort. Cohen says she used to see her identity as “completely intertwined” with her businesses. “Every decision felt personal, and every success or setback was a reflection of who I was as an individual,” she says. Over time, she’s learned to step back while still being ambitious: moving to Florida to be closer to family and taking time to meditate every day have helped her develop Dianna, the person. “Now, I see myself as a leader who is deeply invested in the company’s mission, but I also recognize that my identity isn’t solely defined by the business.”

On the phone in mid-October, Pratt tells me she’s never really been asked to reflect on the ways getting started so young affected her career or her sense of self. When she looks back, even the sacrifices come with gratitude. “All of that work I did when I didn't have a life and wasn't going out with my friends when I was in my 20s—all of it is still paying off now,” she says. “There are still people that remember it and still people who want their daughters to engage with what I'm doing now.”

But if she could change one thing, it would be how often age comes up in conversations about work—both hers and in general. Taking pride in early accomplishments shouldn’t mean forever being defined by the age it happened or assuming that the best is already over. Other founders agree. “I've been working with a lot of the same talent, teams, investors, agencies, et cetera, for over a decade now, so age doesn't come up,” says Cohen. “Good people work with good people whether you're 22 or 72.”

We can forget in the stream of early success stories that breakthrough moments don’t have a minimum age requirement, too. Obreht, now teaching an MFA writing program part-time at Bennington College in addition to working on her writing projects, advises dozens of students who only had the means to pursue their literary dreams after working in another field first. “Without fail, the thing that they're grappling with most is this idea of like, ‘I'm not interesting, I'm too old, I'm not young enough,” she says. She tells them what she told herself during her years of working on her second project, in her late twenties and early thirties: It’s not the moment something happens that gives it its value; it’s having done it, period.

On the other side of what those of us who are still unsatisfied are still chasing—a book, an award, a freshly-founded company—we might find ourselves in the same place Obreht is, contemplating her fourth project (maybe a play, maybe short stories), or Tellez, digging into the day-to-day of leading an entirely new business. In this place, there’s no such thing as reaching the top, only a long, winding path forward. “I am still chasing the high of running the most culturally relevant brand in any given moment—and I think I always will,” Tellez says. “I know I’ll do it many times in my life and the key thing I’m aiming for is being prolific.”

You've probably heard the jabs about being a millennial. Over the years, we’ve been called everything from lazy, entitled snowflakes to avocado toast-eating spendthrifts. But the most common label has been that of the “broke millennial,” perpetually behind in finances and therefore, life.

“Millennials have been squeezed in a lot of ways our parents weren’t,” says Jill Filipovic, author of OK Boomer, Let's Talk: How My Generation Got Left Behind. “We went to college in record numbers—and took on astronomical student loan debt—only to graduate into a recession where it was difficult to find work. As a result, some of us took lower paying jobs, which had long-term effects on our finances.”

Indeed, the stereotype of the “broke millennial” has largely been true. But new data suggests a different narrative, one that claims the generation has money after all. Millennials are, in fact, wealthier than their parents were at the same age, according to a recent analysis of the 2022 Survey of Consumer Finances (SCF). Researchers at the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis analyzed SCF data and found that between 2019 and 2022, the median household net worth of older millennials (born in the '80s) doubled, and the median wealth of younger millennials (born in the '90s) quadrupled.

“We were really surprised by the data,” says Ana Hernández Kent, a senior researcher with the Institute for Economic Equity at the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis, who studied the data with her colleague, Lowell R. Ricketts. Previously, their analysis of 2019 SCF data showed that the wealth of older and younger millennials was 9 and 44 percent below expectations, respectively, based on earlier generations at the same age and adjusted for inflation. But just three years later, in 2022, the SCF data showed that the wealth of older and younger millennials rose to 37 and 39 percent above expectations—a significant increase for both groups.

The data makes it sound like millennials are thriving, so why doesn’t it feel that way?

Millennials’ net worth only looks good on paper

In Kent’s analysis, she found that real estate was the main driver of wealth gains for millennials between 2019 and 2022. The reason? Home values appreciated tremendously during this time. According to a report by the Joint Center for Housing Studies of Harvard University, home prices nationwide increased 47 percent (23 percent when adjusted for inflation) between 2020 and 2024. So if you were lucky enough to buy a home before the pandemic, chances are, your home equity—and net worth—increased dramatically.

That’s been the case for Melissa Bell, a 34-year-old who lives in Orlando, Florida. At the beginning of the pandemic, her home—which she purchased in 2015 for $190,000—was worth around $300,000; today, it’s valued at nearly $450,000. On paper, her net worth increased substantially but that doesn’t necessarily make her feel financially secure. “Having the house helps bring my husband and me peace of mind but it doesn’t impact our day-to-day spending,” she says. “At this point, the house is our retirement plan.”

The psychological disconnect between looking rich on paper and actually feeling wealthy in your daily life has been described as “phantom wealth.” The idea is that having assets like a house or a car increases your net worth, but because they aren’t liquid, they don’t make you feel better off in your day-to-day; they can’t help pay for essentials like gas and groceries.

The wealth gap among millennials is the largest it’s ever been

Millennials may technically be catching up financially but we also have greater wealth inequality than any previous generation, according to a recent study. “Millennial wealth is hugely unequally distributed,” says Rob J. Gruijters, a quantitative sociologist at the University of Bristol in England, and the study's lead author. “The top 10 percent of millennials hold close to 70 percent of the generation’s wealth. Meanwhile, the bottom 50 percent of millennials hold less than 2 percent.”

Just like the rest of America, the wealth gap among millennials runs along racial lines. In an analysis of 2019 SCF data, Kent found that white millennial families had $88,000 in median wealth, Latino families had $22,000, and Black families had $5,000. In other words, white millennial families had four times as much wealth as Latino families and nearly 18 times as much wealth as Black families. There are many potential reasons for these disparities but according to Kent, a big one is the burden of student loan debt on millennials of color.

Brianna Gillard, a 33-year-old who lives in Greensboro, North Carolina, has more than $151,000 in student loan debt. She lives at home with her parents to save money. “Over the next two years, my goal is to pay off my consumer debt and student loans, build an emergency fund, and hopefully afford my first home,” she says. “I’ve made progress recently, paying off three credit cards within the past six months, which has been a big step forward.”

Public policies and programs are lacking

On top of student loans, millennials are dealing with rising housing costs, unaffordable child care and healthcare, and low-paying services jobs. To close the wealth gap, it’s crucial for lawmakers to create policies that address these issues, says Gruijters. For example, policies that make it easier for young people to buy homes can help those who started out disadvantaged begin to build wealth.

Whitney Hayes, 37, was able to purchase her first home in Roanoke, Virginia in 2022 in part because she qualified for a Virginia Housing Development Authority grant that helped cover her closing costs (she also received help from her father, who gave her the money for the downpayment). Though she still has student loan debt, she’s finally starting to feel somewhat financially stable. “I just emerged from feeling like I was financially struggling (like within the last few months), so I am on the other side of it—but barely,” she says.

So are millennials really better off than their parents? The thing is: It's complicated. The overall wealth of millennials has indeed increased but it’s more unequally distributed than ever, so if you don’t feel like you’re rolling in it, you’re certainly not alone. It’s also important to remember that numbers don’t always tell the whole story. As Kent put it: “There’s what the data says and there’s lived experience, and sometimes those things can feel conflicting.”

“Very demure, very mindful” is the latest TikTok trend sweeping the internet. And while the influencer who coined the phrase was talking about dressing for work, being “mindful” can be helpful in many other aspects of our lives—including finances.

Money mindfulness means being highly aware of the way you handle your finances, knowing the decisions you make today will impact your future. It’s about setting goals and implementing a plan to achieve them.

Financial advisers say money mindfulness has a less obvious benefit, too: reducing stress. And many consumers are stressed these days. In a recent TD Bank survey of more than 1,500 American adults, 67% reported that some aspect of their finances keeps them up at night.

So, if money mindfulness is something you’d like to try, here are five steps to get started:

1. Establish goals. “Taking a step back to become aware of your own financial goals and focusing on what is most important to you is an important first step,” says Courtney Mitchell, head of Consumer Deposit and Payment Products at TD Bank.

A suggestion would be to divide your goals into three categories: short-term goals to be achieved in less than a year, medium-term goals to be accomplished in one to five years, and long-term goals for further down the line. This will help you prioritize your spending and savings.

One goal that likely should be high on your list: “Pay off high-interest debt such as credit cards and personal loans,” Mitchell advises. “This will pay off in the long run and give you more flexibility with your money.”

Goals can seem overwhelming once you put a dollar figure to them. But they can be achieved over time by making small changes to your spending habits and gradually building your savings.

2. Know where your money goes. Start by closely tracking your spending for a few months. With this exercise, you can identify expenses you could cut—such as streaming services you no longer watch—which can free up money for your goals.

Next, use this information to create a budget. A popular budget is the 50-30-20 rule, which splits your take-home pay into three categories:

• 50% is set aside for necessities like groceries, housing, insurance, transportation, and utilities.
• 30% goes toward wants, such as dining out, entertainment, or vacations.
• 20% is dedicated to savings and repaying debt.

“Online banking and mobile apps allow you to track your expenses anytime, anywhere” Mitchell says. “That way, you’ll always know how your spending is aligning—or not aligning—with your budget.”

3. Plan for emergencies. An emergency fund is essential to any financial plan. This is money you can tap instead of using credit cards if you lose your job or have other surprise bills.

“Give yourself peace of mind by preparing for unexpected changes to your income and account for any unexpected expenses,” Mitchell says. “You never know what challenges the future may bring along.”

The standard recommendation is to keep three to six months’ worth of living expenses in an easily accessible—and preferably high-yield— savings account.

That can seem like a stretch, but you don’t have to build emergency savings overnight. Saving even small sums consistently can help you build a sizable emergency fund over time.

“One of the easiest ways to start consistently saving is to automate it,” Mitchell says. “You can either set up for a direct deposit to go to a separate savings account or set up automatic transfers from your checking to a savings account based on the frequency and amount that works within your budget.”

In the realm of personal finance, few tools have stood the test of time like the savings account. If you're ready to jumpstart your savings journey, TD Bank accounts such as TD Simple Savings and TD Signature Savings provide options to help you meet your individual savings goals.

4. Practice mindful spending. It’s easy to make impulse purchases, particularly now with sales promotions during Black Friday and the holidays. But just because something is on sale doesn’t mean you're saving money, especially when you don’t need the item.

Mindful spending is being intentional about your purchases and pausing before each to ask yourself: Is the purchase something you really need or value? Would that money be better used elsewhere?

This doesn’t mean you can’t have any fun. “If you decide to splurge, give yourself time to save for that purchase or create a plan on how to pay for it,” Mitchell says.

5. Don’t leave money on the table. Make the most of benefits or perks that can put more cash in your pocket—with little or no effort on your part.

For example, if your employer matches your contributions to your 401(k) plan, make sure you contribute at least enough to get the full match. That’s free money.

Take advantage of a high-yield savings account or certificates of deposit that offer higher interest rates and allow your savings to grow faster.

And if you’re in the market for a new credit card, look for a rewards card that offers cash back. It's important to know what rewards are most valuable to you, and to know how you're likely to use the card. If you like to set it and forget it, you'll often get the most out of a flat cash back card like, which allows you to earn a percentage on every eligible purchase without any further thought. If, on the other hand, you like to be very strategic around rewards, a card like TD Cash lets you choose your top spending categories each month to maximize your rewards on specific categories like groceries and gas.

Or if your goal is to pay down card debt, consider transferring your balance to a card offering a low introductory interest rate for 15 or 18 months and then aggressively paying it off before the promotional rate expires.

Lastly, money mindfulness is a journey—one that starts with small steps. These five can put you on a path that will reap financial rewards for years to come.

In 2019, my father was sick and I was helping to manage his care while maintaining a very high-stress, full-time career in publishing. I’d travel back and forth from upstate New York to my media job in downtown Manhattan, where the work pressures were intense. I’d be forcing smiles in meetings while checking my phone about my father’s status; sitting in his hospital room with my laptop open, fielding emails and calls.

A colleague became my confidante. The bridge between my personal and professional lives, and having that person who understood both worlds felt like a salve. It was a relief to have someone who knew why I needed a little extra time to get things done. One week, an Instant Pot showed up, a gift she sent to help make cooking bulk meals for my family easier. When I opened the package, I started sobbing. She was one of the reasons I was able to make it through that time; what many people would call a work wife.

The term is derived from “office wife,” a phrase once used by men to describe their particularly industrious assistants and secretaries. Since then, the term has evolved. In their book Work Wife, authors Erica Cerulo and Claire Mazur describe them as women in the office with whom we develop “a combination of personal and professional bondedness.” Those who we share an “in-this-together attitude."

But since the pandemic has shifted the way we show up at work—physically and mentally—the relationship has seemed to fizzle. In talking to friends, one told me that her view of work changed after the pandemic and she prefers to keep to herself. Another said working from home has been a solace because she doesn’t want to build connections, she just wants to get her work done.

There are the obvious reasons why we’ve become divorced from the idea. Remote, hybrid, and communicating-mostly-on-Slack work make for tough bond-building. When you don’t share a cubicle, an office, or even the same state in some cases, the organic avenues for establishing a relationship don’t exist. There are no midday runs for coffee or post-work happy hours. Scheduled syncs online just don’t have the same effect.

The disappearance of the work wife may not seem like a dilemma, but their decline comes at a time when perhaps we need them the most. According to a 2023 study from the American Psychological Association, one in five workers say their workplace has harmed their mental health. Meanwhile, loneliness is reaching epidemic levels, exacerbated by remote work: A 2023 State of Remote Work report found that 23 percent of workers struggled with isolation and loneliness. Missing out the most is perhaps Gen Z, who entered the workforce right before or during the global Covid lockdowns, and are hungry for connection. Of the newest generation of workers, research shows only half feel they have someone in their corporate orbit who is there for them.

As I know from personal experience, work wives are a wonderful lifeline, especially in environments that can be overwhelming or difficult to navigate. Or for people who need an ally in spaces they don’t always feel seen or supported: mothers, women, people of color. Several friends told me that before the pandemic, these relationships were pivotal; they helped with everything from decision making to team building to advocating for raises to working through management issues. I’ve had many a work wife talk me off a ledge after a bad review or a project gone awry, reminding me of my worth, my value, and what I’m bringing to the table.

Work wives function as a type of invisible support system, filling in the gaps where The Man lets us down. They are the informal networks we create to resist the polarization that many workplaces may engender, especially among women. Not only are they the harbor we seek out to vent about work woes, like untenable expectations, low pay, abysmal family leave policies and the like, they are often the person who can step in and aid in the fight to make things better—or to cover for us when we need to take care of a sick dad or kid. Of course, companies should be doing this work themselves and not relying on the unpaid labor of women, but it feels good to have someone there for you anyway.

Professionally, I’ve built massive platforms and campaigns with other women, ideated inspiring stories, and executed important events. We’ve mentored each other through promotions and job and career changes. But as work has changed, our beliefs have, too. Forty five percent of adults think that having a work spouse is not appropriate, according to a 2023 Newsweek poll. Perhaps, in part, because there’s been a move away from the familial tone that work took on. Referring to colleagues as “family,” let alone suggesting they are people you shared vows with, isn't only cringe, but unhealthy when it comes to setting strong boundaries. We see that now. Looking back, I can say for myself, in almost every case, the relationship was rooted in a type of trauma-bonding due to working in competitive and unstable environments.

Sometimes, you end up dwelling on problems or alienating others with your exclusivity (it is a wife, after all), making it harder to meet colleagues and build networks that could be just as supportive. One friend who manages a younger team told me that these days she notices work relationships are less about support and moving things forward and more about complaining to one another.

As with any relationship, perhaps the answer isn’t to end it, but to work on it. We have an opportunity to consider what a workplace looks like where we don’t so desperately need a “wife” to get by. But the drive to forge meaningful connections, even at work, is not overblown; it’s a human need. Which may mean being more intentional about creating moments for small talk. Not to find a wife, but the women who will root for you, lift you up, cover for you, commiserate with you, advocate for you, and if you’re really lucky, show up with an Instant Pot. Call that whatever you want.

This story originally appeared in the 2024 Changemakers Issue.

In Exit Interview, Marie Claire has a candid conversation with someone who has left their job. We learn all about their experience—both the good and bad—plus why they decided to leave and what life looks like on the other side. Here, we talk with ex-Lululemon executives turned swimwear entrepreneurs Shannon Savage and Laura Low Ah Kee, the cofounders of the swimwear brand Left On Friday. Six years in, they’re becoming a household name in the activewear space, but they aren’t done growing yet.

When did you know it was time to leave your roles at Lululemon?

Shannon Savage: I was drawn to my career there because I had this really strong entrepreneurship value, and I grew with them from a small company to such a giant one. I remember when I started, I was like, I’m going to do this job until I get bored, then I just had this seven year itch after going from the lead designer in the women’s running and outerwear category to design director to vice president of design. A little whisper asked, Is this what you want to keep doing? I just found that the job felt repetitive—the company was way bigger than when I started, and the work wasn’t as satisfying anymore.

Laura Low Ah Kee: I had a six-year itch, which led to a sabbatical and the insight about starting Left On Friday. During my last three years at Lululemon, I was in my dream job as the director of merchandising. I was so proud of the work I had created in different roles. I was respected, impacting the business, felt I had made major contributions, and was on my career high. But what more was I going to contribute? What was I going to learn beyond that? Shannon and I had been talking about bathing suits, and that sounded so much more exciting than continuing to do the same thing. I knew I could always come back to Lululemon, so it didn’t feel that risky.

Was it hard to leave a big company with resources?

LLAK: It’s a bit stressful. As a cofounder, you never turn off. We filled all the roles with just us two at the beginning. Owning everything from start to finish was very satisfying, but we were always working. It’s very gratifying work—but it’s all the time.

Who did you turn to for advice as you started LOF?

LLAK: We both had amazing relationships at Lululemon and exited on really good terms, so we predominantly reached out to our networks there. We had close advisors and mentors, formally and informally, who had built that business and marketing from the ground up. In other areas [like legal and finance], we brought experts in from our extended networks or found people who were recommended to us.

How did your former colleagues view your new venture?

SS: There was a time between when we left Lululemon to work on the launch of LOF, and people were just so curious, like, “What are you guys working on?” Then we launched, and it was a relief we were well received. I remember packing orders in our studio-turned-warehouse in Vancouver to send to the Lululemon head office—former colleagues were just ordering and loving the swimsuits. A few of those people have joined us on the team.

What have you carried with you from your previous role?

LLAK: Lululemon was a training camp for our new business. We brought a lot of things, but we also left our egos behind. We don’t go “this is my idea or your idea.” I also learned that if you’re in a high-growth environment, the place you work now versus in nine months will look like a very different company. You have to always be in that rocketship growth mindset and ready for the future because it comes at you much quicker than you can imagine.

SS: I remember when my boss—one of our mentors now—gave me this advice when I was going on maternity leave. She said, “Always imagine that you won’t be able to do your job in nine months, so who will do it?” It makes me think about doing the job differently and always trying to teach other people along the way, and it’s a very generous way to focus on your career.

What advice would you give to someone looking to leave their job?

SS: I would tell them to really question what they’re going after, and is that something that they can achieve where they are, or is it a pivot or a career change? If you’re starting a business and it becomes a success, just remember it’s not like you’re just gaining a bunch of free time. It will be a journey, so make sure that’s what you want.

LLAK: To help keep you focused, be clear on why you want to leave. You don’t have to have the next phase figured out, but you do need to know what is motivating you to exit.

This article appears in the 2024 Changemakers Issue of Marie Claire.

Even after I graduated from Stanford Business School, all I wanted to be was a mom.

So after my first child was born on New Year's Day 2016, I let myself dive into the experience. When I rocked my baby night after night at 3 a.m. (while endlessly scrolling Instagram), I was exhausted but content. I loved the sheer magic of watching a human grow and learning something new—in this case, the basics of how to take care of that being.

Five months later, I announced that I wanted to downshift my paid work to two days a week and spend the rest of my time at home enjoying said contentment. Everyone around me—from my husband to my mentors to my mother—had something to say about it.

My family worried I'd be bored. My friends thought I was turning my back on the Lean In rallying cry that was still in the zeitgeist. The internet served up working mom content with crisp blazer-clad power women. The inverse was the athleisure-clad women of the Real Housewives and the cultural depiction of overwhelmed mothers buried under laundry—a very slight upgrade from the apron-clad mothers of the 1960s serving cocktail trays to their husbands after a long day at the office.

Meanwhile, I felt more modern and ambitious than ever before. My husband and I had agreed to block and tackle housework. He made the meals; I held down the fort with the baby. Our relationship felt equitable, not traditional. Sure I was tired (caring for a newborn isn’t easy) but I was also inspired. Learning how to take care of my child and meeting my new, postpartum self reinvigorated me to explore what came next.

I was tinkering with a new idea online—which would eventually become Mother Untitled, the first community for women on career pauses to focus on family. I felt creative, not stagnant. The time I spent at home, away from my professional duties, allowed me to explore new ideas and engage in creative experimentation.

I was meeting women on the playground and in baby classes who occasionally wore athleisure—never aprons. None of us were confined to our homes. We talked about our former careers, new ideas that inspired us, and what we were learning about ourselves during this time. None of us fit the outdated caricature of the stay-at-home mom. But all of us felt judged—shamed, even—by someone in our orbit, who thought we were "giving up" on our drive, productivity, success, or worse, our feminism. Even for the most self-assured of us, that shame can cause us to question our choices or feel self-conscious when someone at pick-up asks, “What do you do?” Above all, that shame makes us generally enjoy this time in our lives a little less than we deserve to.

Fast forward eight years and little progress has been made. Stay-at-home moms still feel judged and shamed for their choice. Last year, when Mother Untitled surveyed 1,200 mothers in full-time stay-at-home motherhood or downshifted careers, more than half of them said they received negative feedback when they announced that they wouldn’t immediately be returning to work. In response to the question, “How do you feel others perceive your decision to become a stay-at-home mom?” the most common answers were “misunderstood, spoiled, and judged.”

Indeed, nearly 80 percent of our survey participants said they felt that most people don’t understand the work that goes into being a primary caregiver. This lack of understanding adds to the stigma of stay-at-home mothering, which only reinforces the shame.

The first step to gaining understanding and lifting the stigma around stay-at-home motherhood is realizing that all parents share more similarities than differences. There’s no need for there to be a divide between stay-at-home mothers and mothers who do paid work outside the home. Our survey results prove this: 1 in 3 mothers in the general population reported being extremely likely to pause their careers for family in the next two years, and half said they planned to downshift their working hours. Ninety percent of stay-at-home parents want to return to the workforce after time away from their careers.

All of this points to a unifying fact—our generation of women is ever-evolving when it comes to the work and family equation. Stay-at-home mothers will likely become working mothers at some point, and working mothers may become stay-at-home mothers. And more of us exist in the gray area between these categories than ever before.

We also need to reexamine the assumption that stay-at-home motherhood is a luxury, available only to the privileged. First, in defining the role in this way, we deny full-time caregivers the dignity and respect the essential work of raising kids demands. It's important to note, too, that for many families—62 percent, according to our survey—the decision to stay home with their children is often fueled by financial need. In the U.S., many families simply can't afford the exorbitant cost of childcare. When our culture can part with the idea that stay-at-home motherhood is a luxury, we can adopt a more nuanced view of every parent's choices and the immense work of parenting in all its forms—a view that lets us continue to find more common ground.

When we meet on that common ground, such as at the school drop-off line, I challenge you to ask a parent you may have overlooked as "just a stay-at-home mom" about her plans for the day. You may find that her response shifts your perspective. She may share a class, side project, hobby, or volunteering gig she's working on, alongside motherhood, as half of the stay-at-home parents in our survey reported. If she’s focusing on her family at this moment, it's important to recognize that constant caregiving entails more than packing lunches or folding clothes, as it's often portrayed. It demands endless research and real skills, from tackling sleep issues to managing big emotions—including your own.

These are shared issues for mothers, whether they work at home or do paid work (or something in between). For far too long, our culture has devalued the significant daily work of caregiving, viewing it as less important, easily outsourced, or mundane compared to the productivity of the workforce. This dismissive attitude often looks down on parents who dedicate their time to caregiving responsibilities. What we know now, from a variety of research, is that parenting is the most demanding it's ever been, with the advent of screens, a rise in bullying and mental health issues, and constant information overload. While these responsibilities belong to all parents, for stay-at-home parents, they take place against the backdrop of daily, minute-by-minute caregiving and can be an education in and of itself.

I was lucky enough to go to one of the best business schools in the world. But I got my greatest education—on who I really am and what I wanted to become—in my five years as a full-time, at-home parent. Maybe that was what I was yearning for when I applied to grad school in the first place.

Our culture around caregiving is ripe for reexamination. Much attention has been paid to how we can better support working parents. It's time to include stay-at-home mothers in the conversation—and end stay-at-home mom shame for good.

Marie Claire has always been more than a fashion magazine. Since our U.S. launch in 1994, we’ve helped women get dressed and get ahead at work. From negotiating a raise to starting your own business, we’ve aimed to give guidance that empowers and inspires women to make bold moves in their careers. To celebrate our 30th anniversary, we’ve rounded up some of the advice we’ve dispensed over the years (and to be honest, we'd rethink a tip or two!).

Pay Attention to the Chair You Choose (Winter 1995)

"Always sit at the conference table, never by the wall."

Keep the Faith (Winter 1995)

"Believe that change can happen, in spite of all evidence to the contrary."

Avoid Bad Breath (Winter 1995)

"Don't eat garlic or onions for lunch."

Rethink How You Ask for a Raise (July 1999)

"Don't use the word 'raise.' The 'R' word suggests only that you are going to cost the company more, not necessarily that you are worth more. So, ask for a different 'salary.' This term implies that you are seeking a fair reward for a good performance."

Practice Demure Office Dressing (March 2007)

"If you were applying for a job at Marie Claire, we'd advise you to strut your fashion cred (a plaid bustier over that crisp white blouse, perhaps?). But with, say, a law office, a little more subtly is called for. Show you mean business: jacket on top and heels on below. Also, show you don't mean sex. It's perfectly fine—nay, appropriate—these days to flaunt your curves, but this is no time to take the puppies out for a walk. And please, please go light on the perfume. When you sweat, as you invariably will during an interview, it starts to smell like a French cathouse in here."

Embrace Remote Work (January 2013)

"Work from home one day a week. The notion of clocking in or punching a time card is prehistoric."

Work Smarter, Not Harder (September 2017)

"We don't want people to work 70-, 80-hour weeks all the time. That's not sustainable. We do need people to self-check their workloads. And they should focus on simplifying their jobs and making the task easier instead of putting heads down and being a hero. You can only do that a couple of times."

Manage Your Energy (January 2020)

"Say 'yes' to things that push you to grow, help others and yourself, and drive success. Say 'no' to things that will not push you to grow.

Get Dressed for Zoom Interviews (April 2021)

"Get fully dressed, including pants and shoes. Yes, really! This is so important for getting in the right mindset for the interview, but it’s even more essential for avoiding embarrassing mishaps. Even if you expect to only be seen from the waist up, things happen, and if someone starts knocking loudly at the door, or a pet accidentally pulls out your internet cable, you don’t want to stand up to reveal that you couldn’t be bothered to change out of your sweatpants for your interview."

Trust Your Gut (September 2021)

"While talking to someone in an interview, oftentimes you can tell something's not right. Maybe they say all the right things, maybe they use the catchphrases, but in your gut, there's something that doesn't feel right. As women, especially Black women, we've been taught to discard that. But it's better to lean into it. Ask yourself: Why is this person making me feel uneasy? Why did that comment raise a question in my head? Really sit with that versus running away [from] it."

Start "Career Cushioning" (February 2023)

"Essentially, this entails taking action to keep your options open, preparing for the future, and 'cushioning' for whatever comes next in the economy and job market. Think of it like an insurance policy to set yourself up for success. And it’s something people are already doing: Workers have spent the past three years building themselves up, whether that means learning new skills, solidifying backup plans, pivoting careers, or starting their own side hustles. And if you aren’t already, you should, too."

Join an Employee Resource Group (May 2023)

"Sometimes called affinity groups, ERGs have become popular since the pandemic, as employers have sought ways to maintain a sense of unity amid the rise of remote work. By connecting in groups and spaces designed for vulnerability, workers can find shared successes, struggles, and the common denominators that become recommendations for systemic change within a company."

Ace "Upskilling" (June 2023)

"Upskilling is acquiring new skills that can advance your professional development. Whether you’re making a major shift, job searching in the same field, or gunning for a promotion, upskilling is one of the most valuable things you can do to create the career you want.”

Create a Personal “Board of Directors” (November 2023)

“List your contacts and identify how you might learn from or leverage their experiences. Reach out and be specific about what you are seeking, avoiding the vague 'pick your brain' requests. The most successful women identify a close-knit group, a personal board of directors, that knows you, can nurture and advance you, and share insider tips and diverse perspectives."

Stop Saying You're Sorry (November 2023)

“Over-apologizing at work can cause people to lose respect for you, damage your confidence, and make serious apologies seem less meaningful.”

Take a Nap (March 2024)

"Napping is a natural, simple, and accessible habit that can help boost productivity and overall wellness. Everyone shouldn’t necessarily nap, but everyone should be allowed the option to rest when needed, without it having to be frowned upon, especially in the workplace."

Read more stories in honor of Marie Claire's 30th anniversary here.

As I sit down to write this note to you, it's a mere two days before we put our Changemakers Issue to bed, which will hit newsstands 30 years since Marie Claire was first published in the US. The moment makes me think of all the change that's happened to MC since then, and how the magazine continues to evolve.

The world around us does, too. Take Kamala Harris, who is poised to make history in America’s presidential election. Her common refrain, “You exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you,” rings in my head as we celebrate three decades of this magazine and I think of the pioneers who led this brand before me. I pass the mic to them to share their favorite MC memories and lessons learned during their time as editor in chief.

“Landing the job to launch MC U.S. as editor in chief—now that was a thrill and an honor. But my next favorite memory was working with and having so much fun with my terrific, enthusiastic, and incredibly creative team, including the late Lynn Murray, our incomparable photo director, whose life was taken in the 2021 mass shooting in Boulder, Colorado. My lesson, don’t listen to the naysayers who tell you that something can’t be done—just go ahead and do it!”

“My favorite memory was taking Drew Barrymore with me to feed kids in Kenya. She was interested in girls’ education; I was interested in food sustainability. I learned you can change the world with just one woman and one idea. Over my tenure at MC, I raised over $1 million for women’s charitable causes around the world.”

“When I got to MC, the publisher Susan Plagemann told me she had started selling the upcoming September issue around the theme of American fashion so could I please create a big fashion story. I have always loved the mix of news and fashion in MC, so I thought let’s have some politicians, who at that time were jockeying to be presidential candidates. With the team’s help we got Hillary Clinton, an up and comer called Barack Obama, John McCain, and Rudy Giuliani to agree to be in it. It was an ambitious and effective solution to a business need, and for me and my new team a wonderful introduction to the intoxicating mix of MC, journalism and fashion and fabulosity, which is even more so today. I loved my years there and I simply surfed on top of a very talented team. My three executive editors Lucy Kaylin, Anne Fulenwider and Joyce Chang all went on to edit Oprah, Marie Claire and Self respectively."

“One of my favorite memories is from our first Power Trip, which was a giant team effort and took months of dreaming and plotting. Standing at the head of the plane, holding that microphone that the flight attendants use, looking out over the sea of accomplished women, and welcoming them all on the crazy adventure we were about to embark on, and thinking, Holy shit, we did it. And honestly, the best lesson the job taught me was how to manage a team. Not the sexiest answer, but something I had zero experience in, learned on the fly by making mistakes, and that was ultimately crucial to the success of the magazine and to everything I've done since.”

“During the dark days of lockdown we photographed and interviewed Janet Mock for the first digital cover of Marie Claire. In such a challenging time to have the opportunity to create a beautiful story to inspire readers felt like an incredible privilege. Shift an in person and on paper process to Slack, docs, and email during a global health crisis? No problem. We are capable of so much more than we ever thought possible.”

“The night we won the ASME award was my favorite memory. The presentation was during the pandemic, so it was streamed virtually. The team decided to watch together in our art director’s backyard, where she’d set up a projector. When we won, the livestream cut to me for an acceptance speech and caught us realizing we’d won in real time, the team exploding behind me, and then everyone trying to duck and hide so I could blurt something out before joining the celebrations. I learned no idea is too crazy if you have enough ambition, confidence, and the right team to pull it off.”

Read more stories in honor of Marie Claire's 30th anniversary here.

The Cost of Starting Your Own Business talks to founders to get an honest look at what it really takes to create a company. Not just the financial, but the personal and emotional costs, too.

You can use many epithets to describe Ella Emhoff. She's the stepdaughter of Vice President Kamala Harris—and come November, potentially the first daughter to POTUS. She's a fashion model, with Balenciaga and Miu Miu on her runway resume. And the internet has crowned the 25-year-old a certified It girl. Emhoff substantiates the latter title on a video call with Marie Claire, tuning in wearing a perfectly worn-in white tank top and a kitschy-cool beanie she made herself.

But going forward, Emhoff would like you to lead with this: artist, designer, and founder of the knitwear brand and crafting club Soft Hands. "No matter what, I'm always going to be connected to my family and modeling—it's a part of my history. But it feels really good to execute an idea I've had for a while and have it exist as its own thing," Emhoff says from her apartment-cum-studio in Brooklyn, New York.

She jokes that her entrepreneurial endeavor is a coming-of-age trope—"It's the classic, 'I'm 25. My frontal lobe is forming, so I'm doing my own thing now.'"—but she's earnest about how meaningful it is to pursue her passion for fiber arts. "It feels like I'm setting up for a more true-to-myself path. It's very liberating."

Emhoff remembers the first time she picked up a set of knitting needles with impressive recall: "My mom taught me how to knit at a Disneyland hotel when I was six years old with some kit from Target." She explains that "young Ella was a very crafty kid who just couldn't sit still," and knitting was a tool to tame her hyperactivity and force her to focus on the task at hand. The hobby stuck: Emhoff continued knitting as an anti-anxiety and de-stressing outlet throughout her childhood and later honed her practice at Parsons School of Design by studying fine arts and textiles.

She launched her knitwear collective Soft Hands in 2021 and has stayed busy ever since. The artist staged her New York Fashion Week debut in February 2023 with "Ella Emoff Likes to Knit," a pop-up presentation of mohair maxi gowns, chunky balaclavas, and sweater vests. She exhibited her knit "paintings" of Gucci hair barrettes and Sandy Liang Mary Janes at Gotham, a woman-owned art gallery-slash-weed dispensary in Manhattan this past spring.

Emhoff has also been selling out cozy wine bars for her Knit Club, where she teaches beginners the basics and cultivates a "third place" for people to gather. "A big part of my ability and inspiration to make knitwear is through community," she says. "So many formative moments [as an artist] come from the people you meet and the work you create in group settings. A lot of people coming to the [knit] clubs want that sense of place."

Emhoff is still that creative, can't-sit-still kid at her core, piling as many activities onto her plate as possible. "I can't stop doing and making things. My poor dog is always biting my ankles, like, 'Sit down, please. Stop putzing.' But I can't help it—it's my brain. I'm like a rabbit," she says. It makes sense: when you finally prioritize your passion and allow it to bloom, you can't trim or tamper with its natural growth. "There's so much more fun stuff coming with [Soft Hands] in the next year," she says with an ear-to-ear smile. "All I have to say is: get pumped."

Ahead, Emhoff speaks about using one career to fund another, getting a serendipitous endorsement from an A-lister, and taking care of her knitting-induced tendinitis.

I made a pair of striped pants for a final project in my machine knitting course at Parsons and posted them [online]. People were interested in them, so I started my business by selling those striped pants. For basically all of the pandemic, while I was quarantining in Los Angeles, I worked 10 straight hours a day making pants and, boy, was it hard. I was very naive back then about what it took to take a business from, 'Oh, I'm in college and selling pants’ to ‘Oh, now I'm out of college, and I'm trying to build an actual brand.’

[Modeling] was not my plan. I sort of fell into it. [Emhoff was signed to IMG Models after going viral for wearing a crystal-embellished, checkered Miu Miu coat to President Biden’s 2021 inauguration.] As I started getting more modeling work, I saw it as a job I could use to push my knitwear forward financially.

I didn’t want to get loans for my business because I didn't know if I was in it enough. I was still figuring out if I could actually make my art into something—if my knitwear was something that I wanted to put all my time and effort into. I met with wholesalers, but the product minimums were very high, and since I was doing all my own production, that quickly became impossible. So, I kept modeling because it was a good stream to keep pushing through with the brand. If I hadn't had that money coming in, I wouldn't have moved forward like I did [with Soft Hands].

I am a baseline highly anxious and sensitive person. I'm also a one-woman show, and it’s very stressful when you're trying to build a scalable brand by yourself with your own funding and you don't have anyone to riff off of. You have to be really strong to handle the feelings that come up when you spend so much time on a product and list it for what you feel it's worth, and it doesn't sell. Or, the opposite: I spend so much time working on my pieces—some of them take 50 hours to make—and knitting is such a therapeutic and intense process. My apartment is my studio, so I’m surrounded by all of my pieces all the time, and they're such a comfort [to me]. But then I sell them, and they become a part of someone else's story.

Having your likeness attached to your work also takes its toll. [Modeling] is not for the faint of heart. It's just so intense—it makes you the way you make money. It's hard on the self, and I couldn't handle it. [Modeling] was not a world that I could comfortably work in. I couldn't remove myself from my knitwear work and be the faceless person behind [Soft Hands] because my modeling was always connected to the brand. Now that I'm stepping out of the fashion space and not modeling as much, there's less pressure. I can now be more behind the scenes [with Soft Hands], and it's already feeling a lot better.

I developed tendonitis in my wrist because I was knitting so much. A classic visual is me at my knitting machine wearing two wrist braces.

I'm excited to lean into more gallery work because it lends itself to you doing your thing, letting it sit in the exhibit, and then you can make the other thing. It brings more baby steps. And my wrists need the baby steps.

Last night, I went to a dinner event and was seated next to Katie Holmes. She was so lovely and asked me a lot about knitting. I told her about [Soft Hands Knit Club] and how I take yarn donations from people, specifically from a lot of older women's yarn stashes. She was like, “Oh, my mom knits! I'm going to get in contact with you, and I'll send [her yarn] over so you can add it to your pile.” It was surreal. Katie Holmes was not on my bingo card of people to send me yarn.

At the beginning of Soft Hands, I had a lot of meetings with brand designers. They told me there are two parts to having a brand. There's creating the look, the product, and the brand ethos—its identity, story, and character. Then, there's the other part, the business side—the emailing, managing, and hiring of new people. As the brand owner, you have to decide: Are you going to stay on the creative side, or will you be the owner and relinquish [the creating] to someone else and be on the business side?

That really stuck with me because when I started [Soft Hands], I was doing a lot of the admin work when I wanted to do the actual making of the product. [Those conversations] made me restructure what my brand is. I realized I could bring all the different facets of my knitwear journey, my art, and my business into one creative endeavor. Now, [Slow Hands] is less of a knitwear clothing brand and more of a creative studio that does knitwear, gallery art, and graphic design. It feels nice to take a step back and think less about the short-term goals and more about how I want to see this knitting thing grow in the long term. What steps can I take to see the bigger picture rather than, 'Oh, I need to make a collection, figure out wholesale, and get on X, Y, Z retailer site.'

I never thought that I wanted to do knitwear professionally—it was something I just wanted to do for myself. It’s been tough to balance [knitting] being what I love to do with it now being what I do for work. I try to treat the projects as a hobby and not think about it so much as I'm monetizing my craft. To think of it more as, ‘I'm making these pieces, I'm doing these clubs, I'm doing all of this stuff, and it just happens to be my job.’ If I think of it the other way, it takes the fun out of an already repetitive, long, and physically strenuous task.

There was a point when it had gone too far in the work direction, and I wasn't making stuff that I liked or that felt true to what I wanted to do. It felt like I was working all the time and putting myself and a lot of resources into something that I didn't even want to do. Now, it’s more of my craft and career morphing together as a positive thing because I know I'm really lucky to do what I love every day as a job and to experiment and be goofy with it.

The day I released my first collection online was a little dramatic and tear-filled. [The collection] didn't sell as well as I thought it would, and the thought of releasing my knitwear to people I didn't know sent me into a spiral. I didn't know why they were buying it, and I thought, 'I just did all of that for what? Now, it's out there. I'm never going to see it again. I don't know where it's going or if my knitwear will gain momentum.' I just felt really sad. I was really in my head and wasn't sure I wanted to keep going with [Soft Hands]. That was when I was going to throw in the towel. But I didn't.

When I did my “Ella Emhoff Likes to Knit” presentation at Spring Studios last year. My friends, peers, and a lot of creatives were looking at art that I'd never shown in person before. That moment was really special to me.

My work—whether it's the knitwear, gallery work, or the knitting club—is inherently very fun. It's colorful. It brings out positive emotions, and it was so cool to see people react to that. I was looking around at everyone and felt so lucky to be in this industry and to have these people there. Through all the stress and everything—I mean, I walked the [Collina Strada Fall 2023] runway show the night before and then stayed up until 4:00 AM finishing everything for the presentation—it felt so special. That's when I knew that I don't like the making a lot of clothing aspect of knitting. I love the seeing people be happy about things I make aspect. That is so much more gratifying and fulfilling to me than selling a thousand units.

It's not easy to take a leap of faith into the career path you've always wanted. We often get wrapped up in the idea of a typical career timeline or in the fear of starting something new. Meet Aimee Baxter, Biet Simkin, and Stella Cabot Wilson, three women who are proof that your dream career is worth the pursuit. Each of them took a courageous leap and pursued their true calling, and their unique paths have redefined what it means to be a leader, a creator, and a visionary. These women aren't just shaping their careers—they're shaping entire industries with their authenticity and dedication to their crafts.

We chatted with Baxter, Simkin, and Cabot Wilson to learn about how they carved their career paths, how they overcome challenges (there have been many), and how through it all, they continue to inspire others. Their stories showcase the power of perseverance. If you need motivation to discover your calling and achieve your goals, these stories will do just that.

Marie Claire: Your career as a leadership coach is incredibly inspiring. Can you tell us about the moment you realized you wanted to help others in this way?

Aimee Baxter: I'm very deliberate with the title "leadership coach." I believe we are all leaders and have untapped potential waiting to be unleashed in our teams, organizations, families, and communities. I work with executives, teams, entrepreneurs, and individuals who want to work with me privately outside of the context of business. The moment that shifted things was when I participated in an executive education program at a prominent business school. The professor guided us through a values-clarifying exercise, and I had one of those awakening "aha" moments. I was immediately flooded with an unnerving question that I didn't have an answer to: What am I doing with my life? I had created the life and career I thought I wanted since I was 18 years old. However, I was not fulfilled, and I felt very disconnected from my true self, portraying an image to the world of who I thought I had to be. At one point I read a quote that said, "Your mission in life is where your deepest joy meets the world's deepest need." After contemplating it, I realized I'd always been passionate about studying human potential, psychology, interpersonal communications, and Eastern and Western consciousness modalities for happiness and healing. So I was like okay, how can I translate my joy into a career that has meaning and supports others?

MC: What were some of the biggest challenges you faced when starting your career, and how did you overcome them?

AB: Shifting careers and starting my own business, I had to define my brand and figure out business development, which I had a lot of resistance to. I loved the work, but I had to learn to love the business of the work too. All the books I read were not going to change anything unless I uprooted my core (limiting) identity beliefs about myself and what is possible. My corporate background, education, and coaching training did not prepare me for what it would take to build my own business as well as embody the version of myself I needed to become to create my vision. I got mentors and coaches and surrounded myself with people better than myself who I could learn from and who operated with integrity. I also started getting really clear in my life about who was on "team Aimee." I had to think of it like putting together my own personal board of directors and team as well as removing myself from people and situations that did not value me or align with my vision for my work and life.

MC: What advice would you give someone who wants to go into your line of work?

AB: It sounds cliché, but believe in yourself. Every day, anchor yourself in the "why" behind your vision to give it fuel and stay connected amid the uncertainty and volatility. Unfortunately, most people don't take that first step or they quit when it gets tough and scary, which is the time to double down. If it were easy, everyone would do it. That is why so many don't. Trust me—when you go after your passion and dreams, many of your fears and limiting beliefs will show up. It's part of the rite of passage. I don't know a single person who hasn't felt scared or wanted to quit.

MC: How do you stay inspired and continue to innovate?

AB: I surround myself with other leaders who are visionaries, unapologetically authentic, curious, lead from their hearts, and are energizing and inspiring. I seek regular feedback from trusted sources to overcome my blind spots. (We all have them. We're never finished.) I tune in and trust those soft whispers from my heart and nudges from the flow of life. I study many different modalities as well as modern and ancient sciences to extract simple truths and applications to innovate and apply to the transformational model I use with leaders and teams to shift them from their zone of excellence into their zone of genius. Also, my clients inspire me. I learn from them as much as they learn from me. As a coach and facilitator, it's not my job to tell people what to believe, but I have them [ask themselves] the question, "Do your beliefs align with what you say you are committed to creating?" That one question can be very inspiring and innovative in and of itself. Many people realize how out of alignment they are, which is the source of most of their problems.

Marie Claire: Your DJ sets have the best energy. How did you develop your signature style?

Stella Cabot Wilson: My fiancé, Idris, and I perform as a duo (Oba+Flip), and I believe a large part of our energy—and certainly our style—comes from playing together. While we like almost all of the same music, the music we are really drawn to deeply is a bit different. Because we choose to play together back-to-back—I'll pick one song, and then he picks the next track, and so on—the energy of our sets inherently plays with this kind of tension and balance, which becomes even more interesting because of our diverse choices. Even when I play by myself, I keep his ear in mind, especially when I feel the set is starting to lack something—a sort of "What would Idris do now?"—and try that choice instead of relying only on my own preferences. In terms of electronic music, we're also pretty eclectic and don't stick to one particular genre, and that's also a stylistic choice that influences the listening experience.

MC: What were some of the biggest challenges you faced when starting your career, and how did you overcome them?

SCW: In many ways, I think we've had a pretty lucky time of it, truth be told. By the time we began DJing, we had already been closely involved in the underground electronic music scene in NYC, so we started our career with a lot of support and connections. I'd say the biggest challenge has come this past year, in choosing to make the leap from DJing being more of a hobby that we do on the side to now trying to make it most of our income and really focusing on it as a career. Someone who wants to be a musician already has a lot stacked against them—much of it to do with it not being a secure or stable job. A lot of people just don't take DJing seriously as an art form let alone as a career path. So that's been interesting to encounter, but it hasn't affected my decisions in any big way. We're about to begin our production journey (making our own songs), and I know it will bring its own set of challenges! Production takes a lot of time—we will of course need to practice, practice, practice before we create music we actually like.

MC: What advice would you give someone who wants to go into your line of work?

SCW: Like any industry, connections are really important. While that might be intimidating, especially if you don't live in a large city with a big scene, just start small. Find a local club or a promoter that you really enjoy, and go out as much as you can. While the who-knows-who game is always present, the underground electronic scene is actually pretty small, and in our experience, it's very community oriented. While networking is important, it's the genuine connections I've made with people that I click with naturally that have brought me the farthest. Outside of that, listen to music, and listen widely. There's amazing music in every genre, and finding what you like in diverse genres can help you find your particular "sound" as a DJ, even if you choose to stick to playing only one or two genres.

MC: How do you stay inspired and continue to innovate?

SCW: The music itself always inspires me—the realization that no matter how hard you try, you'll never be able to hear every good song in the world. But you still might as well try! Going out and hearing amazing DJs on a great dance floor, whether they are well-known or not, is always inspiring. Outside of the music, my partner is always inspiring to me. He is the big dreamer and innovator in our partnership, and I'm so lucky to have him by my side to push us along into the next stage.

Marie Claire: You've been dubbed the "David Bowie of meditation." Can you tell us more about how you earned that title?

Biet Simkin: The reason people loved [David Bowie] wasn't just because he was a great songwriter or performer. It was everything—his look, his wife, his clothes, his wisdom. The reason people have called me the David Bowie of meditation is because I am not some girl who picked up meditation in mid-life and started sharing it in some mediocre way. I went through the fire. I walked out of the fire backward with my eye on all the death and loss and poverty and yearning that I had endured, and I constructed a life that is quite a phenomenon even for someone who has a good start! I created it out of nothing. That's rock and roll.

MC: What were some of the biggest challenges you faced when starting your career, and how did you overcome them?

BS: I would say endless rejection or not being seen for my greatness has always been around. I don't know if I see it as a challenge because I know I am the creator of all that. Still, it gets me moving and dancing and practicing my signature somatic practices and my signature breathwork daily. I overcome things daily—I don't do it once a year at some retreat. I do it right in my house on the freaking daily because I need a big, magic experience of life daily. This is what I teach in my online mastermind and breathwork membership: Everyone can and must show up daily to get epic results. You can learn more about this at guidedbybiet.com.

MC: What advice would you give someone who wants to go into your line of work?

BS: I am not a line of work. There is no one else like me. I would say to whoever is searching for their real purpose, that they shred every lie and false identity they hold. The only thing that stands between being a mold of clay and [Michaelangelo's Statue of David] is a chisel and a willingness to throw out whatever is not real—daily and forever. I would also say that creating a career and a life completely from your heart, imagination, and art is not everyone's purpose, and if it is, you will require quite the tool kit and proper teacher to do so. I will also say if your destiny is to become your true self, nothing—absolutely nothing—can stop you.

MC: How do you stay inspired and continue to innovate?

BS: I read spiritual literature from long ago. I run a secret school and mastermind with epic students. I work one-on-one with a few select clients. I have epic sex with my husband. I write and record songs. I make art and write poetry. I do my signature somatic and breathwork practices just as I teach them to the world (daily). The main thing is having recovered, I am sharing my gifts with the world in an innate mastermind and breathwork membership that anyone can do daily from the comfort of their home. Changing the lives of millions of people is how I innovate today.

In Exit Interview, Marie Claire has a candid conversation with someone who has just left their job. We learn all about their experience—both the good and bad—plus why they decided to leave and what life looks like on the other side. In our inaugural column, we touch base with professional athlete Alexi Pappas. In 2016 Pappas represented Greece at the 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, setting the national record for the 10k. Now, you can still catch Pappas running for fun, but a “sustainable career in the arts,” as she calls it—a film director, author, and actress is what she’s pursuing next. Her first project is a show launching in August where she talks to people, including Matthew McConaughey, about their mentors.

Marie Claire: What was the reason for your sort of exit?

Alexi Pappas: I still love running. I guide for blind athletes, run marathons and ultramarathons, and am exploring myself in the sport outside of Olympic track running. I also have curiosities elsewhere. A curiosity and a growth that was reflected in a desire—not just to chase objective goals, but to pursue values and feelings. Telling stories, being around artists, seeing what kind of good chaos I could make by bringing my athletic experience into the arts.

I don't think I have even run the fastest 10k I could run, but I was very happy with my performance in Rio because it did feel like at the time my mind and body were peaking at the same time. It was a personal best. It was a national record. It felt like the experience that I hoped to have. I had the post-Olympic depression after that in a way that was life threatening. I actually had to stop at that point for a while. Then, developing this pursuit of the arts was when I found joy again in life.

When you're chasing that Olympic career, it's very objective and it is a moving target and it's hard. To not compete hard, meant that I could pursue the arts fully because it meant I didn't actually have to leave that old passion behind. I still run, it just looks different. You just have to leave the career behind as in the form that it was in.

MC: How did you decide what the next opportunity would be?

AP: My goal is to have a sustainable career in the arts. It's not a hobby for me. It's something that I want to do in a real way. I'm moving toward television for that reason because it's a lot of hard work. But if you happen to be able to work on a television show or create one, which I'm developing a couple, it's more like a sports season. For me it was like transitioning from juggling two careers to actually making them cohesive. I am a jock in Hollywood and it is a strength. A lot of the projects I'm working on are blending that old experience with a new perspective and a new medium. That has become a way to stand out and tell stories that actually are uniquely told by me.

MC: What did you love most about being a competitive athlete?

AP: I love the feeling that I was in a routine that I believed in and could count on and it was dictated by a coach who I trusted and admired. I felt that I was in the right place at the right time when I was there. I felt my time was well spent because I trusted in that environment. I loved the team. I trained with a lot of guys and knew they were going to be there at the track and knew that if I simply showed up, I would feel and try my best. I wasn't always going to be the best. I was going to try my best and that was a great place to try my best.

MC: What did you hate the most about being a competitive athlete?

AP: I hated feeling very high maintenance around a lot of people. Meaning if I was on a family vacation and I had to run 13 miles in an unreasonable place or make people wait for brunch I felt really guilty. I felt like I was being kind of lumped in— and it might have been my perception—with people who are high strung and type A when I was like, no no, this is just my job. You're unchill, you're fundamentally unchill, because it's a lifestyle. I'm really cool and chill but I'm doing a job, where you have to do your job all the time. I think the difficult part was the inflexibility. It's like a character trait that you don't assign to yourself, but you are proud of doing your job.

MC: How did it feel to make that decision to exit from being a competitive athlete?

AP: It was difficult because I didn't know exactly what I would be doing in the same vocabulary terms that I knew about chasing the Olympic dream. You asked me, what are you now? I'm like, do I say actor? Do I say director? Do I say I'm doing all those things? The answer is not as easy to feed people. It's not a sandwich, right? It's more like a plate of mushy food.

It was super hard because a lot of my income started out being dependent on performance. And so to abandon that as my number one narrative meant that I needed to create a future that was not dependent on that. It wasn't as much about what people will think of me, it was will I survive? That was scary. But then I realized that where I was going had never been gone before. I needed to stop trying to define what this was. I am completely feral. And so I need to go full on saturated in the direction that I'm in, whatever that is.

Sometimes I deal with it the same way that I deal with my changing body. I weighed 108 pounds at the Olympics. I'm much bigger now. My body changed and it was really hard for me at first because I looked bizarre in the clothes that used to look really good [in] and I felt bizarre. What I had to do was start to get comfortable with myself naked and be like, wow, I actually absolutely feel like the woman. I'm choosing this because I'm not running 120 miles a week. Once I got comfortable with the choice of lifestyle, I was like, they're just the wrong effing clothes. Change your clothes. If I can stand behind the life choices I'm making as a whole, how can I be upset about not running five seconds faster or…even five minutes even close to my PR right now? I believe in the life I'm choosing.

MC: Was there anyone who you turned to for advice during that time?

AP: I turned to advice from my mentor Janet Pierson, who encouraged me to find a supportive community in Los Angeles. I also asked for advice from another mentor, Chris Bender, who encouraged me to lean in and try the things I am afraid of doing, like writing on my own, and flexing other creative muscles, essentially encouraging me to learn-by-doing. And also, Richard Linklater, who I look up to and whose advice has helped me tremendously in my evolution as an artist and person.

I also have two physiotherapists. I'm admittedly doing things with my body that I am not as prepared for as I once was, like a hundred mile race. I still rely on these physio mentors almost like my coaches because I don't want to hurt my body. I also have had mental health support. My doctor saved my life when I was post-Olympic depressed. I talk to him every other week and he helps me.

MC: What is something that you learned in your role as a professional athlete that you've carried with you?

AP: That winners lose. Losing is normal, losing is part of it, it’s okay to have losses. Don't frame it into this negative thing, get used to losing.

MC: What advice would you give to someone who is looking to make an exit from the current career that they're in?

AP: When you are going through your exit, think about it as an evolution. The world will be here for it. The world will get on board with it, but you have to lead that ship. The other piece of advice would be: actions change first, then thoughts, then feelings, in that order. That's what I learned when I was going through my depression: actions then thoughts, and feelings. It's not gonna feel great to exit, it's not gonna feel great to evolve. Focus on your actions, which will guide your thoughts, which will eventually change your feelings. Lastly, give yourself a window of time. I think some people question the goal itself, when they're in the middle of an interval, if you will. That can really hamstring their ability to grow.

MC: In what ways do you think the competitive running space could improve?

AP: In running, contracts need to reflect the value system that we want you to compete in, but we also want you to be healthy well-rounded full people.. Two, I think if the running world could somehow—and this might be coming from the athletes—if there could be a spirit of true support for other athletes; this spirit of good competition. There's a word in Greek that means good competition. It means you wish everybody to do their best. And you will also try your best. It's like integrity.

For Renee Montgomery, it seemed obvious: 2020 would be a banner year. The superstar basketball player—who had been playing with the Atlanta Dream since 2018—was finding her groove on the team and commentators predicted the Dream would make it to the championship.

Then came a pandemic, an overdue racial reckoning, and personal transformation. Montgomery decided to sit out that season, heartbroken over the global health crisis and committed to doing what she could to boost the Black Lives Matter movement. But even from her perch on the sidelines, the unfolding drama was unmissable.

At the time, Republican Senator Kelly Loeffler was a co-owner of the Dream. While protests over the murder of George Floyd were raging nationwide, Loeffler was criticizing the WNBA’s public emphasis on social justice. Pressure mounted on Loeffler to sell her ownership stake as her team threw its muscle behind Loeffler’s opponent in the upcoming election. Raphael Warnock went on to win in a run-off contest. A few weeks later, Montgomery announced that she was part of a three-member investor group that the league had approved to replace Loeffler at the helm of the organization. With the move, Montgomery became the first WNBA alum both to co-own a team and to serve as an executive for a franchise.

Ownership had until that point not been on Montgomery’s radar. Her wife had encouraged her. How better to spend her retirement than immersed in the game? Plus, Montgomery could see the trendlines that were just starting to take off: The field of women’s sports was attracting new attention. This wouldn’t be some philanthropic second act. This was good business. “What made me start thinking about it was, ‘Wouldn’t it be really dope if we had somebody in the ownership seat that thought like us?’” Montgomery remembers now. She went for it.

Montgomery, who will tell her story in a new Roku Originals documentary titled A Radical Act: Renee Montgomery, knows what you likely do too: That interest in women’s sports has exploded since that summer. In 2023, Nielsen crunched the viewership numbers and characterized the growth in audience for women’s sports as “meteoric.” On the heels of blockbuster events like the Women’s World Cup in 2023 and the NCAA women’s tournament in 2024, Deloitte forecasted for the first time ever that women’s sports would surpass one billion dollars in revenue—a 300 percent increase compared to a similar evaluation in 2021. There have been women’s sports stars—and rivalries—before, but there is no question that the WNBA has minted a new class of bonafide standouts this season, with Caitlin Clark on the Indiana Fever and Angel Reese on the Chicago Sky driving not just fandom, but merch and ticket sales and obsessive online speculation. In June, ESPN reported that a rematch between the two netted 2.3 million viewers. It was a reprisal of their nail-biter faceoff in the quarter finals of the NCAA women’s tournament, and it became the most watched women’s professional basketball game in over two decades.

What has been less publicized however is the phenomenon that Montgomery herself exemplifies: Across leagues and from a diverse range of backgrounds, a growing number of women have taken their investment in the future of these leagues and made it literal. From soccer to basketball to football, women are pouring dollars into existing teams and founding new ones—not just to be cheerleaders to a nice cause, but to cash in on a big-and-getting-bigger business. Women are not necessarily more progressive owners (as Loeffler’s example proves), but the kinds of women who have flocked to ownership of late do seem to bring more than “representation” to their stadium suites.

Conscious of unequal training facilities, salaries, marketing spend, and media rights, new stakeholders are helping to drive the revolution in women’s sports that the rest of us are watching on TV and TikTok. That narrative? Well, these women are owning it.

Of course no one had to explain to Carolyn Tisch Blodgett what she might stand to gain from an investment in a promising sports franchise. In 1991, her grandfather Bob Tisch bought 50 percent of the New York Giants. She was six and grew up with the team, calling it the “anchoring point” of her childhood. The stadium was the site of innumerable memories, and the investment turned out to be a brilliant one. Forbes now values the team at 6.8 billion dollars. After college, Tisch Blodgett went to work in marketing, but kept a focus on athleticism and sports. She worked at Peloton. She got more involved with the Giants. She made it her job to see opportunities and to chase them. “I realized quickly that the world of sports was changing, and we had a chance to either watch it change around us or lean in and be part of that change,” she explains.

Jeanie Buss, the controlling owner of the Lakers and the co-owner and promoter of U.S. women’s professional wrestling league Women Of Wrestling, could see the shift too. Having inherited her love of sports from her father, Jerry Buss, who bought the Lakers in 1979, she has lived through several eras of increased awareness in women’s sports and then watched it drop off.

Buss vividly remembers when Ann Meyers became the first woman to sign a contract with an NBA team, scoring a $50,000 deal with the Indiana Pacers the same year Buss’s father acquired the Lakers. “She was my basketball idol,” Buss says. “It was a PR stunt, but she was being talked about.” Later, when the WNBA was getting off the ground, Buss and her father were some of the first NBA owners to put their hands up for franchise ownership in the new league. Buss has been a fan and booster of women’s sports since she watched Billie Jean King triumph in the infamous Battle of the Sexes tennis match in 1973, but she still chafes at the casual sexism she has endured as a leader and executive in men’s sports. After the Busses moved to launch the Sparks as the sister team to the Lakers, David Stern, the NBA commissioner who helped mastermind the WNBA, assumed Buss would run it. Buss’s father corrected him. “No, David, I’m grooming her to run the Lakers,” he told Stern.

Between the Lakers and Women Of Wrestling, Buss has more than one full-time job, but other women owners do reach out to her to talk shop, and it’s given her a sense of camaraderie she didn’t quite know she was missing. “It’s nice to talk to women who understand revenue streams, how to sell sponsors, how important it is to have the right venue,” she says. “It’s women making these decisions.” That was not the case when she got her start. Buss has followed with particular interest the valuations and sales of women’s soccer teams, noting that recent transactions prove “investors are getting paid” and that perhaps having women at the helm helps.

“My dad said that women’s sports would take off when women were the ones buying the tickets, when women were the ones investing in the teams,” Buss says now. “And that to me is what has happened. You’re seeing women invest in opportunities in sports.”

To capitalize on them, Tisch Blodgett pitched a venture fund to her mother and uncles devoted to the intersection of sports and culture. With their backing, she founded Next 3 and zeroed in onwomen’s sports. She theorized that after three decades, it was obvious that her grandfather’s bet had been a good one. Three decades from now, she wanted to be able to tout a similar return. She listened. She looked around. And in November 2023, Gotham FC—the National Women’s Soccer League (NWSL) team based out of New York and New Jersey—announced that Tisch Blodgett had come on as an owner and strategic investor in the team. About 72 hours later, it won the league championship.

Eight months after that, Tisch Blodgett insists her team—and the league as a whole—is just getting started. When she made the case to her family that she wanted to spend time and resources on Gotham, she identified three areas of potential growth: first, media deals to make games more accessible and visible to fans, second, investment on the part of not just owners, but brands with marketing dollars to allocate, and third—and Tisch Blodgett knows this sounds ridiculous given the past several months—cultural conversation and impact. She reasoned that if the status quo moved just “a few percentage points” in a favorable direction across all three vectors, the investment would prove worthwhile.

That’s a point that Clara Wu Tsai echoes. In 2019, Wu Tsai and her husband, Joe Tsai, bought the New York Liberty. The team was performing well, but then-owner James Dolan had overseen its move from Madison Square Garden to the Westchester County Center, where a grand total of 2,500 people could watch the team on the court. The Tsais—who also own the Nets—knew that the Liberty had been underinvested in. “It was pretty much a distressed asset,” Wu Tsai says. “So we thought, ‘Okay, let’s take a look at this.’ And instantly, we saw the business potential.” Wu Tsai especially liked “the fundamentals,” as she terms them: great players, the largest media market in the world in the Liberty’s hometown of New York, and a built-in fanbase.

With the ink dried, Wu Tsai and her husband—whose wealth was amassed from his role at the Chinese tech superfirm Alibaba—moved the Liberty to the Barclays Center, where the Nets play. The couple hired a performance staff, including multiple trainers and a nutritionist. Memorably, the Tsais decided to incur a $500,000 fine in 2021 so that the team could use private jets rather than travel commercial, as the league then mandated that all teams do. The gambit forced the WNBA to allow franchises to charter flights for select games during the regular season and championship, bringing the league one step closer to the conditions and amenities that NBA teams have come to expect.

Later, when it came time to build out the roster, Wu Tsai took an active role and followed Breanna Stewart to Istanbul to convince her to sign during the off-season. It’s impossible to know whether her husband would have been as successful in his own full-court press because Wu Tsai handled the final pitch herself—woman to woman. Within a matter of weeks, Wu Tsai had nabbed not just Stewart, but Courtney Vandersloot and Jonquel Jones. The bets paid off. The Liberty made the playoffs in 2021 and 2022. Its home games now draw a rabid crowd, with GQ declaring the scene at Barclays when the Liberty are on the court “the best party in NYC right now.”

With that momentum, Wu Tsai helped execute a media rights deal this spring that has made Liberty games free to watch in this season on local television. WNYW FOX5 is broadcasting the games throughout 2024 on FOX5 and My9, reaching a total of 7.5 million households. A party is nice; ratings—and the ad buys that come with them—are nicer.

Wu Tsai believes as Tisch Blodgett does that we’re just at the beginning of the movement to mainstream women’s sports, with millions of untapped fans and billions of untapped dollars out there for the taking. It doesn’t surprise her that it’s women who have rushed in to make the most of that potential. “We see opportunities more clearly,” Wu Tsai says. It occurs to her that perhaps women see challenges more clearly, too. “The WNBA is like the ultimate underdog league, isn't it? We deal with misogyny, racism, homophobia—it’s all there. And so I think it’s also that we tend to take that on.”

To those who doubt her commitment, Wu Tsai can only insist that she and her husband are “here for the long haul.” With a laugh, she notes that she’s in good company. She’s particularly aware that players themselves—Montgomery included—have started to see ownership as a viable retirement plan, “and they actually have the best perspective of anyone,” she points out.

It’s a sisterhood that includes Naomi Osaka, who in 2021 invested in the NWSL’s North Carolina Courage, WNBA champion Sue Bird, who joined Tisch Blodgett as an investor in Gotham in 2022, Angel Reese, who within weeks of the WNBA draft became a part-owner of the USL’s DC Power (along with other personalities like the actor Crystal Renee Hayslett), and of course at least a dozen former athletes like Serena Williams and Lindsey Vonn who are part of the ownership group that controls the NWSL’s Angel City.

“I think we’re in an age now where athletes are more aware that they are a walking business,” says Jemele Hill, a contributing writer for the Atlantic and a sports commentator, of the cascade of women players who’ve moved into ownership. She sees an exhaustion among female players and executives alike, who are “tired of being told they need to just be happy to be here.” The movement that has driven a rise in attention—and dollars—for women’s sports is happening “because women refuse to be told no, and they refuse to be placated and patronized,” she says.

“I do think there are issues that women intrinsically understand that men don’t, not because maybe they don’t want to, but mostly because it’s not their lived experience,” Hill continues. “And so while I can’t say this as a necessarily a blanket statement because you do have women who just want to emulate how the patriarchy works, I do think there is a different level of understanding for women who are involved in ownership in women’s sports because women understand innately what it’s like to have to fight for respect on the job, to have to fight tooth and nail for basically everything.”

Over and over, the idea of respect is one that the owners I speak to come back to. How can players in the WNBA and NWSL command the same respect as their male peers? What does it mean to invest in their game—with better facilities, better pay, and better opportunity? If previous—and more male—owners were ruminating on these issues, it wasn’t evident in the suburban, cast-off stadiums that women were made to play in or the shoddy equipment that went viral after players and couches called out the gaping disparities between the men’s and women’s NCAA basketball tournaments in 2021.

The prospect of addressing those inequities and turning a profit is part of what’s drawing even less likely owners to the executive pool. The actor Sophia Bush has always been an avid sports fan, but it was considering the patterns of impact investing that made her want to invest in Angel City. “We know that if you give money to or invest money in men in so many places around the world, men will spend upwards of 90 percent of that money on themselves,” she says. “And if you invest in women, women tend to reinvest nearly 90 percent of that investment in their community.” She didn’t hesitate, despite the fact that people told her it was a mistake to write a check. “And now there’s a bunch of people who wish they’d gotten in when I did,” Bush says, laughing. Meena Harris, an author and the CEO of Phenomenal Media, will soon announce her own stake in a women’s sports team and has made it a point of her career to see promise where others do not. “It was just a no brainer to me in terms of where I want to be.” she says.

Bush is proud to boost her team and women’s sports in particular, but no one owner can fix all the problems that plague women’s sports and continue to hold it back. “You see the greatest awareness and attendance in the WNBA that we’ve ever seen before,” she says. “The WNBA is absolutely crushing it, and women in that league are still having to educate men that they don't have the same kinds of deals that the men have.” Bush would like to see women command a percentage of revenue, as men do in the NBA, and be able to participate in profits that their talent and their likeness earn for others.

Tisch Blodgett has a long list of her own priorities. She is the first to volunteer that if the game is to be changed, risks must be taken. “It was a big bet,” she reminds me. And so while the success so far feels validating, she sees what must come next. Attention is vital. Increased coverage is great, although women’s sports still get far less of it than men’s sports do. But, she points out, “buzz doesn’t translate into revenue immediately. And so our challenge is to say, ‘Great, I’m so happy everyone is talking about this. But we need to get butts in seats. We need to sign sponsors.’ We have 13 home games. We just added a bunch of summer tournaments. We have a 25,000-person stadium.” Tisch Blodgett sees this moment as the first stage “of a transformational moment in sports.” When she talks to brands, she frames the chance she is offering them like that—get in on the ground floor, be part of this. Some refer her to their foundations. But others get it, and have poured their dollars into Gotham and the league.

As much as the owners themselves, Bush and others credit women like Andrea Brimmer, the chief marketing and public relations officer at Ally Financial, for helping to even the literal playing field. Brimmer, who is a former Division 1 athlete, wasn’t looking to make a donation when she pledged that Ally would allocate an equal spend on advertising between men’s and women’s sports within five years in 2022. She was looking at the numbers. Already, she tells me, the return has been extraordinary. Brand awareness and sentiment are up. Ally is one of four banking brands to have grown its trust over the past year. Brand value grew 32 percent, the highest jump in the last five years. “And while I can’t say a hundred percent of it is attributable to women’s sports,” she adds, “I would tell you that a big part of it is and that 65 percent of everybody who came to our storefront last year was female.”

Brimmer is proud of the record, but she has to admit it’s not just the math that moves her. A few years ago, Ally partnered with CBS to put the NWSL championship game in primetime. The game was held in DC, and it was almost completely sold out. The year before, Brimmer had stood in a half-filled stadium while top-tier players competed at noon. The contrast made her tear up. “I’m thinking, ‘No little girl is ever going to have to think they’re not worthy of primetime ever again,’” she says. “It was very emotional for me. You realize that the bet was right.”

Tisch Blodgett invested in Gotham with a business plan, but she concedes that there is a lens through which she sees its potential that a different owner might not have. Just as she grew up with the Giants, her own children are growing up with Gotham—two sons and a daughter. She has watched her sons become “as passionate about this women’s team as they are about a men’s football team,” which bodes well for the future of the sport. And she has watched her daughter, “who loves football and goes to all the Giants games, get to have that experience of seeing her own role models on the field.”

Tisch Blodgett credits her fellow women owners—the group behind Angel City, Michele Kang who owns the Washington Spirit, Jennifer Epstein, who is bringing an expansion team to Boston, Laura Ricketts, who led a 60 million dollar deal to take ownership of the Chicago Red Stars, and others—for understanding that the solution to marketing women’s sports is not just to “shrink it and pink it,” a tactic that generations of men have used to appeal to female consumers. It’s to design better facilities, push for better deals, and appeal to a new generation of fans eager for live events, the camaraderie of sports, and the drama that true, top-level talent bring to the game.

Are women better than men at monetizing women’s sports? In a decade or two, the data will decide. But for now, Montgomery doesn’t need to consult the metrics. Like the smartest plays, this one is simple, she says. “I don’t think it should be controversial to say that a woman in a leadership position in a women’s league just makes sense.”

The Cost of Starting Your Own Business talks to founders to get an honest look at what it really takes to create a company. Not just the financial, but the personal and emotional costs, too.

For over a decade, Lin Tyrpien sought to identify her professional North Star. From creative roles at Ralph Lauren and Christie's to managing a guesthouse in Bali and learning to weld in Arizona, nothing quite fit—until she was recruited to New York's Chase Contemporary gallery in February 2023. As it turned out, running a gallery was Tyrpien's calling. "I had been searching for that 'aha' moment for 16 years," she says.

Exhilarated by the realization, Tyrpien decided to pursue a space of her own. In May 2024, she and her wife Magdalena opened Lyle Gallery, a name they came up with after two glasses of wine as they prepared to launch. Eclectic, wide-ranging, and wholly original, the Chinatown gallery seeks to spotlight the artists and businesses often boxed out of the mainstream art world. "We have zero interest in hearing from the same privileged groups that have dominated the arts scene for years," Tyrpien says. "At the end of the day, we want this to be an inclusive and beloved space."

Like their artists, the Tyrpiens come from nontraditional backgrounds for New York City's art scene. Both grew up working-class, Lin in rural Pennsylvania and Magdalena in Poland. They bootstrapped Lyle using their own funds, divvying up the nuts and bolts of gallery ownership: Magdalena handles budgets, project management, and contracts, while Lin oversees their artists, marketing, and exhibitions.

In the run-up to their debut show, which features artists' metal works—more on that in a moment—Lin emailed with Marie Claire about their leap into the gallery business.

I started thinking about this about a year ago, just a few months into working at a gallery in SoHo. Once I was in that world, I discovered that, yes, OK, I found the thing I want to do, so now I am going to learn as much as I can and open my own version of this. At first we were just going to do pop-up exhibitions; it seemed like an easier barrier to entry. Then something shifted, and almost unsaid, we started looking at permanent space options.

I went wide on locations, looking at spaces in Chelsea, Flatiron, Tribeca, SoHo, LES, Chinatown, Greenwich Village, even Midtown. I decided on the current location in Chinatown because it lends itself to experimentation, trying new things, failing, playing, and really discovering what Lyle Gallery is and who I am as a gallery owner. Traditional gallery hubs like Tribeca and Chelsea just felt too serious for me right now.

The inaugural show, which I started working on probably six months ago, opened in mid-May for NYCxDesign Week. It's a group show featuring works by artists working in metal (Jøna Maaryn out of Marfa Texas, Jamps Studio out of London, and “the city’s chainsmith," Johnny Valentine. out of NYC). Once I had my first artist on board, it really took shape from there and became real.

Magdalena worked really hard the last three years to facilitate a sale of the company she was working for. In doing that, we were able to put a small amount of money aside to get this up and running. I think it would have been unrealistic to try to do this without that sale happening first. Magdalena and I both come from working-class families, rather atypical to the backgrounds in which you typically see people opening galleries in this city. Magdalena immigrated from Poland as a child and I grew up in rural Pennsylvania. Odds were definitely stacked against us in that sense, but we’ve worked very hard in our professional careers to get to where we are now.

It’s a known fact that a lot of professionals in the art world come from a certain upbringing. But we’re proof that it doesn’t have to be the case, but it certainly doesn’t come without many obstacles and roadblocks. It’s been important to keep overheads like rent low. Right now, the salary from my part-time job covers the rent, which puts us in a good place. But we are definitely starting small and not jumping into a fancy space in a fancy neighborhood, and I am very happy with that.

Deadlines hit differently when it’s for your own company. It’s hard to justify a weekend or evening to relax and recharge when there is so much to get done. We’ve had to evaluate what in our life is propelling us forward and what is holding us back, and that can mean saying no more often. We have definitely outgrown our small one-bedroom apartment, but we made the decision to prioritize starting a business.

We were really scrappy about finding a location, contacting listings on Craigslist and Facebook, and walking around neighborhoods looking for “for rent by owner” signs and calling them up.

We ultimately found the space on Craigslist, which is just so fitting for who we are as people and as a couple. Aside from having good bones for a gallery space, we are most excited about this little secret room in the back in which we are scheming up an interesting use for the space that I can’t share yet.

Imposter syndrome (of course). Being OK with having uncomfortable conversations (I hate conflict). Learning to make quick decisions (I like to explore every option).

When I received the keys to the space, it was dark, cold, and pouring rain. I sat on the floor with the lights off, listening to the raindrops hitting the metal awning and watching the light come in from the street. I had imagined that moment for so long. I moved to NYC when I was 18 to attend design school at FIT and remember dreaming of that “one day” moment of having my own creative space. If I had planned ahead to bring a blanket and pillow, I definitely would have slept on the floor that night.

Visiting artists in their studios and having artists tell us that they are excited to work with us. Working towards something that is bigger than us, like bringing more voices from underrepresented communities and backgrounds to the front. The hidden lesbian poker room that we are building in the back of the gallery (I’ve said too much!).

“BE PUNK!” —Ella Fitch

“Walk into every room with the confidence of a mediocre white guy” —Magdalena Typrien

The Cost of Starting Your Own Business talks to founders to get an honest look at what it really takes to create a company. Not just the financial, but the personal and emotional costs, too.

Best-selling author and longtime Florida resident Lauren Groff couldn’t sit by idly as book bans became increasingly commonplace in her state over the past two years. So she and her husband, Clay Kallman, decided to open a bookshop in Gainesville to create a haven for all readers and uplift frequently challenged works. Named after the Florida native big cat, The Lynx, their slogan puts it best: “Watch Us Bite Back.”

Owning a bookstore had long been a dream for the couple, but when Governor Ron DeSantis passed legislation in 2022 that made it easier for individual books to be contested in public schools, they knew they needed to open up shop. Two years later, after renovating an old hair salon in downtown Gainesville into a store—fit with an event space, cafe, and children’s reading nook—The Lynx finally welcomed guests through its doors in late April.

The Lynx highlights historically banned books, as well as LGBTQ+ and BIPOC authors, whose work have largely become the focus of scrutiny in Florida—which has seen the highest number of book-banning cases in the past two years. Groff, who is a three-time National Book Award finalist, helped curate the store’s collection of 7,000 titles and hopes to turn the space into an integral part of the community with inclusive programming.

In the days before the store's opening, Groff emailed with Marie Claire about what this chapter of her life as a business owner has been like.

My husband Clay Kallman and I have dreamed about opening a bookstore in Gainesville since we first moved here in 2006. Clay is originally from Gainesville, and his family opened a bookstore called The Florida Bookstore in the 1930s, which they sold in the late '90s. Clay was raised in bookselling: his first job was teaching the point-of-sale system to new employees.

That said, our dream wouldn't have come to much had the state not started cracking down on freedom of expression, and had groups like (the oxymoronically named) Moms for Liberty not pressed forward on their campaign to ban books all over the state. We saw this happening and felt so deeply for the people whose voices and identities were being squelched by a loud and intolerant minority. We dreamed of a general-interest store that would have a special emphasis on banned books; that would celebrate and promote books by LGBTQI+ writers and writers of color; that would fill in the blanks that the Florida educational system is intentionally leaving in our students' education. We decided to meet the authoritarians on their own playground: private business.

The purpose of this store is to act as a lighthouse. To radiate warmth and brightness out to the people who feel as though the state of Florida is currently invalidating their lives and their history. To let them know that there are people here who love and accept them, who want for them to live happily as they are, and who will be fighting for them into the future.

We want to resist the simple story that has been told of what Florida is, to make the story more complex and interesting, to show how book bans are, in fact, deeply unpopular with nearly everyone in the state, and that, through book banning, only a tiny minority of people are trying to impose their political beliefs on the vast majority of Floridians.

We will be engaging in programming to encourage the dissemination of ideas that may be uncomfortable to those who are in power. We will encourage reading widely and well and make literature accessible to populations for whom books may currently be a luxury. We want this store to be a source of pride for Gainesville and for Florida, and for it to become a national beacon. If booksellers are the next in line to be attacked by the state government, we are prepared for this eventuality and have a very large microphone. A group of Lynxes is a watch; we want the bad actors to know that we're watching.

The majority of the startup money has come from the books I have written (thank you to everyone who has ever bought one!). We did want to invite all who wanted to be a part of the store to help us out with the Indiegogo, for which my beautiful writer friends have donated so much: from superstar agent Bill Clegg donating two manuscript critiques to people like Hernan Diaz, Kaveh Akbar, and Cheryl Strayed giving Zooms to book clubs. The public responded with great gusto. We made 116 percent of our goal! And will be fulfilling the perks and blessing the generosity of people from all over the world for a few months to come, as well.

Nothing is really a sacrifice if it's done out of love, I think. I haven't read nearly as many books since November as I normally would have—from this, it's apparent that I have so little time at the moment, and when I do have time to wind down, I usually just fall asleep! But beauty can be found in these things. My children are stepping up and taking responsibility for themselves admirably. Maybe taking a break from reading is all right at the moment, because I'll be reading between 400 and 600 books in the next six months in my role as judge for this year's National Book Awards. Everything can be an opportunity if you look at it from a different perspective.

It's extraordinarily difficult to learn a brand new set of skills in one's mid-40s, and I have never started up a business, done all of the necessary paperwork, hired people, managed the money, figured out point-of-sale systems, or dealt with contractors before. It's all hard! I haven't been able to see some of my favorite people in months, because I'm working such long hours trying to get this airship off the ground.

When I emailed Ann Patchett to tell her I was starting up a bookstore, and she emailed back, "You fool. I'm so proud of you."

Everything is worth it. I am so moved every day to see the goodwill that people are extending in our direction, as well as the hard work of our contractors and landlord and our two spectacular managers. Jackie and Gina are among the best people on the planet, and it's a joy to get to spend time with them. I also discovered how deep and powerful the love of books is in my adoptive hometown, and how hungry people have been for a more diverse slate of literary events. Also, to be honest, there are things that I have pretended to not be able to do in my home life because my husband both likes doing them, and because I wanted to protect my time and didn't want to be yoked into doing them (taxes, insurance, general household operations), and it's a little bittersweet to watch my husband begin to understand that I'm pretty competent in these things, actually.

A friend of mine owns a local bakery, Vine, and she told me not to sweat the delays that are inevitable when building out a store. "In five years, you won't even remember the date you opened," she said. She helped me see reason when I was being unreasonably strict about our timeline.

When was the last time someone told you to "dream a bit more"? In a world where people seem consumed by their jobs, how much money they make, and how high up the ladder they can climb, it's hard not to get caught up in the hustle of it all. But Moleskine's visionary CEO Daniela Riccardi urges us to reclaim our dreams. Her steadfast belief in the power of possibility has taken her to heights that she couldn't have imagined for herself. As the first European woman to lead Procter & Gamble, the former CEO of Diesel and Baccarat, and the current CEO of Moleskine, Riccardi has had a career nothing short of captivating.

For Riccardi, there are no limits to what she can achieve. Between building a boutique hotel—Casa al Sole—on the picturesque island of Ischia, Italy, simply because she craved a sanctuary she couldn't find elsewhere (yes, really) and courageously walking away from a job because of gender discrimination, her journey has been a testament to her unwavering determination. At Marie Claire's Power Play event in March, I had the privilege of spending time with Riccardi. We talked, we danced (she is an incredible dancer—more on that later), we laughed, and I learned about her remarkable story. Discover the insights and inspiration from our enlightening conversation below.

Marie Claire: Your career has spanned diverse categories from fashion to luxury goods to consumer products. How has this breadth of experience shaped your leadership style and approach to business?

Daniela Riccardi: I started at P&G, and it was great, but it wasn't easy—it was tough and demanding. There weren't many women there when I started, but it was a great starting point. After I was with P&G for 25 years, I said to myself, "Am I going to do this for the rest of my life, or should I challenge myself and see if I can bring value and run businesses in different environments?" So I did a 180-degree change to Diesel and then moved to Baccarat. Both were private companies and completely different experiences. And to be very honest, after seven years at Baccarat, I was going to leave my executive career. I had opened Casa al Sole and wanted to focus on that. I had lived all over the world—Brussels, Bogotá, Mexico City, Caracas, Moscow, Paris, and China—and I thought it was time to slow down. I had already packed everything to go back to Rome, my home city, when I got a call about an opportunity at Moleskine (an Italian brand), and well, I ended up taking it.

When I talk about leadership with people, I tell them to broaden their horizons. Work in different places, and live in different countries. Particularly when you're young, making money should be your last priority. Your first priority should be to learn and learn and learn. I'm turning 64, and I'm still learning. It would have been difficult for me to lead organizations if I hadn't learned what a sense of purpose means for different people, their jobs, their role in the company, and their mission in life.

MC: As the first European female president of P&G, you marked a significant milestone for the company. How did your experience in this role influence your leadership roles that followed?

DR: At P&G, I was in charge of Greater China, which was the engine of growth at the company. It was 8,000 people—I mean, a huge business. However, the first time I was in Cincinnati at the P&G headquarters, I was in the elevator with one of my American colleagues, and she asked me how I felt being a minority. I had never heard this word. She was referring to the fact that I was a woman, but I had never been called a minority by anybody. Growing up, I always believed I could do any of the same things men could do. When I interviewed at P&G, they asked me if I was prepared for "this life." They expected me to give up hope of having a husband, having children, having a life. I was 25, and I wasn't thinking about marriage or children. But I told them honestly that if I wanted to do it, I would be able to. They thought I was naive. But I guess I proved them wrong. At P&G, diversity and female growth are part of the strategy, but I had bosses who didn't quite believe that. I had a boss who didn't believe I could do my role because I was a new mother and pregnant. After multiple comments that he made, I decided to pack my bags. I wrote to the CEO of the company that I couldn't work somewhere that treated women like that. As I was sitting at lunch with my 18-month-old son, I got a call from the CEO asking me to take my maternity leave and return. Soon enough, that boss of mine was fired. You can't be afraid to speak up and be who you are.

I never felt threatened in a male-dominated industry. I've always been very feminine. I remember the first week of work, I showed up in a blue blazer, a yellow flowery shirt, and a yellow skirt. Another girl in the same office was dressed in a suit and tie. She couldn't believe I could wear such a thing. But I never compromised anything. I didn't compromise marriage or children. I didn't compromise traveling the world because I have a fabulous husband who comes with me everywhere. And I know that it's not the same for everybody. But I do believe that the difference is in us as individuals. To have this belief and this confidence is something I value.

MC: What advice do you have for aspiring female leaders in male-dominated industries?

DR: Don't be afraid. I was never afraid. I had a phrase: You are free to fire me at any time. And this freedom was not because I didn't need to work. I just never would have compromised anything in my life for a career. I never had the ambition to be a CEO. It almost happened by mistake. Until I was 20, my life was dance. I studied to be a ballet dancer. I didn't even know what CEO meant. I had the ambition not to be boxed in by anything, so I studied political science, I applied to P&G, and I didn't even know why they hired me! So when I got it, I had to believe in myself, like, "Yeah, I can do it. I will learn." And little by little, things happened.

MC: As a leader of so many companies, you must have had moments that required decisive action. Can you recall a challenging decision you encountered in your career? How do you navigate through uncertainty and pressure?

DR: You just heard one: when I almost left P&G the first time in my early career when my boss made the comments. I was so determined, and it was not an easy choice. It took courage, but I had my baby, and my life was more important than all these things. Another major decision was officially leaving P&G after 25 years. I had no reason to leave. When you get to a certain level, of course, the company really only has one position at the top. The company was thinking about me as the next female chairman. And still, I left. I needed a change in my life. I owe everything to P&G. I had amazing bosses and bad bosses, and I learned from both of them about how I wanted to be as a leader. But back then, it was a tough decision to leave. I was in a perfect situation, but it was because of that—I felt like there were no more challenges for me. I felt like everything was predictable. But these are the courageous decisions you have to make in life.

MC: In an era where work-life balance is highly valued, how do you prioritize your well-being with the demands of leadership roles at high-profile companies?

DR: I dance! I kept dancing even when I left the ballet academy in Rome. And when I was in Russia, I took classes at the Bolshoi Theatre. I would leave the office and be out until 10 p.m. at dance class with my pointe shoes. I started dancing salsa and bachata, too—I created a P&G salsa team! I dance every day, and I taught ballet to my daughter Cecilia's classmates. It was fun.

MC: Can you share a personal mantra or philosophy that has guided you through your career?

DR: Follow your dreams. Never give up on your dreams. People get so concerned about careers and money, but it's much easier and more productive if you go for a dream instead. My mom lost her father when she was 10 or 11. She was a dreamer, and she used to dream with her father. When he died, she had to help with my grandmother and make compromises. She couldn't go to university. And I told her my dream was not to make any compromises. I will do it myself, no matter how. And even if what happened to my mom happened to me, I would find a way. So we need to teach people to dream a bit more. When I'm coaching young people, I often ask them, "What is your dream?" And they can't tell me anything. They don't know how to answer. I say, "Rather than ask me to give you advice on your next job, spend a bit of time dreaming—where would you dream yourself to be? That will help me coach and advise you on how to get there." A job is decent, but jobs—where do they lead? To more jobs, more money, more titles? Is that it? That's the dream of your life? Hopefully, the dream can be bigger and broader. Just dream.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

How’d You Get That House? speaks to people across the country who are navigating a complicated housing market. Here, a family of five in rural Maine who considered homes in multiple states before landing on a farmhouse fixer-upper that left them mortgage-free.

Erica Craig (interviewed here), a human resource executive at a health care center who also writes fiction on the side
Annual salary: $228,000

Adam Craig, a stay-at-home dad who homeschools the family's three children and renovates their home
Annual salary: $0

A four-bedroom, two-bath, 6,000-square-foot, early-1800s farmhouse with two barns—and lots of potential—in rural Maine

Initial budget: $100,000

Actual amount spent: $76,600

Monthly mortgage: $0 (paid all cash)

The couple, along with their three children, moved from a three-bedroom, two-bath rental with 21 acres in New Jersey.

We had been renting for about five years while we saved up enough money to buy a house with cash. At that point, we were sick of renting and ready to make our move.

We began seriously looking in the spring of 2017. We bought our home a little over one year later in May of 2018. We were looking for something cheap; my husband is a talented carpenter and taught himself how to do electrical work and plumbing, so were up for renovating.

We looked in Maine and Vermont because we had family ties to those states and spent our summers there, and we also looked in Virginia and North Carolina. We had previously lived in Virginia and loved it, and there were some good prices in those states, as well.

We looked at hundreds of places online and visited about six homes in person—that was mainly due to the travel from New Jersey each time we wanted to see something.

We really enjoyed looking. I loved envisioning ourselves in the home, planning out the things we could do to the place and how we would reimagine it if it was ours. The process was a bit cumbersome, because looking for a home in a different state than you currently live is tough, but we mostly didn't mind. I think my husband was less patient and just wanted to pick something, but our price range was so low and the places we saw were in such disrepair that we really had to be critical.

We had a few musts: Most importantly, the home had to be in a place with high-speed internet for my work options. We wanted an old farmhouse style; we'd lived in 200-year-old homes before and really liked the charm of something with history. We also wanted a safe neighborhood or town.

Prior to buying this place we signed a contract on another place, then got spooked by the home and the work needed (bad vibes!) and backed out. Our real estate agent helped tremendously in that process and was able to get our deposit back and smooth it over so we had no loss there.

We picked our current home because of the location. We liked that it was less than an hour from my grandmother's home in Maine and our family summer home on Chebeague Island. It was one of the places that we saw with quality high-speed internet, which in rural Maine, Vermont, Virginia, and North Carolina is actually difficult to find. Many of the places we considered had to be ruled out because they only offered satellite internet.

We liked that the home was large and had some unusual features for the time it was built, like high ceilings and tons of exposed beams, two original mantels, tin ceilings in one room, and original floors in a few rooms.

We compromised on land, this home only having about one acre; we wanted more space and were used to expansive properties, but were unable to get that here. But it is in the heart of an adorable Maine village, and I was not expecting how much I would love walking to restaurants or the coffee shop, or even just having sidewalks and crosswalks and a community that I have grown to know and like.

I bought my first home alone when I was 20—a condo in New Jersey that sold it three years later very easily; I had multiple offers over asking price in the first week. My husband and I bought our second home, also in New Jersey, in 2006 before we were married. In 2008 we were severely underwater in that home, were in a bad financial situation, and completely stuck. We waited it out, but nine years later were still not above water. We had two bad mortgages and had to file bankruptcy. We lost that home after nearly a decade of never making a late payment.

That changed everything for me and we decided we never wanted to borrow money again, ever, for anything, even a house. We primarily used Dave Ramsey's program as a guide and spent the next four years paying off all our debt and saving cash for a home.

We rented at that time. We had three children by then and rented nice homes in suburban neighborhoods in Virginia, Maryland, and New Jersey, as I moved around for work often at that time. My income grew at that time with all the moves and we repurposed relocation bonuses that I received to pay down debt, opting to do all the moves on our own and bank the cash. We also sold things on Ebay and scraped money from all sorts of places to accelerate the process.

Being debt free and buying this house in cash was the singular best move of my financial life. The peace and freedom that I have knowing I own my home outright is immeasurable.

I will say, we grossly underestimated the time and expense of renovating. My husband, even with his vast knowledge, really missed the mark on how long it would take to renovate, so that has been slower than anticipated and something I wish I'd have known. We've been renovating for nearly six years and have a few more years to go, so there is ongoing cost to that, but it is completely in our control as to how and when we spend money. That has slowed other investing goals that we have, like buying rental property and a summer home.

When we bought the home, it was a complete mess—no kitchen, no mudroom, no working bathrooms, no finished spaces, more than half the house had no electrical wiring, no furnace, no fireplaces, no insulation or walls in most places. We have tackled some of the major renovations, including the kitchen, two bathrooms, four bedrooms, library, and den. When we are complete it will be close to 6,000 square feet, six bedrooms, four full bathrooms, and some extra rooms like a library. Anytime I get slogged down with renovations, or annoyed that a section is not complete, I think, well, at least I have no mortgage. That helps me feel comforted.

The road is a little busier than I might have wanted—the speed limit is 25; people go faster—but we have managed that too.

We don't have any immediate plans to move, but I also know that we won't retire here, the home is too large for just two people and there is a lot of maintenance involved in a 200-year-old home in Maine with weather and upkeep, plus the barns! But the good news is that we have options and a huge financial investment on our hands. We bought for $76,600 and believe that we could sell, even now, for over $500,000, and when our renovations are done, for even more.

This was a great move for us, even in its imperfect ways. This home has helped set my family up for larger savings and investing for retirement and the growth of assets that will take us in a very short time from bankruptcy to a million dollar net worth and I need to thank our old house for being a huge part of that. What's fun about perfection anyway.

On a Saturday in December, as visitors were touring the Uncle Nearest Premium Whiskey distillery in Shelbyville, Tennessee, some 50 miles southeast of Nashville, the founder bellied up to the bar to say a quick hello. How was everyone doing? Did they enjoy their tasting? Where was everyone visiting from? One pair mentioned their heritage, they were Chippewa, traveling from Oklahoma.

Welcoming people, making them feel seen. This matters to Fawn Weaver. She founded and named the company after Nathan "Nearest" Green, the first known Black master distiller and "the best whiskey-maker the world never knew," to highlight his hidden legacy. The goal was for Nearest Green Distillery to be a place where people from all walks of life could encounter each other and, for that short period of time, be in community with one another. Since opening the doors in 2019 (the brand was officially established two years prior), Weaver has watched that principle become realized. "I can look at a tour—and our tours have about 25 people—and I can say, Trump supporters, Obama supporters...they're all raising a glass together," she shares.

There, on her 400-plus acres of land along the state's Whiskey Trail—the famed Jack Daniel's distillery is just under 30 miles away—with its horses and white-and-green barrel-filled buildings and blooming flowers, Weaver sees an America that is capable of living up to its ideals. One that has more "good than bad," and one that is "filled with more love than hate."

She adds, "Think about the story I'm telling you. I have to pass Confederate flags to get to my distillery, but we've never had anything but respect."

To fully understand her optimism requires an understanding of Weaver herself. She's the first Black American woman to lead a major spirits company. According to 2022 data from Women in Distilling, less than 8 percent of the more than 2,200 craft distilleries in the country are women-owned. Only about 175 are Black-owned.

Today, Uncle Nearest is the fastest-growing whiskey brand in the U.S. It drives tourism, bringing in nearly a quarter of a million visitors to the area, according to Weaver, earning the distillery the moniker "Malt Disney World."

And the whiskey, it's good. Excellent, even. Among its many accolades, it was the most awarded bourbon and American whiskey brand for an impressive four consecutive years.

Weaver's story is a worthy one. She knows this. Now in her late 40s, she began her career as an intern for the late public relations visionary Pat Tobin. "Everything I've ever done, it's been the exact same model," Weaver says. "Create a story so big, people are interested in it." But with Uncle Nearest, she didn't have to create the story, she realized—she just had to tell it.

In the summer of 2015, Weaver was coming to terms with an expensive miscalculation. She had taken on a consulting role for a boutique fitness chain because she believed in it so much, even investing her own money into the business while forfeiting compensation. Despite a few quarters of improvements after her onboarding, the owners retreated from her suggested changes, Weaver says. By the time she was ready to walk away, forecasting its failure, her losses were significant. An estimated $2 million, according to her.

"At that point, I didn't really understand cutting losses; I do now," she says, laughing. "I needed to get my mind off it."

To clear her head, she accompanied her husband Keith on a business trip to Singapore. Keith, who cofounded Uncle Nearest with Weaver, was then a senior executive at Sony Pictures. During their trip, Weaver came across a story in The New York Times about the 150th anniversary of the Jack Daniel’s distillery—the date matching the bottle's inscription of an 1866 establishment rather than records that show its 1875 founding. Weaver was so intrigued by the story's disclosure that it was an enslaved Black man named Nathan "Nearest" Green who taught Daniel how to distill, that she ordered Ben A. Green's Jack Daniel's Legacy book to her home in Los Angeles, so she could learn more about the brand's history. At the time, it was curiosity that was on her mind, not starting a company.

While on the trip, she received news that her niece was in a terrible motorcycle accident, and soon after, that she had died. Weaver returned home to plan the celebration of life. The loss was devastating, and to cope, she tried to keep busy. "I was home and I'm not really the grieving kind, I'm the working kind," she says. "So, I immediately went to my desk and started sorting through packages. [The book] was one of the packages, so I just started reading it."

Weaver wasn't sure she would find any mention of Green, but within the early pages, she did. "I thought, this is crazy," she says. "The book was published in 1967, the height of the civil rights era. You have a white reporter from Alabama, coming to Lynchburg, Tennessee, to write the definitive autobiography of the most famous whiskey-maker of all time. And you have this Black family being mentioned over and over again."

Astonished by the findings, Weaver set out to find out as much as she could about the Green family. What she found was a rare American narrative for that time: one of mutual love, respect, and friendship between Black and white people during an especially violent era for the former, all while creating a markedly American product in Jack Daniel's. It sparked her desire to set the record straight on an inaccurate but believable account that had become popular online, in which Daniel is portrayed as having acquired his recipe and distilling methods from a nameless, enslaved Black person rather than the true account in which Green and Daniel share close ties.

The story of Green's legacy moved Weaver, not only emotionally, but also literally. She began making trips to Tennessee to talk to insiders about his story, with the hope of maybe turning it into a book.

By the end of 2016, Weaver realized it would take something bigger to do justice to Green's legacy: not a book, but a whiskey brand. Between her business and public relations background, she had the experience. And anyway, she liked bourbon; she knew what tasted good.

Weaver was energized by the idea, enough that she and her husband eventually left California and permanently moved to the area in 2020. But she was still reeling from her previous financial loss, and the whiskey industry, run by white men—usually already born with historical and legacy ties to set them up—wasn't easy to break into.

Speaking candidly, Weaver says her husband was pivotal in confronting these difficulties. His visible presence as a man aided her as she navigated through this new world, especially in the distribution elements, which Weaver initially eschewed. In fact, she says she's only recently established relationships with distributors—a rarity in the spirits world, where they exert major influence—and initially built the brand in spite of them. Keith, who now manages the Nearest Green Distillery full-time, oversaw the distillery’s operations and growth when it first opened, all while still working at Sony. And even before that, it was his paychecks that were used to keep the company afloat. "We had to go negative in our bank account so many times to build this company," Weaver says. "[Keith's] paycheck would literally pass through our account and go into Uncle Nearest to pay payroll."

Other moments were brighter, however. Weaver's research led her to Green's great-great-granddaughter, Victoria Eady Butler, who is now the brand's master blender. "I'm proud to continue in the same vein that he once worked," Butler says, referring to her great-great-grandfather. "He was more than a mentor to Jack Daniel. He made history of his own and I'm extremely proud of that."”

She also jokes that Weaver has taught "an old dog new tricks," as Butler is in her 60s. "I believe that things happen in due time. I know that it took someone with Fawn's determination and grit and brilliance to bring this story to life," Butler says.

And about that book, Weaver wrote it after all. In July of this year, to further cement Green's story and complement the brand, Weaver is publishing Love & Whiskey. The book documents Green's story, as well as Weaver's upbringing in Pasadena, California, her struggles as a homeless teen, and the mental-health challenges she’s had to overcome in her life.

"The intention was always about just sharing the story. It could have been coffee or jeans," Weaver says. "It was never about the spirits, but all of this has led to this opportunity."

In starting Uncle Nearest, Weaver found pieces of American history that help provide a roadmap for Black Americans like herself to tell different stories about the past, all while transforming the industry into something others like her can be a part of. "If you look at the tie that binds every story—love, honor, respect, and the refusal to give up hope—that's the storyline from beginning to end," Weaver says, in talking about Green. Poignant words that could be applied to Weaver, and what she's created, too.

When we've outgrown one version of professional or personal success, pivoting to the next can feel daunting—especially when it's outside of our comfort zone. How can we align our ambition with our interests as we continue to evolve, both in our professional lives and as members of our communities?

During the second day of Marie Claire's Power Play summit in Los Angeles, Sophia Bush, Nia Batts, and Merrell VP Jane Smith came together to discuss just that—the idea of "reverse ambition"—in a panel moderated by WWW co-founder and Future SVP Hillary Kerr.

"Just because you start doing one thing doesn't mean you cannot pivot or flip the script," explained Kerr in her introductory remarks. "It doesn't mean that you are stuck in one thing. And our amazing panelists are going to talk through some of the very myriad ways in which they have enhanced their careers over time and ways that they've expanded their careers. And how, having lots of different things to draw from, ultimately, ends up helping in the long run.

You probably know panelist Sophia Bush from one of the over 40 acting credits under her belt. In addition to her work acting, producing, and directing, Bush is also the host of two podcasts ("Work in Progress" and "Drama Queens"); an activist; an angel investor; and the co-founder of voting rights organization I Am a Voter and sustainable luxury fashion retailer Fashionkind.

Nia Batts, too, has a wealth of experience in entrepreneurship and activism. Batts started her career at Viacom, working her way up to become one of its youngest executives. Alongside Bush, her longtime friend, she co-founded both Detroit Blows, an inclusive finishing salon, and Detroit Grows, a philanthropic endeavor providing support to local women-owned businesses. Batts then pivoted to become the Chief Operating Officer and Managing Director of Union Heritage, a financial services company based in Detroit. She and Bush are also senior advisors to First Women’s Bank, the only women-founded, women-owned, and women-led bank in the country.

For the Power Play event's Reverse Ambition panel, moderated by Kerr, Batts, and Bush were joined by Jane Smith, the VP of Digital Marketing at Merrell. At Merrell, Smith oversees a team of managers in digital marketing, influencer marketing, and social media; she's also a mentor at the Women’s Resource Center in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and a regular volunteer at women's homeless shelters.

In a wide-ranging conversation about "reverse ambition," the panelists discussed ambition, career pivots, being underestimated, the fear of failing, and more. Ahead, some of the most impactful quotes.

Sophia Bush

On building a community:  "Sometimes, I think you need the people who see you to hold you and say, 'I really love you, but you're playing small.' 'I really love you, but you're not living up to your potential.' 'I really love you, but you are in the wrong relationship with someone who's not nice to you.' There's a million versions of how that happens, and that is where I think community is important. I've learned that being a circus performer, I pick up, I move everywhere for a job, and it's like summer camp. I will invest my everything, and then, I have to go to the next thing.

"But I think when you have people, the one or two people where you might've given your love, your life, your local passion, the one or two people who stick with you off of every job or every city, that's your long community. And so, what I've learned about community is that you have seasons—lean into them and enjoy them—and you have lifetimes, and those are the ones you collect really slowly. And none of them are wrong, they all deserve to be cherished. But the lifetimes, the lifers, like we're in it forever. And it might be us alone on the porch at like 80 with a mimosa, but if it's me and her, I am down. Like we nailed it."

On being honest with yourself: “I think something that's really important too, is figuring out how to just be really frank about your skillset. I am an artist, for better or worse, which means, I have a lot of really good ideas and I also have the attention span of like a small insect. And that can be great when I'm sitting in a brainstorm and I can come up with things, and then, I go to the next one, and that's where I am. And I think it can be really great in terms of that like bloom where you're planted, and it requires a little bit of honesty for me to say, ‘Okay, I need somebody to help me track the ideas.’

"Because for 10 years, I tried to tell myself that if I just work a little harder, if I do a little more therapy, if I get up 30 minutes earlier and do the meditation, I can do it all. No, I can't. Nobody can. This is preposterous. We evolved in villages, we're not supposed to do it alone. Community really is everything. And if you admit what your strong suits are, but also, what they’re not, it doesn't mean you're a flawed person, it means you're an adult.”

Nia Batts

On branching out: "I think that spending 11 years in New York, working in corporate media and entertainment has created a scenario where, now, I'm able to tell stories differently and I'm always looking at things from a different perspective. I'm always endeavoring to change my lens and that's how I see everything, how I see work, how I see relationships, where I see stories, where I see investments that other people overlook.

"I almost think that not doing the thing that I wanted to do initially has allowed me to come back to that work with a more seasoned perspective, but the journey and everything that I did along the way, I fully know is what has brought me to this moment where I feel embodied and powerful and excited and grateful."

On what ambition means to her: "I would say ambition to me looks like making Michigan and Detroit especially continuing to be the fastest growing startup ecosystem in the world, and making sure that the founders there can really feel it. We talk a lot about what the big impact is, but the older I get I become really interested in the hyper-local, what it means to really be where you are, to dig in, and to understand what it means to actually support the people on the ground, and listen to what they're saying and try and figure out how you can build and reflect back solutions and resources. So, to me, that feels like, in my gut, one of the most gratifying things that I can do. And also, where I think my talents are also aligned.

"That being said, I just think it's incredibly important to really dig in. And so, my ambition is to just go deep where I am and in doing that, I think what we're finding is there are opportunities beyond our beliefs that are now manifesting and coming to life. And so, I think the stillness is really, actually, empowering the ambition in a way that was unexpected, at least, for me."

Jane Smith

On the moment she embraced the pivot: “Becoming a mom was a real shift for me. So, I was really on this kind of rocket ship in my career and the trajectory was up really fast. It was very exciting, and I decided I wanted to be a mom and looked at a lot of the women around me that were working moms and thought, ‘I don't know if I can do that.’ They were so intense, and it was so hard and there was no balance. And I thought, ‘Okay, I've got to shift and start my own agency and business.’ And that was very scary, but really, it allowed me to find that balance and be able to be the mom I wanted to be and still be in business.

"And then, when I shifted and went back to work for another company, having the ability I have to start over, going at the bottom and work my way back up, it was tough. But I think just trusting myself and figuring out I can be both these things, I can be all these things, I just have to work to find the balance."

On the fear of failing after reaching success: “When I was younger, the fear didn't exist. I think there's that saying about the pain is in the resistance to change but not the change itself. And I think I learned that really early, that if there was change or if there was something I wanted to go after, I would just give into it.

"I think, often, we put ourselves in these containers and we stop ourselves from moving forward. And I think, as I get older and I see women getting older, it seems to be harder, actually. The more you become defined by something, the more you feel like, ‘Oh, I can't, I'm almost 50. I can't imagine starting over, or pivoting again.’ It seems so hard. I've done this for so long. And I find that really sad, because all of the women that are older have all this experience to offer and all of this ability to blaze the trail for the people behind them and to provide all this knowledge, but yet, I feel like they're more and more stuck. Like we are missing that sort of passion and agility that we had when we were younger."

Aïda Moudachiro-Rébois may be MAC's newest C-suite executive, but she's far from a beauty newcomer. After emigrating from her home country of Benin to Paris, France, she set off on a professional track that led her to high-powered jobs at L'Oréal (where she spent over 15 years), Johnson & Johnson, and Revlon. Now, as Senior Vice President, Global General Manager of MAC, she resides in New York City, and admits that even before she started working with MAC, she secretly admired the brand—both personally and professionally.

"As a marketer, I was watching MAC because it grew very fast from being a super small brand to becoming the number one precision makeup brand in the world. And at L'Oréal, we were paying attention," she says. "It was a brand that I've always admired: I've seen them work on me, and I've seen them work on many people who were living outside of what the beauty standard was considered to be at the time. I believe in the brand values. So to be here now at the helm of the brand is kind of full circle."

Moudachiro-Rébois especially values MAC's commitment to diversity because of her own background: As both a Black woman and an immigrant, she is acutely aware of how lacking representation is in the beauty industry and at large in corporate America. Indeed, although Black professionals make up about 13 percent of the American workforce, only about five percent of chief executives are Black. The only African immigrant on MAC's executive team, Moudachiro-Rébois has come to symbolize hope for immigrants and people of color in the business world.

"I don't have the answers, because it's all a personal journey," she confesses, "but I'm happy to share my journey and a little bit of what my struggle or what my energy has been to lead me to this."

Moudachiro-Rébois' late February promotion is particularly poignant amid the refugee crisis escalating within the United States, which has sent a fresh wave of xenophobia across mainstream American society. With that in mind, the new executive shed light on her dynamic career, diving head-first into issues of identity, representation, and how to overcome when the odds seem stacked against you.

On Her New Role

Oh, it’s a dream job. I’m leading the brand, which is a community of 14,000 people. It's a global role, so I have the fortune to work with every region in the world, and we are present in over 90 territories and countries. My team does everything to support the business, from innovation to the way we go to market, to the training of the artists, the artistry, the supply chain, and the finances. 

On Her Personal Journey with MAC

MAC was my first makeup brand simply because, at the time, there wasn't any brand I could personally use. Even if I was working with a beauty brand, I couldn't use their shade because there wasn't a shade deep for me. When I was about to get married, I was looking for my makeup look at a department store. I went to the first counter and people were like, "We don't have a shade for you." I got bounced around from counter to counter. I was quite disheveled because it'd been 45 minutes of speaking to people who didn’t have a shade for me, so I didn't feel like a person. The fourth counter in, I was a little bit desperate, and somebody was like, "I'm sorry we don't have what you need, but you can walk to that counter over there and they'll probably have everything you need and more." And that counter was MAC. 

On Imposter Syndrome

You learn to live with it. It's important to be aware of it, but it's important to not let it define who you are. You put it aside, do what you have to do, and move on.

I define myself by my own actions and not by the perception that I think people have of me. Sometimes feeling like an imposter is only in your own eyes, and other people don’t actually think that about you. And sometimes, people do make you feel like you're an imposter, but it's okay.

For me, I always had to rebuild my community because I am an immigrant and I travel so much, and every time, I came without a community. So my advice about imposter syndrome is to find your community and speak to the people who can actually tell you the truth and make you feel at home. 

On Her Personal Mantra

I created this opportunity for myself, but I also was welcomed by a lot of people who actually made space for me and made sure that I could grow into that space. So now, where I am today, I'll always make space for people, whether they've been here for years or they just came here. Everybody is worth it. Everybody has worth. That's the number one mantra that I live by.

On American Life

I was speaking to university students recently, and a young girl asked me, "How do you get ahead as a Black woman in corporate America?" And I'm African, I'm Black, but I think being African American is also being able to understand the story of this country and what the people before us have been through in this country. So I couldn’t advise the student on this, but I will say that it's super important that when you get to your first job, you don't let the potential of discrimination get in your way. Think about who you are, work as hard as you can be, and demonstrate as much integrity as you can. 

My grandmother was from a slave family that came back from Brazil. Benin, where I was born and raised, was one of the main importers of slaves in the world, so we have a very close understanding of slavery. But the difference between us in Benin and African Americans is that in Benin, everybody was Black. I did not grow up as a minority. When I went to Paris, I became a minority, and all of a sudden I was discriminated against. I could have made the choice to say, "You know what? This is not my country. I can go back to my country." When I think about African Americans, this is their country. That's the tough part. That's the difference. The entire system is built to make you feel lesser than other people holding the same citizenship. When I arrived in the US, my first job was working with SoftSheen Carson, which was an African American hair care brand. Right away I learned the nuances of what it is to be a Black person in the U.S. It was very eye-opening. We’re not a monolith. 

On the Intersection of the Personal and Professional

There is a big migrant crisis right now, so I’m acutely aware that I immigrated by choice. That's a big difference, versus having to immigrate by need. I was born and raised in Africa, and my family lives there, so I go back quite often. I remember all the humanitarian crises: Benin is a small country and we hosted refugees from different crises, like the civil war in Ivory Coast or the civil war in Nigeria. My day-to-day was impacted by those crises—seeing people who had to leave their lives, give up on everything, and start over. Yet when I left Benin, it was by choice. It wasn't a matter of life or death. I know the opportunity that this luck has created for me. My parents sent me from Benin, when I was 14, to boarding school in Paris.

From living in different countries, I learned that everybody has a different perspective, and there is no good or bad perspective. It's just about the context you live. And I think getting into a place where you don't always speak the language or you don't always understand the culture also makes you become very observant. It makes you ask questions and listen with all of your senses. And I think for me, if you transfer those skills to your professional life, it helps you become successful. You may have ideas, but you make sure that your ideas are relevant within context. That's what being an immigrant gave me, and in a global role like mine, that multicultural perspective is priceless.

On What Drives Her

For me, I think it's always been passion. I have to love what I do. I spend so much time at work that it has to be worth it, especially as a mom. When you are away from your kids and you have to pay somebody to take care of your kids, it needs to be worth it. I don't chase anything—I only chase feeling good about what I do and coming back home with a feeling of being fulfilled or feeling that I've made a difference or that I've made some kind of impact. I look to grow as a human being, as a professional, and to learn something from the team, from our regions, from our competition, and from our partners. That passion is absolutely what has driven my success.

On True Corporate Representation

It's inside-out. It's not just outward. What I mean is, it's not just out of home advertising that has representation. Everybody who touches everything all the way to the outcome. It's formula, it's shades, it's the copywriters. Every aspect of the brand needs to be touched by what the world looks like. It's not just about having a box from light to dark and ticking them all. It's really understanding the undertone, the formulations, or populations who have a climate where oil control is important versus a cold climate that needs something hydrating. For instance, our number one mascara in Mexico is a mascara for downward lashes, and it came from an insight from our makeup artists there.

On Her Next Steps

First and foremost, this is the brand’s 40th anniversary. This is a big year for us. So my goal is to really make sure that I write the next 40 years well. 

Then, from a personal perspective, sometimes I have to remind myself that I am a woman, a Black woman, a non-American—an immigrant—working in the U.S. And even if for me, everything didn't happen overnight, so I had time to digest it, but I still see myself in people's eyes. A lot of questions I get are, "How did you get there? How do you do it? You have two young kids, so how do you do it all?" I don't underestimate the role that I have in making sure that people understand that everything is possible and that representation matters. I want to make sure that I keep my door open for the girls who have all these questions about how I got here.

Before launching a weighted blanket brand, Kathrin Hamm worked for World Bank, one of the world's largest financial institutions. But constant travel meant constant jet lag and loss of sleep—a lifestyle that can lead to a long list of secondary conditions, like insomnia, irritability, headaches, and anxiety.

Then Hamm spent a Saturday afternoon beneath a weighted blanket.

Though weighted blankets were invented in the late 1990s, they were largely intended for medical use for children with sensory issues. Around 2017, weighted blankets entered the mainstream, becoming available in stores like Target.

Hamm first read about weighted blankets in a medical journal. After ordering her own, she discovered its benefits firsthand as a sleep aid. But she felt the product experience could use improvements—at the time, they were typically orange and blue monstrosities weighted with sand. Inspired by textiles she’d seen in her travels, Hamm began playing with fabrics and product development. In 2018, she launched her own company, Bearaby, with its signature Napper, having emptied her retirement fund. She promised herself a year to pursue the project. 

By the end of 2020—the homebound, anxiety-ridden first year of the pandemic—Bearaby had hit eight figures in sales.

While the blankets, designed to be pretty knits weighted with sustainable cotton instead of pellet or sand, gained fans with their unique look and feel, the isolation of the era also ushered a rise in touch-starvation and heightened anxiety—emotions that could maybe, just maybe, be alleviated by the gentle pressure of a well-made weighted blanket.

With Bearaby now boasting 30 employees, Hamm names rest as one of its core values, encouraging staffers to find their own balance between work and rest.

“We find rhythms within the work week that keep us in sync and productive instead of implementing arbitrary mandatory online hours,” she says. “This practice allows our night owls to sleep in, and early risers a break in the afternoon to nap, exercise, or live their life.”

In the post-pandemic period, which has seen both the era of "quiet quitting" and the continuation of remote work—Bearaby itself boasts a combination of Brooklyn-based and remote workers—Hamm continues to advocate for nap culture, and for workers to find a daily rhythm in line with their need to rest.

Marie Claire: What was your career before Bearaby? What led you to develop a weighted blanket?

Kathrin Hamm: Before Bearaby, I was working at the World Bank as an economist. I constantly traveled and struggled with sleep due to the jet lag and time zone changes. I tried everything to help me get a good night's rest, but nothing felt sustainable long-term. My insomnia became chronic. I soon came across a weighted blanket… I remember vividly using a weighted blanket for the first time, waking up several hours later feeling rested and eager to share my experience with others. 

While weighted blankets have been used in the medical community for decades, I had a lightbulb moment to create a product that would bring the incredible benefits of weighted blankets to a much wider consumer audience. We prioritized the design, look, and feel of the products, and sustainability was crucial in all stages of product development.

MC: What did it take to invent and develop a material-heavy product? Where do you manufacture? 

KH: An important moment in the invention process took place at home in my mom’s kitchen! One day, my mom came into our kitchen with a big roll of T-shirt cotton. She started cutting the cotton into small strips and then stitched them together into a type of layered cotton yarn, and I realized how heavy it was. We tried knitting a mini blanket out of the layered fabric and found that it was heavy, soft, and made a beautiful pattern, all at the same time. That’s when I realized we had created something really special.

Most of our production is in India, with additional partners in Guatemala and Sri Lanka. Bearaby is a decidedly sustainable company from loom to lap. With every product we produce, every partner we work with, and every decision we make, we put the planet first, and we have about half a dozen certifications to prove it. 

MC: What was the biggest challenge you faced in getting the company started? How did you navigate that obstacle?

KH: Manufacturing. After talking to 48 manufacturers. I got 48 "No"s. So, after all those rejections, we rented a garage with two knitting machines and essentially launched out of my living room. 

MC: Roughly how much did you invest?

KH: To launch the business, I emptied my retirement savings to start prototyping, about $120K. As soon as the product was ready, I crowdsourced $250,000 on Kickstarter to fulfill my first orders. When what I thought would be a three-month supply of inventory ended up selling out in two days, I knew I was onto something! 

MC: Tell us about a major milestone and what was it like to achieve that as an entrepreneur.

KH: The Kickstarter I mentioned was one of the earliest signs that we were on to something meaningful, but it was followed by several other "pinch me moments" in the years that followed. When we launched the Tree Napper in 2019, it sold out almost immediately, and we garnered a waitlist of nearly 80,000–the demand for our product skyrocketed, and this was a huge milestone for the growth of the business. At this stage, we were still almost entirely DTC. 

There have also been a few milestones on the sustainability front that are really special to me. Bearaby is now proudly Plastic Negative certified. And because we use organic fabrics, we’re utilizing farming methods that require significantly less water than conventional methods–over the past five years our dedication to organic materials has saved more than 5.3 billion liters of water from our cotton and Tencel production.

MC: How did you develop a company that is very popular in the U.S. around napping culture, particularly as the U.S. doesn’t necessarily nap? 

KH: Growing up, it was entirely normal to take a midday nap, so when I moved to the U.S., it surprised me that napping, as an adult practice, was almost frowned upon. There’s been enormous progress in embracing rest as a driver for productivity and overall health, but sleep disorders and anxiety remain top health issues in the US. And that’s also why I believe in our mission to prioritize rest. 

MC: How have you incorporated napping in Bearaby’s company culture? 

KH: By implementing accommodating work hours and fostering a no-judgment culture when it comes to taking a nap when needed. 

I lead by example. I am transparent about the fact I take a nap almost every single day. Napping is important to me because as someone who has been in the throes of insomnia, I’ve experienced first-hand how sleeplessness can be detrimental to your everyday life. Napping is a natural, simple, and accessible habit that can help boost productivity and overall wellness. Everyone shouldn’t necessarily nap, but everyone should be allowed the option to rest when needed, without it having to be frowned upon, especially in the workplace. 

MC: How can individuals incorporate napping into their daily routines? What are your tips? What works well for you? 

KH: The first step is to let go of the guilt that often comes from prioritizing napping. Rest should be guilt-free, and taking time in your day to recharge is crucial to staying productive. 

The best tip is to find a supportive sleep tool that works for you, whether that’s popping on an eye mask or cuddling with something soft. Find something sensory that tells your body it’s time to wind down and reset. 

And timing is also key—naps that are too short can leave you feeling groggy and dazed, whereas naps that are too long unsettle bedtime routines. For most people, a 20-30 minute power nap is the ideal, but everyone needs to find their own sweet spot. 

MC: How do you stand out amongst the dupes and copycats? How do you protect your business from this?  

KH: Patents! We hold more than a dozen patents and various trademarks. Patents are a lengthy process and expensive to earn, but it's so worth it to protect the proprietary design that we worked so hard to make in the first place. There's a massive "patent gap" in the U.S.—less than 13% of patents are held by women, and despite the increasing rate of female inventors, this gap isn't expected to reach parity until the 2060s. I want to shed more light on the patent process and encourage more female founders to engage.

MC: What are some of the exciting brand moments you are looking forward to in 2024? 

KH: Partnerships! We've seen great success in this last year in partnering with other respected companies in the wellness community, like Sage + Sound and The Well. These two partners in particular have also provided us with physical locations and activations where people can experience Bearaby IRL, which we're learning a lot from. I'm always energized when I see a great collaboration between brands, and I'm hopeful that 2024 will be the year we are able to flex that muscle. 

Taking the time to file your taxes every year is hardly anyone's idea of a good time. In fact, according to the Pew Research Center, a majority of Americans dislike doing their taxes; a reported 32 percent take it one step further and say they're actively dreading them, according to a recent survey by Credit Karma.

Whether you're laboriously looking over a year's worth of financial statements or carefully imputing deductions, it's relatively common for people to make more than a few mistakes when doing something as universally disliked as filing your taxes.

"The most common mistakes people make when doing their taxes are usually the most simple ones," Courtney Alev, consumer financial advocate and head of Tax at Credit Karma, tells Marie Claire.

"And these mistakes can be costly," Alev adds. "A mistake can lead to getting a smaller refund than what you’re owed, paying more than you owe, or a delayed refund."

From making simple math mistakes to providing incorrect bank information, here are some of the most common mistakes people make when filing their taxes—and how to avoid them.

1. Not Talking or Asking Questions About Your Taxes

"Talking about finances openly can help ultimately reduce the stigma around money for many people, whether that means discussing with friends and family, or following along with strangers on social media," Alev explains. "The more common it is to hear others’ lessons learned or helpful tips, the more attention people may pay to their own financial health."

According to one 2023 survey, 62 percent of respondents say they don't talk about money, including their own spouse. According to Alev, refusing to learn or talk about money creates a "ripple effect" that can have "lifelong consequences."

"Not asking for help or guidance around your finances can lead to often unintentional poor choices with money, or the inability to reach your financial goals," she adds.

2. Filings Your Taxes Too Early

According to the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) website, while people should make sure not to file their taxes too early, "they also should not file prematurely."

"People who don't wait to file before they receive all the proper tax reporting documents risk making a mistake that may lead to a processing delay," the site continues.

"The IRS opens tax season in last January.  If someone is using personal tax preparation software or the IRS Free File system, it may accept the return, but it won't be processed until the season opens," Jill M. Flinton, a certified public accountant who has helped individuals and small businesses restructure their finances for over 10 years, tells Marie Claire.

"Anyone with Earned Income Credits (EIC) or Advanced Child Tax Credits (ACTC) will have refunds held up for extra processing until at least mid-February, due to laws requiring those to be held for longer," Flinton adds. "The risk of filing 'too early' is that another document arrives after you have filed your tax return."

3. Entering Key Information Incorrectly

Alev tells Marie Claire that one of the most important steps a person can take when filing their taxes is taking the time to "get yourself organized."

"Gather all of your tax-related documents before you sit down to file your taxes," she says. "It may sound obvious, but you’d be surprised how much time you can save if you have all of the necessary paperwork in front of you when you go to file."

According to the IRS, the error rate for tax returns that are filed on paper is 21 percent, so if you do make a mistake you're not alone.

“There’s no need to panic,” Laurie Kazenoff, a partner and co-chair of the tax department at Moritt Hock & Hamroff, told CNBC Make It in 2019. Most "small issues" can be fixed quickly, she added.

4. Making Math Mistakes

Look, not everyone is "math minded." (Hi. It's me. I'm "everyone.") So it's more than understandable that when tallying deductions, income, expenses and other taxable items, people will make a math mistake or two (or 10).

"The best way to avoid math mistakes is to use a tax software program," Flinton says.

"If you really want to do them by hand—really not recommended—use a calculator with a paper tape that prints out," Flinton adds. "Also, do the calculations several times to make sure the results are the same."

5. Providing Incorrect Bank Numbers

Choosing direct deposit when filing your taxes ensures that you will get your refund as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, it's not uncommon for people to use incorrect routing and account numbers, which can cause a significant delay.

If, again, you're not much of a numbers person, you can always ask the help of a local certified public accountant (CPA) or other financial adviser.

"You should definitely use a CPA when your tax situation becomes more complicated than you feel comfortable doing yourself," Flinton says. "Those with gig jobs or small businesses should use a CPA, EA, or other tax professional to ensure all the gig or business activity is being appropriately recorded." 

6. Correctly Identifying Proper Credits or Deductions

Tax credits and deductions exist for the benefit of the taxpayer, but they can also be confusing and lead to mistakes when you're trying to figure out things like the Earned Income Tax Credit, Child Tax Credit and more.

According to the IRS website, the Interactive Tax Assistant can help taxpayers determine if they're eligible for specific credits and deductions.

"Tax software will calculate these credits and deductions and include any required forms and schedules," the website states. "Taxpayers should Double check where items appear on the final return before clicking the submit button."

And again, as Linton states, if you're feeling overwhelmed or like you are unable to take advantage of all the credits and deductions you're owed, don't hesitate to reach out for help.

"There are many deductions that small business owners can take, but many don't know about them," she adds. "Partnerships, Corporations, and Fiduciary returns—like trusts or estates—should always use a CPA or EA to prepare their tax returns."

7. Not Signing All The Necessary Forms

"Don’t rush through the tax preparation process," Alev says. "It’s important to give yourself plenty of time to minimize stress and reduce the risk of errors. The best strategy is to create a focused, uninterrupted environment so you can concentrate while you file."

More often than not, mistakes can be avoided by slowing down, taking your time and double-checking all of your paperwork, whether it's physical or electronic. And as Alev notes, there's nothing wrong with reaching out to an expert and asking for help.

"There is no shame in asking for help on your taxes. You may be surprised by how few people feel confident filing their taxes on their own, and end up hiring help from a CPA, using expert assistance provided alongside tax software, or enlisting help from a friend or family member when filing," Alev continues. "Asking for help can help give you the confidence that you’re filing accurately."

How’d You Get That House? speaks to people across the country who are navigating a complicated housing market. Here, a woman in her late 30s who left New York City for Gainesville, Florida and stuck to her budget.

Erin Leigh Patterson, 39, vice president of marketing
Annual salary: between $150,000 to $200,000

A two-bedroom, two-bath, 1,200-square-foot cottage in Gainesville, Florida with an attached garage

Initial budget: $300,000

Actual amount spent: $257,000

Down payment: $12,850

Monthly mortgage: $1,800

Erin Leigh moved from a one-bedroom apartment in New York City's Upper West Side to her hometown of Gainesville, Florida.

"I never planned on leaving New York, but after the pandemic it was really different for me. I had the chance to keep my job and be near family so I decided to move back to my hometown. 

I was single at the time—it was just me and my dog Poptart—and I wanted to take advantage of the market if I could. The interest rates were still low (it was February 2022), and since I had a chance to save money during COVID while I was living with my parents, I didn't want to "wait" until I had a partner.

I was totally okay with it if buying didn't work out, which I think helped me have patience for the process. I was ready to rent if that was going to be the best option."

"I wanted a two-bedroom, two-bath place that was move-in ready, low maintenance—assurance I wouldn't need to be fixing a lot of things right away—and a space to work since I work from home.

I didn't want to go from a small NYC apartment to some sprawling suburban estate I would have to care for—I don't want to own a lawnmower! I started looking for condos and my realtor convinced me to look in the neighborhood where I ended up buying. The neighborhood had an HOA for a lot of the maintenance, and the lots are small so I'm close to neighbors' houses; I don't feel so isolated, which was a fear of mine.

I only spent one real day looking—though I had been driving around and planning finances for weeks. Also, at that time you had to make an offer basically immediately before the house was off market, so I had to decide quickly which was a good thing for me since I tend to stew on decisions if I'm given too much time. 

I had a great realtor (a family friend) who told me about a house in my now-neighborhood going on the market. We went and looked at it and it was definitely my style and the size I wanted. I saw another one on Zillow in the same neighborhood having an open house which I also saw."

"I put in an offer on both of the homes I saw—and both offers were actually accepted. That felt wild to me because each house had gotten multiple offers. I ended up choosing the house I found on Zillow because I knew I liked the neighborhood, the list price was a little lower, and it had some updates which I appreciated—a newer roof, new A/C, and a new deck. But it also could use some updates, like new kitchen cabinets and countertops, which meant it cost less."

"Before I even started looking, I got approved for a mortgage. I let the lender know how much I wanted my monthly payment to be, including HOA fees, property tax, and mortgage insurance. That let me know my budget was about $300,000. I told my realtor I did not want to look at houses over that amount so I wouldn't be tempted to spend more. I was lucky to be buying in an area and at a time when that was realistic.

Where I bought, you really only need to put five percent down. If you can do 20 percent it's a little better because you can avoid mortgage insurance. However for me, it made more sense to put five percent down and pay the mortgage insurance because the equivalent amount in an investment account can make more money than I would save.

I had money for the down payment because (again!) I am very lucky—I want that to be very clear. Yes, I have worked hard with what I've been given, but I know many people aren't given as much as I was. When the pandemic hit I went to my parents' house to isolate with my family. This was the better option for me than working from home alone in NYC. I acknowledge that my parents are safe people and we get along well, and they had space for me to be comfortable and not everyone has this. I didn't pay rent for an entire year. I was able to save that money which gave me cash to use for the down payment."

"I did have a situation with the plumbing after I moved in and had to pay $700. If I had been paying a higher mortgage payment, or needed to pay a bigger down payment, I would have been in much worse financial situation when that came up. I also had to buy a new washer and dryer, and a good bit of furniture due to gaining a lot more space than I'd had previously. While I could have afforded a little "more" house, I am glad I stuck with what I really wanted—a smaller mortgage payment.

I love owning my own home. It's fun to know that what I do to it is what I will enjoy—or profit from. I started to do renovations at first and got overwhelmed so decided to revisit that in the future. I also enjoy the fact that I'm not relying on a landlord to possibly change rent year over year. That said, I think renting is a great option for a lot of people and it was for me for many years—I only bought in my late 30s. If I couldn't have comfortably afforded what I have, I would have not bought and would advise the same for anyone thinking about it. Yes, rent can be "sunk cost" but so is property tax. I would always advise to prioritize the type of life you want to live versus "homeownership no matter what."

The Cost of Starting Your Own Business talks to founders to get an honest look at what it really takes to create a company. Not just the financial, but the personal and emotional costs, too.

When Deepica Mutyala joins Marie Claire to discuss the early days of her beauty brand, Live Tinted, she's experiencing the simultaneous high highs and low lows other entrepreneurs know all too well. Mutyala had just met Beyoncé (an all-time high) in person—and was also reeling from filling out a police report after her car was burglarized (an anxiety-inducing low).

"One day, you have a car break-in; the next day, you're in a room, shaking hands with Beyoncé, telling her about your beauty company, and she's telling you she wants all of us to win," she says. "These things happen as an entrepreneur, and it takes a certain kind of human to be able to handle it. But honestly, I feel like I was built for it, and it keeps life interesting."

Based on Mutyala's track record over the last five years, she certainly is built for the business. She became a household name since 2015, when she went viral for her makeup and skincare tips on her YouTube channel. Now, she's best known for her beauty brand, Live Tinted, and its inclusive, effective products made with people of color in mind. Her SPF has even gained a cult following—but Mutyala says the project was nearly scrapped.

Advisors told the founder creating a mineral SPF without a white cast—or even sunscreen in general—was a risky move for an early-stage business. "They said, 'It's going to take a lot of time. It's very expensive. Don't do it,'" Mutyala recalls. "But I didn't listen—and we've won several beauty awards because of it."

"More importantly," she continues, "we've connected with an audience, and it's become our bestseller because I created something that again made people feel seen."

That tenacity, dedication, and commitment to making people of color feel represented has taken Mutyala to heights some entrepreneurs only dream about. Still, she wants to make it clear that she has rough days, too. So do her heroes.

"For instance, I met Beyoncé yesterday. To me, I'm like, 'Oh my God, you icon.' But I'm sure she has her own versions of [self-doubt], the same way that maybe somebody's looking at me, thinking the same thing," she says. "Life is a journey and we have to find ways along the journey to find happiness and pockets of joy that keep us going."

Ahead, Mutyala opens up more about her entrepreneurial journey, including real talk about funding, self-doubt, and the physical and psychological costs of starting her brand.

Step one, and the most important to say out loud, is funding. Receiving funding was really hard. Two percent of women get venture funding, 0.1 percent are women of color, and I experienced that in real time. I witnessed that with my own eyes. The hardest thing I had to go through when starting this company was that. There are two reasons it's hard: It's hard because you're actually just trying to start this business, and you can't function and create the company without the funding. And on the other side, it's an emotional journey because people are telling you no all the time.

You start to doubt yourself in ways that you actually never did [before]. Luckily for me, I have a delusional level of self-belief that it got me through it. 'Delulu' was the word, because when I think back, I think of the amount of people who were just like, 'Oh, cute, you have a viral YouTube video and you think you can start a business off of it.' It's like, no, this was not a cute viral YouTube video with me being like, 'Oh, let me just try this out.' This was a sixteen-year-old girl who never saw herself represented in the beauty industry who promised herself she was going to do something to change it. And everything that I've done is to that end.

I had this mindset of, 'If you're going to say no, let's go to the next person.' I just kept going and going. And now I'm proud that I'm a part of that stat of the two percent of women who's raised funding. I think the amount of women who've raised over 10 million dollars in funding is even lower than that, and that's what I've been able to do.

There were so many challenges, the emotional journey, the feeling that I have to make my parents proud as an immigrant daughter. Being first generation, you have all these things on your shoulders that you just want to prove to yourself, but also to your family to show that you can do something that hasn't been done before.

At launch, we had raised a round of funding via friends and family angel checks, and it was a very small amount of money. My thought process was, How can I get people that I have built within my network throughout my career, who believe in me, to put in a check? I wanted more than just funding from them—I wanted their knowledge. How could I learn from them? Because so many of them were entrepreneurs, and I wanted them to then feel like they were going to benefit from my growth and feel more invested in my growth.

They were also the only people who would give it to me at the time. You have to go to the people who believe in you. So I'm very proud, and I really attribute so much of my success to the network I had built over my entire career. I went to these people who I had just gone to for advice and said, 'I'm building a company. I want you to be behind it with me, and I want to build this together. I'm so grateful for the knowledge you have given me over the years, and I want you to reap the benefits when my business scales and grows and makes you money.' I tried to position it as an opportunity for them.

The one that really stands out to me is actually pre-me starting the company. It was when I was interning at L'Oréal. They didn't give me the full-time offer because they said I wasn't a strong enough marketer. It shattered me. I was like, What? The plan was: I was going to intern in a year, and then I was going to move to New York after college, be a brand manager for the biggest beauty brand, go to Harvard Business School, make my parents proud, and then start my own company. So I had to quickly pivot the whole plan and my brain.

Again, it was still this delusional level of being like, Well, it's still going to happen, but how is it going to happen? But it is very ironic because, since then, I have worked with L'Oréal as an influencer. I've been in a L'Oréal commercial. I've spoken to the head of the L'Oréal investment team about them potentially investing in us. And who knows? Maybe one day they'll buy us. I just think it's just that the definition of rejection is redirection. You have to have your pity party at that moment, but then get up and recognize that it's one person's opinion and they don't know you. You know you. Again, it goes back to this self-belief: I was like, 'I'm going to do this. It's happening. Get on board or don't. But it's happening.'

I didn't really have a personal life. I am trying to figure out what it's like to be a woman in her 30s dating, because I didn't do it while I was building this company. I don't really know how to exert myself. I'm telling myself I'm in my 'soft girl era,' because I don't even know how to exert the feminine parts of myself. Going on dates—the whole thing is a whole new learning curve, because I didn't develop those skills in my 20s the way a lot of people do in their 20s. So I do think that everything does come a little bit out of sacrifice, but I also do really believe in chapters of life. When it comes to the whole 'you-can't have-it-all thing,' I don't believe you can have it all at once, but you can in different chapters and phases of your life.

I'm now at the stage in the business where I can hire the best talent possible and have them help run the business day to day. I can try to remove myself from the weeds a little bit and be more high-level and focused on strategy and hopefully be able to sleep a little bit better at night and have a personal life, because I just don't have one. But I don't have any regrets about it either. The other thing is that, for me, I don't think that I could be where I am in my career professionally if I had prioritized other things in my life simultaneously.

Right now, launching in a retailer and going to Ulta Beauty has been a game changer for our business. They are incredible partners and they're committed partners, and I've always dreamt of people walking into the biggest retailers in the world and seeing faces that look like yours, mine, and a whole spectrum right when you walk in [the store]. That way, when a little girl walks in, she's like, 'Oh my God, that girl looks like me.' That is my motivation. That is what gets me going. That literally fuels my fire even on the hardest days. I feel Ulta's commitment to what Live Tinted stands for by them putting us in the front of the store. It's a game-changer because of the 40 million beauty enthusiasts that they have as their customers.

Then hiring in a president who really knows how to work with that Ulta team has changed my life personally. Finding the person you feel comfortable delegating to is 90 percent of the journey, and you make mistakes along the way, but I finally feel like I can breathe, or at least like I have somebody to share the breath with.

I don't think it's a day versus an hour of a day every day. Moments happen in a day that are high highs and low lows. I am craving just a steady, still state of happiness. I met with Carol Hamilton, this genius icon from L'Oréal who leads M&A, and she spoke about how the first five years [of starting a business] are just a bunch of figuring things out. Then the next five to seven are the hyper growth years. That's where I feel like we are, in that fifth year. The next two years are going to be critical for the business. I'm craving us getting to a place of steady happiness and joy.

I went through a journey when I turned 30, where I thought I should I freeze my eggs, because I just did not see a near future of having kids. I do want to have them one day, but I also didn't want the pressure of having to do it just because of the biological clock everybody talks about. Maybe when we have this conversation in 10 years, I'll tell you, 'Man, that girl was full of shit. She was saying a bunch of things, but she didn't mean it.' But I have to say, at least right now, where I am in my life, I feel like I just handle things with just solutions. Like, I turned 30, I'm not having kids anytime soon, so I froze my eggs. I am not going on dates, so I thought, 'Okay, should I hire a matchmaker? Should I hire a president for my company so I have more time for a matchmaker?' Instead of reacting emotionally to all these things, I've built this sort of armor that is really more focused on problem-solution rather than leading with emotion.

I say that, but at the same time, when it comes to everything relating to my company as a founder, I take it so deeply personally and I do get emotional, and I think I've doubted myself a lot. There have several times in the past that I've doubted myself to be the CEO of the company, because I've wondered: Am I too emotional for this? But I've now come to the conclusion that my empathy is my superpower, and it's what makes people want to be here beyond just it being their job. I feel like people come in and feel like they're making an impact in the industry and that they're working for somebody who cares. But I don't think I also have it all figured out at all, to be very honest.

When there was a Barbie made after me, that was just such a proud moment for me. It was the first ever South Asian CEO Barbie doll. There's been South Asian Barbie dolls before, but they've been in traditional wear, which is also really, really cool, by the way. So awesome that exists. But to see just a South Asian woman in a power suit and wearing her Indian jewelry and things like that, I was really proud of myself. I identify as Indian American. I'm Indian, but I was born and raised here. I'm American, and I think I'm proud, and I want to normalize that Indian girls see themselves in positions of power.

Not every company needs to be built based on a strong purpose. To be honest, I used to look at companies and be like, 'I don't want to shop this brand, because it doesn't have something I believe in.' It's not that I don't feel that way now, but I now recognize as an entrepreneur and from a business perspective that it doesn't have to be everyone's journey. But I'm proud that it is my journey, because on the hardest days, I can walk down the street or go into an Ulta door or open my DMs, and consistently I hear, 'Thank you.' It's just, 'Wow I love your products,' but it's deeper to the people who buy our products. It's not just a product. It's a vehicle for them to see themselves and feel represented in an industry that's neglected them their whole lives. So I feel like I'm lucky that I get to be the person that makes them feel seen. I'm proud that the majority of people who know us, know us for that. It gets me through the hardest days because at these meet and greets, there are girls crying, shaking, saying thank you.

There's a girl I just saw an Instagram. She drove across the border to Ulta for two hours to go get the skin tint. That kind of loyalty is not normal for a brand. So I'm just really grateful for it. And now I just feel like I owe it to the community of people we've built to grow and build a massive global beauty brand, so they can walk in the doors anywhere in the world and walk into that retailer and say, 'Oh my God, I feel seen.'

It's more feedback I've received from my mentors. They always tell me, 'You've got to stop listening to the noise around you. You're so distracted.' It's so hard, because I'm the CEO, but I'm also an influencer on social media. So I'm constantly having to look at what's online. But the constant feedback I've gotten from people that I admire that are entrepreneurs is, 'You've got to cut the noise. We didn't invest in you, bet on you, believe in you, to hear someone else's strategy. We are here to believe in your strategy.' So I think it's important advice for women in today's very, very, very noisy social media world: Really, really try to put blinders on and stay focused on your journey and your path.

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Move over, girl math, you’ve had your moment. There’s a new trend on the block, loud budgeting—and it’s taking TikTok by storm. 

Consider this: Your friends suggest dinner and a night out. You tally the cost in your head, and, in the name of fiscal responsibility, you decline, explaining you would rather stay in and save the money. This is loud budgeting. The trend is making it more acceptable to be vocal about personal finances—and it’s a good thing, especially in a time where it has never been easier to mindlessly scroll social media and doom-spend along the way. 

“This trend will help Gen Z change their relationship with money for the better, because it puts them in control,” says Courtney Alev, consumer financial advocate at Credit Karma. “By saying, ‘I don’t want to spend,’ or ‘I don’t want/need these things,’ you’re making a deliberate choice based on what’s important to you, and you’re spending within your limits.”

In a society where money conversations have long been taboo, loud budgeting has emerged as a way to unapologetically celebrate fiscal responsibility. It prioritizes a person's unique financial goals, setting smart spending boundaries, and encouraging open and authentic conversations about money. 

Behind trends like loud budgeting is the financial pressure facing younger generations. A Deloitte survey reveals over half of Gen Z worry about living paycheck to paycheck and are considering taking on a second job.  

In addition to swinging the pendulum away from “stealth wealth” overspending, loud budgeting fosters camaraderie around spending less. A ton of humility and vulnerability comes with publicly admitting you can’t afford something. But loud budgeting rebrands the concept of frugality for Gen Z, giving it an empowering spin. 

“For younger generations dealing with rising living costs and higher house prices, they are getting more serious about improving their financial literacy and preparing for the future–making budgeting cool,” says Brent Reinhard, General Manager of Chase Freedom. 

“It’s almost more chic, more stylish, more of a flex,” says Lukas Battle, who first coined the term last December in a video that has since garnered almost 1.5 million views.   

Others have taken to TikTok to share exactly how they're loud budgeting in 2024. “Dinner OR drinks…not both,” says one user; another commits to only borrowing clothes this year. Some users provide financial education by way of money-saving and wealth-building tips, and others heap praise on the movement. Loud budgeting transcends frugality; it’s about stewardship and intentionality. As Battle explains, “It’s not ‘I don’t have enough.’ It’s ‘I don’t want to spend.’ 

Loud budgeting could also help save friendships. Intuit Credit Karma recently found that 36 percent of Gen Z and millennials had a friend who caused them to overspend, causing 47 percent of Gen Z and 36 percent of millennials to consider ending those friendships altogether to avoid spending beyond their means. 

“The sooner people feel more comfortable talking about money with their friends, the sooner they can set realistic financial boundaries for themselves,” says Alev. “When conversations about costs happen before events like a vacation or a group dinner, you aren’t left with that sense of sticker shock in the end, or that sense of resentment toward friends who cause you to overspend.”

There is one caveat. Spending less is fine to a point, but financial experts caution against overly restrictive approaches that can undermine long-term success. “I think anybody who puts themselves on a new routine that is initially too strict will fail," says Reinhard. "They don’t learn their way into it."

Ultimately, though the trend may be new, the theme is intergenerational: Being smart about money deserves to be celebrated.

Nearly two decades ago, Julie Rice and Elizabeth Cutler cofounded SoulCycle to reinvent spin. Unlike the massive gym chains that ruled the fitness scene during that era, their boutique concept took into account the mind and body connection by incorporating candlelight and top-notch playlists to keep members motivated. They managed to build a cross-country discipleship of dedicated indoor cyclists, and by 2014, SoulCycle had grown into a nine-figure business. In 2015, both women reportedly walked away with $90 million after selling their company to Equinox.

After some rest, they dove into three years of research for their next venture. In February 2023 they announced the buildout of Peoplehood. It offers and facilitates “Gathers” (digitally or at its Manhattan flagship) which are 60-minute conversations of no more than 20 people, led by a certified guide. The Gathers are categorized under topics like couplehood and motherhood.

With Peoplehood, the cofounders are essentially taking the same studio model that fueled SoulCycle’s success and deploying it to tackle the loneliness epidemic among young adults. According to a study by the Bureau of Labor Statistics, today's young adults spend 1,000 fewer hours connecting with others in IRL each year compared to two decades ago. 

“The world has changed quite a bit since we started SoulCycle,” says Rice. Here, on the first anniversary of her latest venture, she chats with Marie Claire about what it’s like to be back in startup mode, what Peoplehood is, and what it isn’t. (Spoiler alert: it’s not group therapy.)

Marie Claire: Explain the transition from running SoulCycle to launching Peoplehood. Tell us how you came up with this second breakthrough idea?

Julie Rice: When we started SoulCycle, we thought we were launching a fitness business. People came for cardio, to lose weight, and to improve physical health—but that’s not what really happened. People initially showed up for fitness, but ultimately came back for the community and connection they felt to others and themselves in those dark, candlelit rooms.

As the world becomes increasingly disconnected, Elizabeth and I realized we needed to create a place where people could learn the relational skills we were not taught in school. Peoplehood is your classroom for learning how to listen and do relationships better. 

MR: How is it going so far? How many employees so far and about how many people are attending the virtuals and in-person Gathers?

JR: We’ve only been open for a few months, but we’re already getting great feedback. People who are coming consistently are learning to process their own thoughts while they’re in a Peoplehood session, but the skills they’re taking with them outside of the rooms are changing the conversations at their dinner tables, with their work teams, friends, kids, and partners. 

MC: Describe what it was like exiting SoulCycle. What experiences from SoulCycle do you hope to carry over to your new venture?

JR: At our core we are experience designers. Just like each SoulCycle class takes the rider on a musical, spiritual, and physical journey, we considered all of these elements as we created the structure for our Peoplehood Gathers.

Each Gather starts with music and breathwork architected to shift participants from fight-or-flight to a more collaborative brain space. Then we move on to some group sharing and begin our practice of Higher Listening. Higher Listening is listening without interrupting, offering advice, or giving an opinion. 

Last but not least, just like SoulCycle, we hope to build an amazing community, have people experience a-ha moments, and leave them feeling better when they leave than when they walked through the door.

MC: Is Peoplehood basically group therapy? How is it different?

Peoplehood is not therapy. We love therapy but that is not what we do. 

Peoplehood is a practice and the best way to think about it is as a workout for your relationships. In a time when 61 percent of American adults self classify as lonely, we believe this practice is more vital than ever.

We want people to leave feeling better than when they walk in and take that magic with them into their everyday lives. The hope is that we help people create new relationships, and strengthen existing ones. 

Peoplehood is a guided peer-to-peer, group conversation practice designed to improve our relationships. Our 60-minute sessions called Gathers have up to 20 participants, and a different intention every time. We speak freely and practice listening deeply. There’s music and breathwork to ease you into the experience.

Something that makes Peoplehood unique is our Guides. Our Guides are a diverse group of humans handpicked and rigorously trained to deliver an exceptional experience. They’re storytellers, super-connectors, conversational DJ’s, and ultimate empaths with big hearts and even bigger smiles. Real people who know what you’re going through because they’ve been there, too.

MC: How are you getting creative with programming?

JR: In a perfect world, people are practicing at Peoplehood weekly. We’ve created many different formats and types of cohorts—so whether you’re looking to work on existing relationships or create new ones, we’ve got the group for you. 

For example, people can come to Couplehood gathers with a partner and spend quality time navigating the joys and challenges of your romantic relationship. 

And for any singles feeling stuck in their dating life and need guidance for how to make effective progress, there is Singlehood where we talk dating apps, heartbreak, ghosting, and breadcrumbing as well as finding compassion around being single. There are also Motherhood and Female Founderhood gathers as well.

We are starting to work with companies at large and have some exciting news to share in the next few months on how we're helping employees, execs, and how people communicate at work.

MC: What has been the most challenging part of launching this second venture? What has been surprising to you as serial entrepreneurs?

JR: Being a second-time entrepreneur is much harder than creating something the first time. With SoulCycle we had a very simple business goal: to see 100 people a day. Each small victory was a thrill. And we were very focused on making sure that each customer left feeling like they were part of our family

After building and scaling a business like SoulCycle you almost have to turn off your peripheral vision and remind yourself to simply focus on the task in front of you. It can be frustrating to feel like things are not growing fast enough so it's important to continuously remind yourself that the goal is always to make each and every customer so happy that they simply have to bring a friend. 

MC: When it comes to tackling the mental health crisis, why are the traditional approaches not enough?

JR: At Peoplehood we’re focused on social health. We believe that loneliness and lack of connection are a real cause for the decline in people’s mental health. Our goal is to give people the tools to create fulfilling relationships which allows them to live happier and healthier lives. Research from the Harvard Study of Adult Development has proven that the strength of our relationships is the *best way to predict our long-term happiness and health–more than diet, sleep, exercise, stress management, etc. Peoplehood was the natural evolution from SoulCycle because it put relational fitness in the front row.

The U.S. Surgeon General also released an advisory in May 2023 raising attention to the public health crisis of loneliness, isolation, and lack of connection in the country. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy said, “Social connection is a fundamental human need, as essential to survival as food, water, and shelter.”

MC: Do you feel the pressure to grow Peoplehood into the same sensation that SoulCycle became?

JR: When you’ve experienced success, of course it's natural to want to top your last business, but the truth is when we think of success at Peoplehood, we hope that five years from now people look up from their phones when they are in conversations at the dinner table. We hope everyone has someone they can call if they need support or just someone to listen. We hope that people have the tools they need to work through conflict or disagreements. But we do know one of the keys to building a community is to make every person that walks through your door feel like they’re seen, heard, understood and appreciated—that they matter. 

You’ve told yourself this is your year to find a new job. But the thought of starting a search seems staggering—especially when you sense that the job-hopping of the last few years seems to be on the decline, signaling that The Great Resignation is long gone. The latest numbers from the Bureau of Labor Statistics say fewer people are jumping ship, and more tech companies have announced layoffs as they right-size over-recruitment from the past few years. 

Although hiring is down, the costs of living are on the rise, and economic uncertainties remain rampant. This is forcing many to hunker down in their current roles. In other words, “The Big Stay” is here to stay in 2024. 

It’s important to note that quitting being at an all-time low does not give employers carte blanche to abandon workplace culture initiatives. Treating employees poorly only leads to less productivity, less creativity, and less output. For employees, The Big Stay doesn’t mean you have to give up; rather, it’s an opportunity to recalibrate–whether that means exploring outside roles or redefining your priorities internally. 

One way to jumpstart your way into action is to break it into stages. Lay out what you want to do before rush-applying to a million postings on Indeed and LinkedIn. Take stock, explore the market and your options, and consider what matters most to you now. 

So often, we don’t take the time to do this. We fall back on what was important to us in the past—like a specific job title or rigidly staying within the industry we majored in—and don't recognize who we are today and what we need now. As we grow our skills, we learn what we do and don’t aspire to, and the types of environments we do and don’t want to work in. So it’s helpful to take a fresh look at the recent past before launching into job search mode. 

If you need a clearer roadmap for recalibration, I recommend the following steps to guide your strategy. 

Understand your starting point

Recall your career to date. What were your most and least proud moments and why? Think about where you’ve performed well and not so well, and what you liked and disliked about your previous roles. What types of projects, people interactions, strengths leveraged, and roles felt best for you? 

• Identify the situations that led to your growth and satisfaction or your disengagement and dissatisfaction. 
• Consider the interactions you’ve had, and the feedback received from your colleagues. In what ways do they depend on you? How do you add value to projects, conversations, or team dynamics? How might they describe you as an employee or leader? 
• Create 1-2 sentences that summarize your career starting point.

Brainstorm future paths

Given that starting point, do you dream of more of the same, a new challenge to continue that progression, or a more radical change? Assess the roles or companies that could match your interests, further develop your career, and benefit from your experiences. When you think about a role, focus on what you’d do and how you’d develop and make an impact more than on job titles, which vary widely across companies. 

• Use your starting point summary to engage with friends or former classmates and colleagues. Learn about their experiences in different roles and industries. Ask how they navigated their job searches, whether their new roles offered staying power, and what they’d do differently next time. Learn how easy it was to navigate cultures and changing life stage situations. 
• Recap what you learned from others’ experiences, which will probably include everything from incremental next steps to bolder big moves. What inspired you about others’ paths?
• Review these examples and reflect on what excites you. Take note of the possibilities you don’t have the heart for, too, and use that knowledge to narrow your list of possibilities.

Create your priority list

Create a “top 10” list of your priorities for the next job. This includes the kind of work that you want to do and should also include aspects of the job that are important to your life. Your desired amount of travel, hybrid/flex policies, parental leave, retirement, and compensation are all fair game. 

• Consider your ambitions and reflect on what characteristics of your next role could get you there. This might include factors like the size of the budget, a key skill set you’d utilize or hone, or the opportunity to manage people. The key is to list and prioritize them and assign a weight to each to total 100. 
• Tally what your current job gives you and use this list as a screener of sorts to evaluate new jobs relative to both your current role and what matters most now. 
• Identify your deal breakers to avoid falling for the exciting bells and whistles of some opportunities that hold surface excitement. While no job is perfect, it’s a good gauge of where we are and where we want to be. Keep this list handy and use it in your conversations to share what you’d value in a new opportunity.

Consider this first phase a time of discovery, giving yourself permission to be patient and rewarding yourself with each milestone of your search. Develop a mindset of curiosity to find something that sticks.

Once you're ready to move into the search and interviewing phase, leverage your recalibration as a strategic guide. Use your starting point to craft your narrative, recall your brainstorming to share how you can contribute in a new way, and speak to your priorities. Communicate how you're the best fit for your future employer, and vice versa. 

It’s probably come up in your group chat. Someone talking about freezing their eggs, debating whether they should do it, or if they have, detailing down to the prick of that first needle what the procedure was like. Maybe that someone is you. 

No doubt, that’s not the only place you’ve heard about it. The Kardashians—Khloé and Kourtney to be specific—have spoken out about freezing their eggs. So have Paris Hilton, Chrissy Teigen, Rita Ora, a Real Housewife or two, and quite a few athletes, including players in the WNBA. 

Then there are the numbers. According to the Society of Assisted Reproductive Technology, there was a 400 percent increase in the number of people freezing their eggs between 2012 and 2020 in the U.S. While egg freezing was once seen “as a last-ditch effort to preserve fertility,” says Lauren Makler, cofounder of Cofertility, a tech platform that helps people through their egg freezing journey, “now we see it as something for someone who wants to be empowered to live life on their own terms.” 

Mostly, that’s a good thing. Much like birth control did for women in the ‘70s, egg freezing is poised to do the same: give women more agency over their bodies; allow them to call the shots on if—and when—they want to start a family. And the messaging around egg freezing is often just that: a positioning of the procedure as an investment in one’s future. 

But is that totally true? Because while giving women more control over their reproductive choices is a good thing (and damn, we could certainly use more of that), it belies the reality that egg freezing is expensive. The cost for a woman to freeze her eggs is as much as $20,000 (that doesn’t include the “invisible” fees, keep reading—we get to that). And unlike birth control, which is often free or low-cost under health insurance plans, egg freezing is seen as an “elective” procedure, meaning it’s rarely covered by insurance. Meanwhile, healthcare providers recommend women freeze their eggs before they turn 35, often when they can afford it the least, and when they’re most likely to be single, meaning the cost isn’t shared with a partner.

To freeze their eggs, many women are finding themselves in precarious financial positions. According to a survey conducted by Market Cube, 70 percent of respondents incurred debt from fertility treatments. Angela Rastegar, a former director at Circle Surrogacy, part of one of the largest fertility and surrogacy companies, saw it all: One woman sold her engagement ring. Countless others liquidated their 401(k)s. Twentysomethings signed up for big loans before they’d even purchased a car or a home. “People were making desperate financial decisions,” she says. “Some even selling shares in businesses they owned.” 

The affordability gap has given rise to a cottage industry of fertility financing. Many egg freezing clinics send women without the ability to pay to banks, where their only option is to take out a personal loan. “This route will likely be the most expensive financing option, as they are unsecured loans and usually come with high interest rates that can be in the double digits,” says Cameron Rogers, a financial advisor at Ellevest, an investment and wealth management platform for women. Double digits can mean as high as 36 percent. Other clinics offer in-house financing options with partnering lenders and financial institutions that specialize in fertility financing available on the spot. 

The risks of large interest rates and long repayment periods are compounded by the fact that many women report they aren’t given the full picture of what egg freezing actually costs—and that even after taking out a loan, it’s not enough. That’s because of “invisible” fees, like: the yearly cost to store eggs, which averages about $700 annually (a study in Science Direct shows that the majority of women keep their eggs in storage for more than five years). And according to a report in the Washington Post, fertility clinics continue to hike up their storage fees as demand for space increases. Then, if you ever want to use your eggs, you’ll need to go through IVF, which is between $15,000 and $30,000 for each round (multiple rounds are frequently needed). 

Recognizing the need for better financial support, there are clinics that are trying to help. Kindbody, a family-building clinic with locations across the country, employs a team of “financial navigators” tasked with ensuring “that patients are well educated about the financial and insurance aspects of their care,” according to a job posting. 

Some fertility financing companies are adding transparency to the process, too. Future Family pre-negotiates with clinics and doctors to make sure there are no surprise costs when it comes to clinic visits, lab work, or medications. Their plans run for about 60 months, and range between $300 and $475 a month. 

It’s impossible to overlook the emotion laced throughout all of this, though, especially when egg freezing doesn’t seem optional for everyone, including those undergoing the procedure for medical reasons or for same sex couples who rely on it for family planning. 

“It can be an incredibly isolating and emotional process that many women feel shame about,” says Whitney Santos of Tucson, Arizona, who went through the egg freezing process. To do so, she went beyond her limits, physically, emotionally, and financially. “I used the totality of my 401(k) in part for IVF medications and the monthly egg freezing fee,” she says, which equated to about $20,000. 

Santos adds: “[Fertility care] is a business, like anything else. Even the best, most empathetic clinics are still there to make money. Women shouldn’t be pushed into a decision that isn’t right for them.” 

Rastegar knew there needed to be a breakthrough. And so, in 2022, she launched Sunfish, a company focused on making family building more financially attainable for those facing fertility challenges, including by connecting customers to discounts and grants. 

For those who still need to take out loans, Sunfish designed The Gold IVF Success Program to create radical transparency around the costs. It uses an algorithm to adjust to your unique bio data. The company will guarantee the cost is accurate or up to 90 percent of your money back. “It’s crazy that we could buy insurance online for a Peloton, a car or vacation, but there’s no financial protection for going through the process of egg freezing and IVF,” says Rastegar. 

There are other disruptors. Cofertility has brought together egg freezing and egg donation at scale for the first time by creating two digital platforms that allow qualifying women to retrieve, freeze, and store half their eggs for free when they donate half of their eggs to a family who can't otherwise conceive.

Employers are stepping in, too, with companies like Disney, Apple, and Spotify offering health insurance plans that cover fertility treatments, including egg freezing. 

But even that has its problems. “Employer benefits are rarely robust, and not enough to get to the finish line,” says Makler. It also opens the door for employers to have access to intimate details about health issues and family planning decisions.

At Amazon, family-planning benefits, including egg freezing, kick in on the first day of employment. So far, about 30,000 people have leveraged these benefits, according to the company. But there’s been backlash after The Cut reported that women were working graveyard shifts and strenuous jobs just to pay for fertility preservation. 

To get to the kind of systemic shape-shifting that’s needed for real change, will require something even bigger. Starting with state mandates that require insurance companies to cover fertility care. Says Rastagar, “Fertility treatments should not just be for the one percent.”

For fun, here’s what “new” money looks like: Cardi B. Latto. Alex Cooper. Greta Gerwig. Selena Gomez. Rihanna. Beyoncé. Taylor Swift. Shonda Rhimes. Shay Williams. Alix Earle. America Ferrera. The Williams’s, Serena and Venus. Those are just a few notables, but there are plenty of self-made women in tech, fashion, and business, running multi-million companies, as well. They didn’t come from generational wealth but still managed to make it big. Yet, among some antiquated societal systems, they’re still being challenged for it. 

One would think that wealth equals wealth, but systems designed to gatekeep continue to perpetuate a stigma around new money; namely that it’s somehow lesser. You can’t say that. You can’t act like that. One doesn’t wear that. People who come from money (you know who we’re talking about) are largely interested in keeping the rules the same. A shift in the status quo is a challenge to their power and affluence. 

It’s why wealth gaps persist. They perpetuate race and gender-driven inequalities that prevent people from striking it rich in the first place: Women still earn only 82 cents on a man’s dollar (for Black and Brown women, that number is even less). According to the Federal Reserve’s latest Survey on Consumer Finances, Black and Hispanic Americans have accumulated more wealth in recent years, but their median net worth still lags far behind that of white Americans. In 2022, the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis reported that Black families have just 25 cents for every dollar of wealth held by a white family. 

Meanwhile, “old” money somehow still affords more opportunity. Look at legacy college admissions: According to the New York Times, children from families in the top one percent were 34 percent more likely to be admitted than the average applicant, while newer-monied celebrities risked jail time by offering bribes to get their children into elite schools through crooked sports recruitment.

Society still perpetuates stigma around new money, and it can bring on a wave of personal issues, too. In the immortal words of The Notorious B.I.G., those with more money can suddenly find themselves with more problems. 

People with old money are practically bred to navigate wealth culture. Brad Klontz, PsyD, an expert in financial psychology, likens old money to a “tribe” and to be raised with it brings an innate understanding of how that tribe operates, like how they gather resources and keep resources. “If you're growing up in a different ‘tribe,’ you're not aware of any of those tools and you have to learn them on your own,” he says. This abundance of cash can bring a shifting array of pressures, stigmas, and challenges around maintaining psychological equilibrium—especially with those around you. It’s an extreme example, but think about the Saltburn of it all.

“We desperately want to belong—that is a fundamental human need,” says Klontz. “If you suddenly have a lot of money, you are very quickly going to start to feel like you don't belong because your family and friends are going to start looking at you differently. You can lean on your history to a certain degree and it's nice to be around people who knew you when, but if you're not sharing a lived experience it's difficult to relate. All of a sudden, you have 100 times the money that your friend has. Are you going to pay for lunch? How is that going to feel for you? How is it going to feel for your friend? Let's say that you have some stress in your life because you have a huge tax bill. Are you going to share that with your friend, when your tax bill is more than they made last year? There's all of a sudden this stuff you can't talk about.” 

To avoid drifting apart from friends and family, some with “new” money might find themselves subconsciously squandering their money to “get back to belonging” with the people they connect to the most. Or, they might feel pressure to share the wealth by putting some of those people on their payroll. 

Yet, psychologically, being self-made carries some really important benefits. Those who manage to achieve financial success often have higher self-esteem and a stronger sense of hustle and motivation than people who come from old money. Says Klontz: “Being underestimated hurts and stings but not having a safety net makes you work that much harder.”

Fortunately, what we think of old money and new money—and who gets to have each—is rapidly changing. “There’s been a shift in the way people think about these groups because of the negative portrayals of old money and the glorification of the portrayals of new money,” says Nicole Lapin, host of the Money Rehab podcast and author of Miss Independent: A Simple 12-Step Plan to Start Investing and Grow Your Own Wealth. “The rise of the term ‘nepo baby’ is this rejection of old money and culture and systems.” 

Consider how Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez wore a gown plastered with “Eat the Rich” to The Met Ball—an event that used to cater to old money but now opens its arms to new monied celebs, like the Kardashians and Cardi B. New money, new rules. 

Amanda Clayman, a financial psychologist based in Los Angeles, says the meaning of old money is now in dynamic tension with how much we want and how much mobility we want in society, and this is reflected in what we read, what we watch, and what we listen to. “Culture gives us a way to understand our place in the world, and money is such a significant part of culture,” says Clayman. “The different attachments that we make to that prescribe the way that we identify what our available paths are, the kind of people that we can be, and the kind of relationships that we can have with each other.” 

It just goes to show, as Lapin says, money is “a mind fuck,” and both new and old money come with their share of internalized stigma that can affect how you feel about it and what you do with it. “Any kind of money is good,” she says. “You can be generous with people and causes that you care about. You can cut relationships off that don't serve you. That's the benefit of this idea of aspirational new money, that you can leave a toxic situation because you have your own money.” After all, a dollar is a dollar when it means you can buy choices.

How’d You Get That House? speaks to people across the country who are navigating a complicated housing market. Here, a couple in their late 30s from Queens who recently came into money, but still felt squeamish about the nearly $1 million price tag for a historic fixer upper. 

Larisa Courtien (interviewed here), a director of marketing at a reproduction tech start-up
Annual salary: about $185,000

Michael Courtien, a director of systems and sports financing at a sports and entertainment venue
Annual salary: roughly $150,000

A three-bedroom, 2.5 bath, 2,000-square-foot 1930s detached, single-family home with a fully-finished basement in Forest Hills, Queens, a suburb outside of New York City.

Initial budget: $800,000

Actual amount spent: $900,000

Down payment: $80,000

Monthly mortgage: $6,000

The couple moved from a three-bedroom, 1.5 bath, 1,500-square-foot rental home in Forest Hills, Queens, a suburb outside of New York City. 

“We were outgrowing our space. It was our pandemic home and served us well—it felt gigantic when we moved in; one friend even called it ‘cavernous’ when he visited. But after having our second child, we needed more room. My two-year-old had a significantly-smaller bedroom and the house only had one full bath, which made it hard to host my family who often visits from out of state. Also, I work from home, but only had a tiny corner in my bedroom. I needed an official office space.”

“We've lived in Forest Hills for four years and can’t imagine being anywhere else. The school system is one of the best in New York and we have made so many strong friendships here.   

Skyrocketing prices in the area led us to believe that home ownership was just not going to be in the cards for us. But after seeing some of our peers buy around here, and knowing their salaries and their general monthly income and expenses, my husband and I revisited the idea. 

I was also given the “I AM” manifestation journal, which introduced me to the law of attraction, and the “I Am a Mom Boss“ book that talks about mindset and how you need to be open to possibilities and not set in your ‘predetermined story.’ Once I realized I needed to be more open about home ownership, I started writing, We own a beautiful home in Forest Hills. A big part of manifesting is writing something as if it has already happened. Suddenly things started moving.

I looked for money in places I didn’t realize I could look, like retirement accounts with minimal penalty for taking out funds, and because we were more open, my husband's family shared they would contribute financially. 

After three months of looking at online listings, we toured three houses. In November, we saw a home on a Monday and had an accepted offer by Friday. The inspection showed that unfortunately it needed more work than we could handle. There was evidence of brown mold.

A week later we saw two more homes. We put in an offer for both—I actually used ChatGPT to write the offer letter—and got one accepted offer.”

“I married someone who luckily has generational wealth. We pulled 50 percent of our down payment from our retirement accounts and savings, and the other 50 percent came generously as a combination of an inheritance and a cash gift from his family. I felt a little guilty, but overall so grateful. Without that generosity, owning a home in this neighborhood of New York City, where my in-laws have lived for years, would not be possible. There is a ton of privilege in our story, but I think that is how home ownership is—family is always helping. Not that many people acknowledge it. But receiving the money was definitely eye-opening about how difficult it is to buy a home without help.”

“We were not madly in love with the home because it needed a ton of updating. I wanted a house that was move-in ready. We also wanted to live within a very specific section of Forest Hills, and the home was one block outside of it and further from the train than we originally wanted.

But we looked at it as an opportunity to stay in the community and make the dated home our own. That ended up working in our favor. The home was listed at $930,000, but needed a decent amount of work, so we saved almost $30,000 off the asking price.

It wasn’t all compromises. We knew we wanted a basement and two full baths—and the house had both.

Most importantly, it's a chance to build equity and generational wealth for our children. As the child of immigrants, I'm always worried about the amount of money we’ll be able to leave behind.”

“Our mortgage is high and the biggest monthly expense we’ve ever had as a couple. Our goal right now is to build up our savings account to prepare for emergencies, so I’m back on my buy-nothing craze. Putting down the $3 bread for the $2.49 bread kind of craze. 

We’re also saving for repairs. We’d like to update our kitchen in a year and the bathrooms in two years. Eventually we’d love to add an outdoor deck and pool, as well as redo the basement and finish the attic. Lots of big dreams here, but one step at a time.”

The Cost of Starting Your Own Business talks to founders to get an honest look at what it really takes to create a company. Not just the financial, but the personal and emotional costs, too. 

Being a self-starter is in Meg Strachan’s blood. In addition to her father, almost every member of Strachan’s extended family runs their own business. “I grew up around a lot of people who own companies, who worked every single Saturday,” she says. “I had a pretty informed idea of what it takes—I’ve seen it all.” It seemed only natural she’d launch a venture of her own, and in 2019, she did: founding Dorsey, a lab-grown jewelry brand offering contemporary yet vintage-inspired heirlooms.

“I was at this little Parisian market where this older French woman was selling vintage jewelry,” she says. “I picked up a pair of earrings with a 1920s deco feel. They reminded me so much of my grandmother, Dorsey, who collected costume and fine jewelry. She wore her pieces in a way that I had never seen on anyone else. That was how I decided to start Dorsey: with this love for jewelry and connection to my grandmother.” 

Plus, Strachan had found her niche: "Lab-grown was, and still is, a disruptive category." Manufactured entirely by humans in controlled laboratory environments, synthetic stones are marginally less expensive than mined diamonds. Strachan recognized the fringe industry's potential—and profitability—and wanted in. "It's giving the diamond market a run for its money and will continue to do so,” she says. “Lab-grown will be the dominant stones one day."

But despite Dorsey feeling somewhat destined to be, and Strachan's insight into the back end of business-building, the journey has been far from easy. On a Zoom call from her home in Los Angeles, the founder reveals the candid details of getting her brand off the ground, from all-nighters to self-worth spirals—and why making her first million didn’t feel like she thought it would.

I held two full-time roles for the first two years of the business. I did my day job, and then at night, on weekends, and in the very early morning hours, I was building Dorsey. For a long time, I couldn't afford to hire an employee, so I did everything myself—the graphic design, everything for the website, all the emails; all the packing, shipping, and customer service. I shipped over a million dollars in orders by myself from my house. Dorsey was all my free time.

I went out to investors in 2019 to raise money. I got my foot in the door and, naively, thought I would be able to fundraise for Dorsey because of my previous career successes at other companies [as the Vice President of Growth for the Girlfriend Collective and the Chief Marketing Officer for Anine Bing]. But I couldn't raise a dollar of funding. Literally—not a dollar. Nobody would invest, so I had to move forward with the business by bootstrapping it.

I started the company with between $600 and $1,000 [of my own money]. I would take the money from my paychecks and put it directly into [Dorsey]. I’m in a double-income household. At the time, I didn't own my house, so I was paying rent. I had an 18-month-old daughter, so I was paying for babysitters and nannies.

If you raise money, it's a totally different experience because you can take some type of salary and have capital for the business to run off of. But starting a business by putting your money into it each month is a very different way to start and run a company. You're personally feeling the exposure every month. It's a constant reminder of the financial risk that you're taking.

I'll never forget: I was in a meeting with the partner of a very prominent venture fund. He looked at me, and his exact words were, ‘You have the exact pedigree of someone we would invest into. [But] we don't really know about the lab-grown market. We asked a couple of girls around the office who like jewelry, and they’re unfamiliar.’ That fund turned me down.

All of [those investor meetings] were so devastating. You get dressed up. You hype yourself up and work with whatever self-esteem you've manufactured for that hour or two meeting. You’re ready to pitch, you have your deck ready. And then they reject you. That was the main emotion I had for the first two years of Dorsey: rejection.

Starting and running a company takes an unspoken toll on your life. I call it a tab that comes due, and the tax on it is very high. There are a lot of personal sacrifices. You have to be ruthless with your priorities. You miss a lot of things—that's the truth. I missed the first four years of my daughter's life. I missed all of preschool. Even if I was physically there, I wasn't mentally there. I basically put my head down, ran Dorsey for the last four years, and when I looked up, my daughter was five. 

I've had to reconcile with myself that, okay, I built this business, and it's had an amazing trajectory. But as a parent, I missed some pretty critical years. I did my absolute best and was there as much as I could be. And it was necessary [for Dorsey]. But was it worth it? I went through a grieving process about that because I'll never get that time back with her.

For me, [jewelry] really comes to life in how it's worn and who it's worn by—the zhuzh of a sleeve, the way the pieces are stacked, or the actual person you're shooting on. So, our best investment was finding the budget for great models and photographers. It was a very big stretch, financially—the model fees, agency fees—but it was my first investment.

I had this conversation with my dad a few years ago. He called and caught me in a moment of feeling scared. I said, ‘The business is doing well, but I'm afraid, Dad. This is getting bigger, and the financial stuff is building.’ He asked me what my worst-case scenario was and it was that I would fail. ‘Can you handle that?’ he asked. I thought about it for a minute and said yes. ‘Then you don't have anything to be afraid of,’ he told me. ‘If you can get comfortable with failing, which may happen, then my advice is to go full steam ahead.’ I realized that if you can accept failure to some degree, you’re unleashed from its shackles, otherwise it will stop you in your tracks and hinder your growth.

[Running a business] is an incredibly lonely and isolating experience. The mental piece is so much bigger than people talk about. One of the hardest parts of starting and staying in a company is the mental fitness you have to have in order to keep yourself moving. There is only you who's motivating yourself. You’re up against yourself day after day for years—that's something that you have to commit to getting really good at.

Some of the darkest moments of my life have been running this company.  A lot of self-worth things came up—a lot of anxiety, depression, and self-doubt. What's weird is that it was unrelated to the company and our success. We've had an incredible trajectory. We did 600 percent year-over-year growth in 2022, and 100 percent last year. We’ve had a journey that I could never have dreamed of. 

It's counterintuitive that you would have some of the hardest, truly most difficult moments of your life, while it looks to the outside world that everything is great. As a founder, you're on a journey that's very integrated with your business, but also separate and apart from it. Those can be mutually exclusive, very layered experiences.

Being able to pay for health insurance for [my employees] was big. The small and seemingly mundane things are the most exciting, like customers who buy from us and come back and buy again. But the truth is, I have never felt that we've made it. I used to think it would be when we hit $100,000 in sales, but the goalpost is always moving. It moved to five million. Then 10. And so on. As a company, I don't look at us and think we've made it—and I don't think I'll ever feel that way. I have worked for many companies that are no longer in business; I know too well how quickly the tides can shift. So, have we made it? From the outside, perhaps. Internally, we are working really hard to make it every single day.

When you combine the financial risk with how you're feeling mentally and all the rejections, the thing that keeps you going—and I can't minimize it—is how your product is received out in the world. You get fueled by people who actually love your product. The people who send us emails about how much they love our products. When I was packing and shipping orders literally in the middle of the night for all of our holiday sales in 2020, that’s what kept me going. We're here because of our clients and our customers. That’s a very easy thing to forget at three o'clock in the morning when you're overtired and financially scared.

My dad said that when you're an entrepreneur, you walk this plank carrying an invisible weight on your shoulders. In the beginning, it feels like a massive weight and only gets bigger and bigger and bigger. Eventually, you learn to put blinders on and do it despite how you feel. You're running on empty, but you just keep going. All of a sudden you're carrying [that weight], but you feel it a lot less. One day, you realize that you've built those muscles and it doesn’t feel as heavy anymore.

When my parents came to the United States from South Korea in their 20s, they had to learn English and acclimate fast. They settled in the Koreatown section of Los Angeles, where many fashion brands do business in the garment district. My mom basically worked in a sweatshop, sewing clothes in one of those factories. When she became a mother, it was hard for her to continue.

My dad was a truck driver whose job eventually moved us to Arizona when I was in grade school. He would give my mom $200 every month to buy groceries, cover school fees, supplies, and clothes. I vividly remember sweating in our hot apartment because it was too expensive to keep the air conditioner going, which was crazy in the desert heat. Sometimes I ask myself, how did we all grow up in that little two-bedroom apartment when there were five, sometimes seven of us, if relatives stayed? My school meals were comped by the state under a low-income plan. I was embarrassed to use it in front of my peers. 

When I was 13, my dad passed away and my mom was on her own. She started her own flower shop and we got by on government assistance and food stamps.

Neither of my parents graduated high school and my mom always viewed higher education as “the way out.” When it was time for college applications, I always thought I would go to the University of Arizona. It was close to home and affordable; I was my class valedictorian and they had awarded me scholarships. On a whim, I applied to NYU, Pepperdine, and The University of Chicago. I got into all three but high tuition made going to any of them unrealistic. 

The week I was submitting paperwork for the University of Arizona, my mom called me into her bedroom and told me Pepperdine is where I belonged. It felt wrong. How could I go to this beautiful school by the beach when my family still lived where we started? It felt borderline selfish even though my mom gave me her blessing. 

The true wealth gap didn’t cross my mind until college in California where I studied marketing and communications. All of a sudden I was surrounded by kids in fancy cars and designer clothes. I saw a level of wealth I never knew existed. I mostly hid my past for fear of being judged because it didn’t fit the wholesome Pepperdine mold. I remember one summer I was dating this extremely wealthy boy. Think Crazy Rich Asians. I learned he told one of his close friends he couldn’t be with me long-term because I came from a single-parent, low-income household. I got drunk at a bar that night and called my mom bawling, thanking her for everything she had done for our family. That comment lit a fire in me.

My first real job was at the cosmetics company Colourpop in 2014. ( It was part of Seed Beauty, the incubator that helped launch KKW Beauty and Kylie Cosmetics.) I started out at $17 an hour, but I advanced quickly. I became a marketing manager earning $80,000 a year. By the time I left, I was supervising the entire creative department making $120,000, which was a lot for me to wrap my head around. 

In 2018, beauty investor Kevin Gould approached me and former ColourPop colleague Jordynn Wynn, to help him launch INH Hair, a haircare startup featuring vegan extensions, hot tools, and more. I invested my own savings for a minority stake.

It was a huge risk. But in our first year in business, INH pulled in $3 million in sales, then in 2020 we hit $17 million in net revenue. After debuting in Ulta in August in 2021, we exceeded $20 million in sales. I made the Forbes 30 Under 30 list that year. I haven’t reached Fuck You levels of money just yet, but at the age of 32, I have reached a point of financial stability where I am not stressed. My home is calming with lots of plants, and a huge upgrade from the apartments I grew up in. I paid off $200,000 in school loans. I gifted myself the latest Audi. I grew up watching my mom struggle, so for me, wealth is having peace of mind. I definitely have that.

Becoming successful and wealthy is different for those of us who don’t come from money, especially for those of us who are children of immigrants. But no one talks about that. I’ve always had an unhealthy relationship with money. It was too scary to understand how it worked. I grew up with a scarcity mindset, and in a hide-your-money-under-a-mattress type of family. I had to learn the ins and outs, from overspending, to quickly learning my limits. I was jealous of friends who had people in their family and networks who taught them how to manage it from the start. I’m still learning how to invest. 

In my case, there was so much sacrifice from the previous generation, so there is always an inner tension of wanting to do more. I am honestly uncomfortable giving my mother the full snapshot of my finances. My mom gave me so much selflessly but I am still in the wealth-building process where much of my net worth is still tied up in the business. I hold back what I have and where I am. I don't want to equate me not going out of my way to financially support her to me not loving her. I want to give my mom the world. Eventually my goal is to buy her a home. 

My success is my family’s success. I bought my mother a Lexus and bought my brother a Jeep. My mom is a fashionista so I love to buy her Chanel handbags. There are other payments and cell phone bills I gladly cover. Each year we go on a family vacation, something we never did when we were young. This year we went to Maui and I love that my mother gets to experience leisure in this chapter of her life. 

Meanwhile my cousins and aunts see me as the bright star of the family and there’s a lot of hope riding on my success. To a certain degree, there’s this underlying idea that if I make it, I’ll be everyone’s ticket to never having to worry the way we did when we were young. The pressure is on but I signed up for this. I want to do this for her, for them. It’s that inner burden but also my inner pride.

When I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area in my 20s, I rented a room from a couple in a two-bedroom apartment. The space had big windows, purple walls, and soft pink carpets. On the other end of the apartment lived Tracy* and Andy. They were practically a cliche: both worked in tech, loved silent discos, and hung with a Burning Man crowd. They were also in their early 50s, and used my rent to subsidize a rental home on the California coast, where they enjoyed spending time.

Despite the age gap, the arrangement worked. I didn’t mind the AARP advertisements that showed up in the mail. Andy didn’t mind giving me career advice, including how to negotiate a promotion in my underpaying journalism job. 

That was years ago. When I called and spoke to Tracy recently, she told me that the spare room was currently sitting empty—but perhaps not for long. Their finances had changed. Tracy decided to leave her job at a credit card company to pursue her lesser-paying passion: being a clairvoyant. To help bolster her reduced income, they're considering finding a roommate again, this time through a traveling nurse program she heard about from a friend. The extra money would help, but having someone around is also just nice. “I like my space, and I like to share it,” she tells me.

While there’s a belief that roommates are for the young, it’s becoming increasingly common for those in middle age—and beyond—to choose to live with someone who isn’t family. According to a report from Harvard University’s Joint Center for Housing Studies, nearly one million older adults in the U.S. have roommates, a number that has nearly doubled over the past 18 years.

That this is overlooked is perhaps, in part, intentional. Getting roommates is a rite of passage for adolescents; losing them is a rite of passage into adulthood. Solo living, especially in cities, is aspirational; it communicates a degree of self-reliance and financial stability. But while middle-age money problems may come with a stigma, they’re normal—and not always a marker of poor financial planning. 

As they say, in this economy, buying a house, or even coughing up a rent payment, is no longer viable for many. Unaffordable housing feels like a tenet of American life, and that isn’t unique to Millennials or Gen Z. The average sales price of a new single-family home in the United States is $488,900, according to the United States Census Bureau and Department of Housing and Urban Development. In some places, like California, that number nearly doubles. The latest U.S. National Home Price Index, released in December, shows that the price of homes continues to rise. Meanwhile: while mortgage rates have dropped they are still relatively high, incomes haven’t kept up with the cost of living, everything is expensive. And the crippling costs we often associate with younger generations, like the price of college tuition, impacts The Olds, too, many of whom are paying for their children to go to school.

It started off as a financial boon for Allison Cook. The 57-year-old has lived in her four-bedroom house in Boston’s Jamaica Plain neighborhood for 30 years. She began renting her current home in the early ‘90s, eventually purchasing it for about $200,000 with her then-husband. In 2012, after her divorce and her only daughter’s departure for the University of Vermont, Cook started looking for roommates to defray costs.

She found that her two-story house was conducive to guests. Nestled along the slope of a hill, the home resembles a wooden ship with its hidden nooks primed for reading or napping. Cook has privacy—the sanctuary of her bedroom converted out of a garret—and so do her housemates. 

Over the years, Cook has had 16 roommates, whom she often refers to by nickname: Hannah the Baker, Connor the Sculptor, Anne from Copenhagen. She recalls playing cards until late at night on a double date with a former roommate. Sharing a Clinique lipstick with another. Telling one that her collection of driftwood was becoming a safety hazard. There was that time her housemate took too many edibles.

Many of the roommates have been international students attending one of Boston’s many universities or colleges; Cook’s found most of them via Craigslist, Airbnb, or word of mouth. She gravitates towards intellectuals: “I don’t feel like they need to occupy much [physical] space. They have space in their head.” The $900 monthly rent, while substantial, is a third of the average price for a one-bedroom in Boston. This supplements Cook’s income from an art and furniture restoration studio, where she estimates pricing for customers trying to restore their favorite things.

But for Cook, and others, there are benefits to having a roommate that go beyond the money. Middle age can be a sea change: marriages end, kids grow up and move out, careers shift or sputter. It can be lonely, and is only compounded by the long-held assumption that one must power through it alone—or find a romantic partner. Roommates can be a welcome balm to that malaise. 

When a roommate hosted a party at Cook’s house, she took the backseat. “I kind of liked just being an attendant,” she says, “I like someone else enjoying the space and not feeling responsible for it.” The experience also feels deeply meaningful, she adds. “I like learning from people. I think it’s this notion of solidarity with the human race.”

For some, the advantages are even greater. Linda Williams lives with housemates at the beach in Sarasota, Florida. Something she’s done for the past 17 years.

She’s 76.

Since starting house sharing, Williams says her quality of life has improved. “I have more to look forward to,” she says. “My health has improved. I feel companionship and connection.” Plus, the extra money helps. Williams says she uses her savings for preventative medical services, like massages and acupuncture treatments, and can go on vacation without feeling the pinch.

Finding the right roommate can be complicated no matter your age, but for older adults, that can prove especially true. By midlife, most people have established routines, and often potential roomies are decades younger, which can create a natural divide.

This was something Gale, 71, who owns a three-bedroom house in Los Angeles has encountered. She’s had eight roommates over the last 10 years, charging them a rate of $800 to $1,000 a month. It all started with a friend of her son’s, who wrote asking if she could stay in one of Gale’s spare bedrooms. “We were real roommates,” she says. “The friendship sort of shifted from my son to me.” The pair even went on a Serbian diet together, which involved trying complicated recipes and unusual meal replacements, like red wine for lunch. 

When she moved out, Gale stayed the course; she needed the money. But she made the mistake of posting for roommates on Craigslist. A musician looking for a crash pad wandered in. It wasn’t a fit. 

To be fair, Gale doesn’t consider herself a great roommate, either. “There’s a lot of clutter,” she says. Most points of friction come down to the refrigerator. Gale abides by the one-a-week grocery shop while her Millennial housemates fill the fridge with styrofoam takeout. COVID was also a stressor: her then-roommate still worked in-person, meanwhile Gale was more isolated. And at times, she feels unsure about her living arrangement. Now that she’s retired, she’s home more, and her family comes over for weekly visits. “It’s not like I’m going to ask my roommate for permission to have my grandkids over,” she says.

To help ease roommate drama, a cottage industry of matchmaking services has emerged to pair compatible homeowners with home seekers. Jayne Ehrlich—who calls herself a Boomer-in-Chief—is working on one called Boomer Roomers. The goal of the service is to match Boomers and seniors from all socioeconomic demographics by housing preferences and lifestyle, so they can age in place together. Compatibility is based on a 25-question survey. “I've talked to so many people, some offering their homes and some needing homes,” says Ehrlich. 

As Ehrlich sees it, the service isn’t just a nice-to-have, but a necessity: The amount of accessible, affordable housing is inadequate to support the fastest-growing homeless population: seniors. In Los Angeles, one of eight counties studied, nearly half of unhoused people are over 50. 

By making it easier to find someone to shack up with, the chances of older adults being able to age in place also becomes a greater possibility. HomeShare Vermont, a non-profit organization, facilitates home sharing that matches homeowners with roommates who provide varying degrees of service, such as help with household chores, driving, and meal support, in exchange for affordable housing. “The data is very clear,” says Connor Timmons, the executive director of HomeShare Vermont. “Aging in place is a healthier choice. Individuals do better when aging in place. Neighborhoods do better. It’s an opportunity for people who still want to get everything they can out of life.”

Last year, the organization facilitated 70 matches in Vermont. In 2023, their homeshare applications increased by 35 percent. One of their clients, Marian Wright, 88, has hosted several housemates over the past year, including two teachers and a nurse working at a nearby retirement community. Wright had two housemates over the summer: a professor at a nearby college and an opera singer. 

Wright first considered a roommate when her husband became sick and she was faced with the sudden prospect of living alone. “I’m hoping to stay in my home for as long as possible,” she says. “I’ve had it for almost 30 years. It’s filled with memories. It’s my family.” 

She currently hosts an adjunct Middlebury College professor from Nepal, who pays $500 a month and helps Wright with cleaning and cooking. Wright says she greatly enjoys the company though she’s adjusting to her housemate’s aquarium, which now lives in the home, too. Some roommate dynamics, it seems, are evergreen.

*First names are being used to protect privacy.

Word on the street is that young Americans’ financial standings are negatively impacting their social lives, and it shows. Misalignment of financial priorities among Gen Z and millennials is causing friendships to disintegrate across the board and driving a phenomenon known as “FOMO spending,” aka spending money you don’t have in order to keep up with your friends. According to a recent survey, More than one-third (36%) of Gen Zers and millennials have a friend who drives them to overspend, which can understandably take a hefty toll on friendships. Luckily, our friends at Credit Karma have done a deep dive into this dilemma and are here to assist. We tapped Courtney Alev, the consumer financial advocate at Intuit Credit Karma, to get the scoop on how to combat this issue. Her role is rooted in helping Credit Karma’s members make sense of their full financial picture and make progress against their financial goals. Our first question for her: What is the biggest issue with FOMO spending, and how can one resolve it? Her answer was lengthy but insightful. “Spending money you don’t have in order to keep up with friends—or worse, strangers online—can lead you to take on debt, which can cost you a lot of money in interest fees and prolong the time it takes to reach your financial goals,” she said. She also referenced some pretty staggering data: “A recent Credit Karma survey found that 76% of Gen Z and 69% of millennials have gone into debt as a result of FOMO spending, which is a dangerous consequence.” Read the rest of the interview below.

MC: Do you have any tips for how to set financial boundaries?

Courtney Alev: Be open and honest about your financial situation. It’s no secret that talking about money can be awkward, especially with friends and family. We’ve all been there—it’s easier to keep your concerns to yourself when you’re in the moment and everyone is having a good time. But in order to avoid overspending or potentially resenting your friends, these conversations can be necessary. Other friends might even be feeling the same way you are and appreciate the opportunity to set expectations as a friend group. It’s better to have these conversations before you RSVP for that group dinner or that bachelorette trip so you don’t overspend or feel pressured to pay an amount you’re not comfortable with. 

Set a limit for yourself. In addition to having a larger conversation about money, it’s okay to speak up about your spending limits. For example, if your friends are planning a trip, let them know the maximum amount you’re willing to spend before they start booking flights and hotels. The more prescriptive you are, the better. Sharing your budget with your friend group can also make it easier to opt out when you don’t have the funds.

Don’t be afraid to say no. It’s easier said than done, but try not to feel pressured to participate in expensive outings just because your friends want you to. At the end of the day, it’s more important to do what’s best for you and your finances. Aim for quality time and quality experiences rather than taking part in every single costly event. 

Factor your social life into your budget. It’s all about balance. You’ll have to say no to some things, but not everything. The key is to avoid spending money you don’t have, and if you can put aside money for entertainment and travel, there’s no reason why you can’t enjoy those experiences periodically. Take a look at your budget to see what you can move around to set aside money in the “fun” category. It’s also always a good idea to plan as far in advance as possible so that you can save up more over time. If you’re not sure where to start with budgeting, we recommend allocating 50% of your income toward your needs (such as rent and groceries), 20% toward your financial goals (such as saving an emergency fund or paying down debt), and the other 30% for discretionary or fun expenses.

MC: How do you recommend using Credit Karma to help you spend and save wisely?

CA: Changing how you save may help change how you spend. Start by creating a dedicated high-yield savings account with Credit Karma Money, where you can save for specific items and experiences with friends and where your money can earn interest and grow over time. You can also track your transactions via Credit Karma’s Net Worth feature to reflect on your recent purchases, determine if they were “worth it,” and use those insights to make smarter spending decisions. 

A dedicated savings account can help you avoid spending money you don’t have, and it can keep you honest about how affordable something actually is. Let’s say you’re saving for a weekend away with friends. If you realize that you don’t have enough money saved by the time you’re booking your travel, that may be a warning sign that a vacation isn’t the best move financially at the moment and that you need to keep saving.  

And as you’re saving for something specific, name each of your savings accounts. Instead of putting money into “savings,” you’ll be contributing to your “fun fund” or “vacation account.” Knowing you’re working toward something specific may make it easier to contribute regularly and will help you avoid withdrawing from that account for anything else.

You can supercharge your savings by keeping your cash in a high-yield savings account. Interest rates have been relatively high for the last several months, and your savings can earn interest and grow over time. Accounts like Credit Karma Money are free and secure.