The building sits at 762 Fulton Street, in a neighborhood that was once known as the Harlem of the West, home to one of the largest jazz scenes on the West Coast until the city gutted it through urban renewal in the 1960s. Nearly 20,000 residents were displaced. Jazz clubs were shuttered. Businesses demolished. The AAACC exists because of that history. It’s the only city-owned cultural center for the preservation of African American art and culture in San Francisco.

I asked Cheick Barry, the founder of Éclairés, later whether he chose the AAACC because of that history. He was honest about it. “I’d be lying if that decision was fully mapped out from the start,“ he said. “But I was very intentional about the feeling I wanted the space to have. So placing the show there wasn’t just about having a venue. I chose to step into a venue that already exists and just let that history work alongside the clothes.“

On April 11, that’s exactly what happened. A Senegalese designer transformed the Hall of Culture into a West African market, and the room’s history was already there, working alongside everything else.

The first thing I noticed was what I heard underneath the movement: ambient market sounds playing through the speakers, not stock audio. Ryan, one of the team’s collaborators, had built the soundscape from recordings sourced online and from personal videos Cheick took when he traveled back to Senegal last summer. The sounds of Marché Sandaga were literally in the room.

Vendors were arranging their tables. A group of percussionists, individual musicians who had come together collectively for the night, were warming up in the corner. Friends of the brand were adjusting details on garments. Everyone moved with purpose. Everyone moved without being told. It wasn’t Cheick’s show they were setting up. It was theirs.

A Fruit Cart From Thailand

Papatson Suphavai designed the set. When I asked her what surprised her about working on a Senegalese fashion show, she didn’t talk about the clothes.

“What has been a surprising element of the show is how similar Senegal culture is to Thai culture, especially market culture,“ she told me.

She pointed to the fruit cart near the center of the space. It was painted with a red sign meant to represent the connection between body and being, inspired by the feeling of hot ground under bare feet in open-air markets. On top of the cart, there was a patterned cloth. That pattern came from the fabric her uncle uses to lay out his produce before placing the fruit on top, at a market stall in a village in Thailand. Her uncle is 92.

The tarp stretched across the ceiling served the same purpose it does in Thai and Senegalese markets: protection from the sun. Banana leaves accompanied the catering area because that’s what you’d see at a market back home.

“I believe that your ability to further connect to your roots is that ability to further connect to yourself and your community,“ Papatson said.

She’d never seen the collection before that night. And when the garments finally came down the runway, she was stunned by how deeply the design thinking mirrored what she’d already built into the space. Nobody coordinated that. The roots just matched.

Standing Inside the Story

There was no backstage in the traditional sense. No rows of seats facing a single direction. The runway wrapped in a circular motion through the market, with a smoothie stand on one side and attendees seated in the center. People also stood along the outside of the circle, pressed in close.

The percussionists played throughout: the pulse of the entire room. They played two different rhythms across the night: one for the Army section of the collection and another for the Youth section, matching the show’s generational tension beat for beat. When they played, most of the room swayed and bobbed the entire time. Multiple people I spoke to that night named the drums as the single most powerful element of the experience.

Cyrus led the soundtrack for the night, curating around Fela Kuti, who opened and closed the show. Protest music and celebration music at the same time, framing everything that happened in between.

Before the runway even started, I watched every person who walked through the doors stop at nearly every vendor stand. Asking questions, leaning in, engaging. That level of curiosity felt unusual for an event like this, and I think it had everything to do with how Cheick chose the people in the room.

“I chose the vendors intentionally to recreate the feeling of a living market, not just visually, but culturally,“ he told me. “I didn’t want it to feel staged or part of the set. I wanted people like Jules and Duke because they bring their own identity, their own energy, and their own story into the space.“ He said he wanted to make sure that attendees weren’t just seeing products but experiencing people, conversations, movement. “The vendors weren’t props. They were definitely part of the story.”

And it showed. People crowded around Duke’s station asking about his painting process, which involved working on recycled windows, painting from behind the glass.

Food was made and provided by Cheick’s wife, Amiyah.

The smoothie stand had a full line that didn’t let up until the show started, the whir of the machine blending into the ambient market sounds already filling the room.

Then the lights shifted. Purples, pinks, oranges, and yellow hues washed over the space. The percussionists began their first section. The models started walking individually.

The show moved through three acts. First came Roots: the Elders. The event program described them in Cheick’s own words: “They remember what things meant before they were changed. Before everything needed permission to exist.”

Then Neocolonialism: the Army. “They look like us. But move like someone else. Control doesn’t always arrive from outside.”

And finally, Rebellion: the Youth. “They don’t fit the system. So they start to question it.“ That section ended with a single phrase: “an enlightened one.“ Éclairés.

Every model wore face markings designed by Dolsie Acuesta, and every mark meant something. The generational dialogue was written on the models’ skin. On the elder characters, like the griot, the markings represented knowledge and memory. The face became almost like a record of history, with lines similar to a book. On the younger characters, the marks were more fluid and expressive.

One of the first models had a fruit basket on her head. And as she moved through the crowd, she reached in and started handing fruit to people in the front row. People laughed. Hands went up. The runway had been open for less than a minute and it already morphed into something else.

Then two models stopped mid-walk at one of the tables in the crowd and sat down to play dominoes with the attendees. Just sat down. Mid-runway. In Cheick’s garments. The people at the table looked at them, looked at each other, and they all kept playing.

Throughout the night, I kept seeing the same expression on people’s faces: genuine amazement, surprise, shock that this didn’t feel like a typical fashion show.

The First Model

Cheick spent months building toward this night. When I spoke to him in the weeks leading up to the show, he described wanting to recreate the energy of Marché Sandaga, the massive open-air market in Senegal that had moved him on a trip home last summer. But wanting something and pulling it off are different things.

“Even going towards the show, we didn’t have that many RSVPs,“ he told me afterward. “The anxiety was there because we literally put so much work into this. So many sleepless nights.“

He said he wasn’t able to feel anything until the first model walked out.

“There were so many things that had to get done, and I really wanted it done in a certain way so that people could actually feel the vision. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than: this show has to be good.“

Then the first model stepped into the market.

“Not until the first model walked in,“ he said. “That’s when I was like, whoa. Okay, now I’m just an observer. Let’s see what happens.“

Narcisse, a designer friend of the team, walked in midway through the show and couldn’t believe how polished it was. “The timing of the show. I love how everyone was at their own pace and they knew their spots and everything just worked perfectly,“ he said. “But you know that they really worked as a team to make this happen.“

The Blackout

At the end of the show, Cheick ran the runway himself. After passing halfway through the runway, he started pumping his chest, running in place, letting out a roar. For a moment, it looked like something had taken over his entire body. As the tempo from the percussionists increased, so did the cheers and shouts from the crowd, building and building until the room erupted.

I asked him what was going through his mind.

“I blacked out,“ he said. “My body took over. Even after I did it, I was like, whoa, what just happened? Something came over me.”

The Smile

Jawa Lee has been one of Cheick’s closest collaborators throughout the entire process. He produced the show, coordinated the creative vision, and was the connective tissue between every person involved. When I asked him for his highlight of the night, he didn’t talk about the crowd size or the runway or the collection.

He talked about Narcisse walking in the door.

“Narcisse walked in the room midway through, and I saw the biggest smile on his face.“

I asked him what that meant to him.

“It’s people like him that we wanted to get a really big smile on their face. To feel impacted.“

That’s how this team measures success.

Our Fashion Show

When Cheick stood in front of the room at the end of the night to thank everyone who made the show happen, he said something I haven’t been able to shake.

“This isn’t my fashion show. This is our fashion show.“

He said it to the entire room. The team and the attendees.

In his closing remarks, he’d also told the crowd where the name came from. “If I Grow Up” is a novel by Todd Strasser about a teenager in inner-city housing projects facing the real possibility that he might not make it to adulthood. The title uses “if,“ not “when.“ Cheick said the book shifted the way he sees his life and his art. For his collection, that same uncertainty applies to whether cultural identity survives across generations or quietly dissolves. He named the show after the book because the question felt the same.

Standing there, I thought about what I’d been watching all night. Papatson building a tribute to her Thai uncle into the set design of a Senegalese fashion show. Dolsie writing a generational story onto the models’ faces with marks sourced from tradition and shaped by her own research. Individual percussionists who showed up separately and became a unit by the end of the night.

None of these people are Senegalese. But each of them found a way to put their own roots into the work, and the show held space for all of them.

Éclairés has always been a community that grew a brand. But after April 11, I think it’s something even more specific than that. This community shapes the work. Their stories, their memories, their cultural inheritance, it all ends up in the room and in the brand.

A West African market, built by a community from everywhere, in the Hall of Culture, in the Fillmore, in the neighborhood where a Black community was once told their culture didn’t matter enough to preserve.

The last page of the event program had one final message from Cheick, addressed to everyone in the room:

“So, if I grow up... I won’t become what they expect. I’ll become what I remember. My purest self. How about you?”

Photos by: fdongphotos & laurchival

“If I Grow Up” by Éclairés took place April 11, 2026 at the African American Art & Culture Complex in San Francisco, CA.

Derrick is the founder of Archival Live, an independent press and storytelling studio based in the Bay Area.

Joseph was behind a table with one of Cheick’s friends, squeezing fresh juice and handing it out like it was their kitchen. Across the room, Jawa was at a sewing station walking someone through their first time on a machine. A few photographers were moving through the space, tapping people on the shoulder: “Hey, you want your picture taken?” Not hired photographers working a shot list, but friends with cameras who wanted to make something cool for someone they cared about. Near the back of the first floor, Dolsie Acuesta had built out a full showcase of Éclairés pieces from the upcoming collection, styled on makeshift mannequins with the kind of care that goes beyond just hanging clothes on a rack. You could tell she’d thought about every detail of how those garments should be seen.

I came expecting a fashion pop-up. What I walked into was a space full of people who showed up because they love Cheick Barry and believe in what he’s building with Éclairés. The juice, the food (made by Cheick’s wife, Amiyah), the sewing stations, the photography — all of it was being done by his people, not staff or vendors on contract.

That’s when I realized the thing that makes Éclairés different from most fashion brands I’ve encountered isn’t really about the clothes. It’s about the fact that the brand is almost secondary to the community holding it up. At Market Quest, the community was front and center; Éclairés was the backdrop. And somehow, that made the clothes matter more, not less.

Marché Sandaga to the Mission

Cheick Barry, the designer and founder behind Éclairés, started building toward this moment last summer, when he traveled to Senegal and walked through Marché Sandaga, one of the country’s most well-known open-air markets.

“I was walking through there, and I was just really enthralled by just the environment, how many people it was, the things that they were selling,” he told me. “And I kind of wanted to recapture that environment in not just this market, but the upcoming fashion show as well.”

Éclairés means “enlightened ones” in French. And Cheick’s design process works the same way his community does: pulling from different places, different traditions, and letting them exist together without flattening any of them. At Market Quest, he pointed to a pair of pants on display: inspired by the hakama worn by Japanese samurai, cut with a Senegalese tribal print, shaped with a modern silhouette. Three cultures in one garment.

“That’s really how I design. Just taking things that I’m really inspired by and trying to make it into my own thing.”

On April 11, that instinct will be elevated. Éclairés is transforming the African American Art & Culture Complex in San Francisco into a fully immersive West African market for a one-night fashion show called If I Grow Up.

Where Do We Go From There

The show tells a story about neocolonialism in Africa, structured in three parts. Cheick describes it as tracing how colonial influence weaves its way into a society and “kind of strips it away slowly and slowly, of its roots.” The goal of the show is to reclaim what’s been stripped.

But the collection isn’t built on resentment, and that’s what makes it interesting. Dolsie, who’s serving as both makeup artist and creative director for the show, framed it in a way that stuck with me. She said Cheick is “harmonizing tradition, what happened after colonialism, and the modern.” And then she said something I keep coming back to: “It’s not giving any shade or negativity, but it’s more like: where do we go from there?”

That question is baked into the title: If I Grow Up, not when. It’s the uncertainty that young people in post-colonial societies carry, and the open question of whether cultural identity survives across generations or quietly dissolves.

Dolsie is taking that same intentionality into her own work for the show. She’s been researching the natural materials historically used in West African face adornment, sourcing her own supplies, and building her makeup design from tradition up rather than layering a trendy look on top. “Everything is intentional,” she said. “Anything that is put on has meaning to it. And I wanna make sure I honor that.”

It tracks with what I saw at Market Quest. The way she arranged the showcase wasn’t decoration. It was curation and celebration. Every piece was positioned like it had something to say, and she’d clearly spent time thinking about how the garments should speak to each other on those mannequins. The same care is going into April 11.

Stepping Off the Plane

The format of the show is designed to break every convention of a traditional runway.

Models won’t walk in a straight line and return backstage. They’ll weave through the market itself, blending into the crowd, becoming part of the space rather than performing above it. A live drum circle from Soulbeatz Oakland will play throughout. Food vendors, art merchants, and a live painter will fill the venue. The audience won’t be seated in rows watching from a distance. They’ll be standing inside the story.

Joseph Johnson, who’s helping execute the creative vision, put it the most directly of anyone I talked to: “When you step through the doors of the venue, we want you to automatically feel like you just jumped off the plane and landed straight in Africa.” He paused. “We want you to feel uncomfortable. ‘Cause that’s the first process of knowing that you’re entering a new realm.”

And then he grinned. “I want them to feel like they just got abducted by a UFO and then they come back home and they’re like, bro, you won’t believe what happened.” He said he wants people to see Éclairés pop up on Instagram weeks later and think, “There’s proof of what I seen.”

Jawa, one of the show’s creative producers and one of Cheick’s closest collaborators, described the same vision more quietly: “We’re wanting people to feel immersed in this West African market, to connect with others over food, over juice, over clothing. It’s not your typical show at all.”

Watching Jawa at Market Quest, leading a sewing station with patience and zero ego, I believed him. This is a team that’s locked in.

More Than Tech

There’s a reason this show matters beyond Éclairés. Rida Anjum, who was running sewing stations at Market Quest and will be helping with the April 11 show, didn’t sugarcoat it when I asked about fashion in the Bay.

“We don’t have a whole lot of exposure to fashion and creativity here. It’s just not a huge industry.” Why? “Tech. I don’t think the answer’s complicated.”

But she also pointed to signs of change. Other local designers building audiences show by show. “I think people start to realize that there’s more to tech here.”

What struck me talking to Rida was how her own story mirrored the show’s themes without her forcing the connection. She talked about going back to Pakistan and loving the textile bazaars, and how the concept of an open market fashion show resonated with her as a child of immigrants. “I have never seen that before,” she said, “and I’m excited to see it.”

That’s the reach of what Cheick is doing. A show rooted in Senegalese identity that a Pakistani-American seamstress – and Product Manager at a startup by day – sees herself in. Not because it’s trying to be universal, but because it’s so specific that it unlocks something personal for everyone in the room.

It’s the Roots

When I asked Cheick what he wants people to carry out the door on April 11, he got still for a second.

“A sense of curiosity. Pride,” he said. “There’s a lot of African culture in the show, but it’s not just specific to African culture. It’s specific to just any kind of culture that you hold onto. Whether it’s from the Bay Area, whether it’s from the Philippines, whether it’s from Africa. Wherever you’re from, you’re from somewhere. Hold that very proudly and walk with that and lead with that. Because it’s through that, that you’ll be able to kind of figure out where you need to go and where you want to go.”

He paused. “It’s the roots.”

Standing in Noisebridge on Saturday, watching his friends pour juice and teach strangers to sew and arrange his garments with the kind of care you don’t fake, I felt it. Éclairés isn’t a brand that built a community. It’s a community that grew a brand. And on April 11, that community is inviting everyone else in.

If I Grow Up by Éclairés takes place April 11, 2026 at the African American Art & Culture Complex in San Francisco, CA. Follow @enwhy.eclaires on Instagram for updates and click here for tickets to the show.

Photos by Gianpaolo Pabros / Instagram

Two of the most soul-filling moments I’ve had since moving to Brooklyn have happened at the St. James Joy Party, in Clinton Hill. My friend, Dayee, invited me to my first one last April. I didn’t know what to expect, but what I found was a thriving celebration of everything I’ve come to love about this city: the rawness, rhythm, resilience, and radical joy permeating the streets.

This year, I returned with my camera ready, hoping to bottle some of that magic. Here are a few spontaneous moments I captured:

A kid on shoulders, dancing with earmuffs on, with not a care in the world. This kid’s gotta have some fun parents!

These women were the moment. The one on the left, in the “I am the vibe” t-shirt came to deliver, and the crowd received every ounce of it.

I felt no agenda or pretense from the crowd, just people of every age, race, and background dancing and connecting through the music.

The Heartbeat of St. James Place

What’s beautiful about St. James Joy is that it didn’t start as a spectacle. It started as a way to cope with the early darkness of the pandemic.

In March 2020, as the city stood still and uncertainty filled the air, the Vill family—Gail, Jo, Chelsea, and Chad—brought music to their block. It began with a whistle and a bell during the 7pm cheer for essential workers. Then came the turntables and speakers. Then the neighbors. From a five-minute jam grew a full-blown block party.

They called it St. James Joy, and that’s exactly what it was.

Five Years of Joy

What began as a nightly lifeline has become a beloved tradition. This spring marked the fifth anniversary of the St. James Joy Party. Five years of open streets, soulful dance music, and strangers becoming neighbors.

And it’s grown beyond the block, too. DJ legends like Louie Vega and DJ Spinna have dropped in. It’s been covered by NPR and New York Magazine. But through all the noise and attention, the soul of it has stayed the same: a family-powered gathering rooted in care, connection, and celebration.

This is what Brooklyn does so well. Ordinary people turning sidewalks and stoops into stages; isolation into invitation; music into medicine. I want to keep inviting more of this joy into my life.

Do you want to invite more of this kind of joy into your life?

What’re ways you can transform unfortunate or unforeseen circumstances into sources of joy? For yourself and the community around you?

Instagram

Six weeks ago, on my first day of class, I stared at an iMac screen and saw a bunch of rectangular boxes filled with color on top of and next to each other.

Me in thought: Wtf am I even looking at? Isn’t video editing just putting some clips together?

I was dead wrong.

I just completed a six-week intensive film and video editing program at the Manhattan Edit Workshop. We dove into foundational editing theory and built technical skills across Premiere Pro, Avid, and DaVinci Resolve. But what stayed with me most wasn’t technical, it was the realization that editing has the power to reshape an entire narrative, regardless of the quality of the captured footage or audio.

Editing, I learned, is where the story truly comes alive, and I can’t look at film or video the same way.

Choosing the story I wanted to tell

For our capstone project, we were given access to several media libraries the school had full copyright permission to use: video clips, audio interviews, and transcripts. Each student had to pick a project to edit based on what kind of stories we were drawn to.

For me, it was clear:

I want to tell stories of artists, creatives, and entrepreneurs forging their own paths. People driven by intuition, joy, and the stubborn desire to create what they want to see in the world. I want to capture their process, their evolution, and the conversations in between. The sparks, the doubts, and the unseen moments that shape everything.

That’s why I chose to spotlight Jason Jägel, an artist based in San Francisco (as a native, obviously I had to put the spotlight on a Bay Area creative) whose work I’ve admired since his collaboration with MF DOOM for the iconic album “Mm…FOOD”. His style and philosophy fit the kind of story I want to tell.

The process of shaping the piece

Here’s the breakdown of how I approached the project:

• Finding the interview sound bites

I listened through over an hour of raw audio interviews, trying to find moments that felt alive, honest, and hinted at a larger narrative without forcing it. I had the most moments of stress here because with all that interview content, I didn’t know how to pick the right bites.

• Sorting through the footage

I sifted through more than 70 video clips, mostly B-roll, looking for images that could complement and elevate the story Jason’s voice was already telling.

• Building a narrative

Instead of imposing a rigid structure, I let the interviews guide me. I built a flow based on the emotional arc I felt Jason’s words were already hinting toward.

• Enhancing with music

Music has always been central to my life. For this piece, I didn’t just want the music to sit under the story, but to create an atmosphere—to feel like part of Jason’s world.

• Seeking feedback

I shared early drafts with my instructors, classmates, and a professional editor who visited our class. Incorporating their feedback became crucial, not just for improving the piece, but for learning to trust (and challenge) my own creative instincts.

What I learned

• Naming and understanding technique matters

Every editing choice, every cut, every transition, was something I had to learn to name, break down, and understand. Asking the right questions to my instructors, and complementing their guidance with YouTube and ChatGPT, helped sharpen my intuition and knowledge.

• Music will be a through-line in my storytelling

Music and sound are central to how I feel a story. Moving forward, the musical and sonic choices I make will be as important to the narrative as the visuals themselves.

• Feedback is fuel

Finding people who can give specific, thoughtful feedback, and learning how to integrate it without losing my own voice, is something I’ll carry with me into every project.

• Resistance is part of the work

There were moments where I felt stuck and overwhelmed by having too many choices, and unsure if a scene was landing. I learned that hitting resistance isn’t a sign something’s wrong; it’s usually a sign I’m close to something real.

What I’m taking away from this project

Editing this piece made me realize I don’t just want to assemble footage: I want to create feeling, atmosphere, and emotional resonance. I want to tell stories that stay with people. I want to tell stories where I transform in the process of telling them.

If you’re an artist, creative, entrepreneur, or someone chasing your own creative path, I’d love to hear what drives your process too.

What sparks your work?

What’s your process?

What obstacles show up again and again?

Appreciate you reading, and I hope to have you continue on the journey with me!

Chris asked me to come document their recent pop-up event in LIC, and I was amazed at how talented the performers were. The event felt a lot like the Sofar Sounds events I’ve been to, but way more intimate. Keep an eye on DearCo!

Check out the performers’ Instagram pages below:

Bomka

Melancholy’s Mistress

Here are some of my favorite snaps from the event!

I first met Rose through a mutual friend, and when I heard she’s building her own pastry brand, aptly named “Rose’s Pineapple Shorts”, I had to learn more. Then I heard how she also created her first Lunar New Year Celebration event in 2024 at a space called Commune in Bed Stuy, and it was such a hit that she collaborated with the owners of the space to create another event this year.

Rose invited friends and people within her community to sell products they’ve created, serve signature cultural food, curate music, and facilitate mahjong games.

This was the first event I’ve attended, and I was blown away by how impactful and fun the experience was.

This wasn’t just a celebration for LNY — it was a celebration of people bringing their creations to life and sharing it with the world, with their community supporting them in the process.

I’m beyond grateful for Rose providing me an opportunity to document and capture moments throughout the day.

Check out some of my favorite snaps from the event:

Derrick: Yo Mark, what's up, man?

Mark: Yo, what’s up, Derrick?

Derrick: How are you doing?

Mark: Good. Thanks for having me.

Derrick: Of course. Alright, man, go ahead and introduce yourself to the audience.

Mark: Yeah, my name is Mark. The homies call me Marky. I’m a DJ based out of the Bay Area, but I also do a ton of other stuff—photographer, vibe curator, artist, hype man, community builder. I just enjoy hanging out with friends and connecting through music.

Derrick: Tell me about your relationship with music and DJing—where did it all start?

Mark: I’d say it came from my dad. When I was around seven or eight years old, I started hearing the kind of music he was into. He’s from Eastside San Jose, and while I never saw him do it, he told me he used to DJ. I don’t know if it’s in my blood or what, but I remember being in his car, driving around, and he’d always play a lot of West Coast hip-hop. I think that’s where it started for me.

After that, I developed a love for music—going to events, festivals, things like that. I picked up DJing in my second or third year of high school. Back then, it was more of a hobby—just doing house parties and that kind of thing. I don’t even remember exactly how I learned—probably from my cousin since he got me my first controller. It was all just for fun at the time. I didn’t take it seriously until the last couple of years. That’s probably when you started noticing me.

Derrick: Tell me more about the music your dad used to play in the car. Any albums that stood out?

Mark: Yeah, one that I remember clearly is Doggfather by Snoop Dogg. At the time, I had no idea what I was listening to—I just knew my head was bobbing. It was a lot of classic West Coast hip-hop.

Derrick: What was your first DJ controller? Do you remember the model or brand?

Mark: It was one of those controllers from Best Buy, and it came with a program called Virtual DJ. It was pretty basic—definitely aimed at beginners.

Derrick: Do you remember some of the first tracks you mixed together or the vibe you were going for?

Mark: Yeah, at the time, I was really into EDM. It was all about that big-room sound—classic Calvin Harris, 2010s EDM. That’s where I started. Things shifted after I went to this festival called HARD Summer. That’s where I discovered trap and artists like RL Grime. That sound stuck with me, and I played that style of music for years.

Derrick: HARD Summer 2015 stands out as a key memory for you. What was that experience like?

Mark: It was huge for me. I don’t want to sound dramatic, but it kind of changed my life. The lineup had a lot of people, but the two that stood out were RL Grime and Porter Robinson. The music, the energy, and the people I was with—it all hit me in a way that made me want to include more music in my life. I wasn’t thinking about DJing at that exact moment, but I knew I wanted to do something with electronic music. The energy I felt at HARD Summer was everything, and DJing became my way of manifesting that energy.

Derrick: What draws you specifically to electronic music?

Mark: There’s so much about electronic music that’s underappreciated. The technical side is incredible—the layering of different sounds, the use of unique drums and instruments. I’m not a producer, but I really admire the details that go into creating those tracks. Electronic music also has so many subgenres—trap, house, UK garage, Brazilian funk—and each one tells a different story depending on where it comes from. I love that global aspect.

Derrick: That’s dope. I’ve also grown to appreciate electronic music, but I got into it later in life. I grew up on a lot of hip-hop and R&B. Sounds like your dad’s library might’ve been similar.

Mark: Yeah, don’t get me wrong—I’m hip-hop at heart. I was a B-boy too, so I’ll always have my hip-hop roots.

Derrick: Wait, you were a B-boy? Are you still breaking?

Mark: Not as much these days. Breaking was probably my first love—it was my main art form for a while. But as a B-boy, you’re throwing your body around, and injuries happen. I had some bad knee injuries, and I realized I needed a way to express my love for music without sacrificing my body. That’s when DJing became the outlet.

Derrick: I have so much respect for B-boys and B-girls. It’s such a mix of artistry and athleticism. At any party, if a B-boy or B-girl steps into the circle, it’s like, “Everybody stop and watch.” It’s just such a vibe.

Mark: Exactly. It’s that mix of artistry and athleticism at the highest level. And now it’s in the Olympics, which is wild.

Derrick: Yeah, what did you think about breaking being in the Olympics?

Mark: I thought it was cool. It gave breaking a platform on the global stage. Breaking started as counterculture, so it was dope to see it get that kind of recognition.

Derrick: Through your artistry—whether it’s DJing or photography—what do you want to give to the world?

Mark: That vision has evolved over time. Earlier, with photography, it was about offering photos as a service—weddings, portraits, that kind of thing. Now, music is more of a focus. Over the last couple of years, I’ve realized how much I enjoy sharing music. I love curating an experience where people can dance and vibe to the tracks I play. I love bringing people together.

I also love to travel, so part of the journey for me is DJing in unique venues and intimate spaces, creating experiences that connect music and visuals. I want to bring all my passions together to give people something memorable.

And now that I’ve been on this committed journey for about a year, I’ve enjoyed mentoring and teaching new DJs, for example, at the Open Deck events. Watching their growth is very meaningful for me.

Derrick: That’s amazing. What kind of vibe do you want your events to have? Is there something specific you’re aiming for that sets your events apart?

Mark: I’ve always thought about that. Since I’ve been a fan of music and events for so long, I ask myself, “What does an event curated by me look like?” For me, music is the ultimate connector, so that’s the starting point. I want people to come with an open mind, ready to hear different sounds, and I want the space to feel unique—a place where people can connect and just enjoy being there.

Last month, I did an intimate DJ set for friends, complete with holiday vibes, and it was a whole mood. That’s the kind of energy I’m trying to create—unique, connected, and memorable.

Derrick: What genres can people expect to hear at one of your events?

Mark: Lately, I’ve been into this global club sound. It’s a mix of instruments from around the world with a club vibe. For example, R&B edits infused with UK garage or Brazilian funk. I love remixes that give classic R&B tracks a fresh energy. Female vocals have been a focus for me too—I’ve been digging into remixes of artists like Beyoncé, Tamia, and Keyshia Cole, but with a higher-energy twist.

Derrick: Who are some of your favorite artists or remixers in that style?

Mark: Two that come to mind are Brilliant from South Korea and Ballads, who I think is from East Asia. They make amazing edits in the style I’m darius@salesbricks.com right now.

Derrick: I’ve noticed you’ve been posting a lot more DJ content over the last year. What made you decide to really go for it?

Mark: The past year has been about getting my name out there and focusing on events. I owe a lot to groups like the Artist Guild at The Commons in San Francisco. They helped me reflect on my creativity and gave me the confidence to share my art with the world.

I started by honing my skills and putting in the work, then began sharing clips and creating unique content. For example, I did a sunset DJ set on Mount Tam in the Bay Area. It’s been a mix of experimenting and seeing what resonates.

Derrick: That’s dope. Tell me about some of the DJ collectives or communities you’re a part of.

Mark: Groove Global is a big one. They’ve been instrumental in shaping my sound. It’s run by three guys—Mikhail, Pat, and Pete—who are based in the Bay Area. I met them at an Open Decks event, and we clicked right away.

Another important group is Our Block. They host Open Decks at this Korean dive bar called Korner Store, which was where I got my first taste of DJing in a community setting. Shout out to Nick, the owner of Korner Store, who became a mentor to me.

Derrick: Open Decks seem to have been a big part of your journey.

Mark: Absolutely. They’ve been a huge stepping stone. Open Decks are where you meet other DJs, share your sound, and connect with the community. It’s all about vibing with people who love music as much as you do.

I want to give a huge shoutout to other DJ communities I’ve been inspired by like Book Club Radio out of Brooklyn. I love the vibe they create with their events and their manifesto.

I love Noise Complaints, a collective based out of the Bay Area – shoutout to Mark, who started it!

It’s also been so fun to see events like R&B and Ribs, a day party that is self-explanatory.

Derrick: You’ve clearly built a lot of momentum this past year. What milestones have been especially meaningful to you?

Mark: Honestly, I feel like I’m just scratching the surface. I’m still balancing DJing with my day job as a marketing consultant. But I’d say the biggest milestones have been the connections I’ve made—whether it’s with other DJs, communities, or people who come to my events. DJing is all about community, and being a good person goes a long way.

Derrick: That’s so true. What advice would you give to someone who wants to start DJing?

Mark: Be kind. That’s the most important thing. No one wants to work with someone who’s difficult or self-centered. Art is collaborative, and kindness opens doors. Also, don’t expect gigs to come to you–you have to put yourself out there. Most of my early gigs weren’t paid, but they helped me grow and connect with the right people. Also, if you love music, consider DJing—it’s the perfect way to express that love. And it doesn’t have to turn into a career, you can just do it because you enjoy it.

Derrick: That’s such great advice. As you move forward, how do you want your community to support you?

Mark: Just show up to events. It’s always encouraging to see familiar faces in the crowd. At the end of the day, I just want to create spaces where people can come together, dance, and enjoy themselves.

Derrick: Mark, thank you so much for sharing your story. Your journey is inspiring, and I know it’ll resonate with a lot of people. I’m excited to see where you take things next.

Mark: Thanks for having me, man. Shout out to all the communities that have supported me—Groove Global, Our Block, The Commons, Korner Store, and everyone else. None of this would’ve been possible without them. Appreciate you for giving me the space to share my journey.

Derrick: Of course, man. It’s been an amazing conversation. I can’t wait to see what’s next for you. Keep killing it!

Check out Mark’s latest mix below!

In this conversation, MRKO talks about how he began his journey and career in music, his creative inspirations, and advice for aspiring creatives. He shares more about his transition from the tech world to going all in on his music.

Connect with MRKO

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SoundCloud

YouTube

I met Melissa back in 2021 and immediately realized the depth of her creativity through her eye for design and her taste. Since then, I've witnessed her journey to becoming a practicing interior designer unfold, and it has inspired me immensely.

In this conversation, we talked about how her relationship with creativity began, who and what inspires her, and her transition from working in fashion to interior design.

Directed by: Dani Chang & Chris Tan

Edited by: Chris Tan

Shoutout to Tiger Cat Studios for graciously letting us use their space!

Connect with Melissa

Website

Personal Instagram

Business Instagram

After Chris invited me to my first event, Mystique, I was blown away by how they were creating their events—their approach put their community directly in the spotlight.

Back in April, I had the opportunity to learn more about what they're building and why they're building it!

Directed by: Dani Chang & Chris Tan

Edited by: Chris Tan

Connect with Our Block

Instagram

Substack

TikTok

Youtube

I had the opportunity to chop it up with Sommaiya a few weeks ago.

He’s an Indian musician from Delhi, and he wants to, “make sad music you can fucking dance to!” For me, there’s nothing better than sad music I can dance to 🕺🏻

When my boy, , introduced me to Sommaiya's music, I was immediately hooked. Then I heard more about his story, and it's been living in my head since.

The video was edited by the one and only, Chris Tan of

Connect with Sommaiya below

Twitter

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YouTube

I’m five interviews deep into this local business interview series, and I’ve already learned so much. Originally, I set out to do 100 interviews, so I can only imagine what will happen from here.

A priority of mine through this work has been inviting collaboration, so I’d love to share what I’ve felt and thought about and where I see this project (and others) going.

1. No one cares what the name is; do the work

I’ve overthought what I wanted to name the project for far too long. Though the name shouldn’t matter at this point, I kept believing that coming up with the name was part of “doing the work.”

Lesson: it’s not.

Doing the work means:

• Researching potential interviewees

• Reaching out to them via cold or warm introductions

• Pitching them on the idea

• Preparing for the interview

• Building a strong relationship with the interviewee

• Making sure the interviewee feels prepared

• Conducting the interview without technical hiccups

• Establishing timelines and expectations post-interview

• Requesting images to add to the interview post

• Editing the interview (transcribing and eliminating filler words, time gaps, and unnecessary parts)

• Writing an introductory section for the interview and creating the Substack post

• Getting feedback on the Substack post

• Sweating and anxiously overanalyzing whether the post is ready to go

• Doubting if anyone will read or care about the post

• Hitting “Publish”

• Collecting feedback from interviewees

• Incorporating feedback for the upcoming interview

• Repeating the above steps for each new interview

Sharing these features/posts has been more vulnerable than I anticipated. The most vulnerable part has been including the audio interview in the posts. Hearing my own voice tends to make me cringe. The cringe lessens with each new interview, but I’d imagine it’ll probably always exist to some extent.

But what should I do with this cringe? Should I let it keep me from sharing these posts? Should I let it stop me from improving as an interviewer?

Hell nah — the alternative sounds pessimistic af.

Reminder to self: focus on the craft. Focus on what I want to see more of in the world. Focus on creating. Focus on being more me.

Side note about naming the series: After interviewing Celeste from Euflora, I realized how creative she was in naming the companies or projects she has worked on. I reached out to her asking if she had any ideas for how I should name my project, and she quickly threw out “The Localist”, and it actually feels perfect (at least for now). So there it is: we’ll be calling the project that until further notice!

2. Following my curiosity and genuine excitement

This project has allowed me to showcase the work I’ve been most proud of in my career. However, there are times when I doubt whether I’m on the right path. I face a lot of fear every single day.

Why am I doing this? Should I just start applying for corporate jobs again?

Then I remember that following my curiosity and genuine excitement has and will never lead me astray. Right now, my curiosities are receiving my full attention and energy.

3. Attraction to telling profound stories

Serving local and community-minded businesses has been an absolute joy and meaning-making experience. I’ve also realized that what I’ve enjoyed about the process has been uncovering, immersing myself in, and telling vulnerable, raw, and fun stories.

There’s fear in the uncertainty of not knowing what this looks like yet, but this is also an opportunity — I might as well shoot my shot.

I’m in the early stages of another interview series, and I’m excited to share more about it very soon!

4. Improving what I’m naturally drawn to, but adding to that bag

From a skill perspective, the parts of this project that have felt the most fun have been interviewing and writing — they come the most naturally to me. I’m obsessed with refining these skills, but I’ve realized that adding some photography and videography skills will only amplify the overall storytelling.

5. Asking for help

Historically, asking for help has been difficult for me, like frfr. I’ve had to navigate this topic frequently as I’ve worked on myself.

Through these five interviews, I’ve realized that creating requires asking for help much more than when I was in my corporate tech career. This work is vulnerable as hell, and if I’m not going all in on it, nothing will happen — it’s all on me to do this.

I’d love to ask you for help with the following:

1. Do you know people, teams, or organizations that need or could benefit from this type of storytelling?

Storytelling in which an audience, customer base, or fans need to be researched and interviewed, like I’ve been doing in “The Localist” series — I want more opportunities to improve and grow.

2. I’m also exploring the idea of “apprenticeship” (shoutout to for incepting me with this idea after he announced becoming an apprentice to ). I’m still clarifying who (or what) I feel drawn to being an apprentice for. I’ll share more as clarity comes.

If you think there are opportunities for either of the points above, I’d love to hear from you. And if you have insight to share about my strategy for diving deeper into this type of work, I’m all ears and would greatly appreciate it!

Feel free to send me a DM here or email me at chiu.derrick8@gmail.com

Thank you for being on this journey with me — we’re just getting started!

The above photo shows Red Bay Coffee’s headquarters in the Fruitvale District of Oakland (the post is from their Instagram page — there will be quite a few embedded posts, so feel free to click on them to learn more).

Towards the top of the right side of the building, their motto is displayed:

"Beautiful coffee to the people."

A seemingly simple motto, right?

… until you learn more about the story behind it.

I've been following Red Bay Coffee's story for several years since I started hitting up their roastery in East Oakland.

After a handful of visits to RBC, I realized they aren’t your typical coffee company. I felt a purposeful and intentional energy from the front-of-house and back-of-house team members. Once I followed their Instagram account, I became even more curious about RBC and its founder, Keba Konte's story.

Today, we'll talk to Keba about his journey to creating RBC with a community ethos you can taste in the coffee.

Table of Contents

1. Why is community important to Keba

2. How RBC has been building with a community mindset

3. The challenges RBC has faced

4. Advice Keba has for businesses leading with a community mindset

5. What RBC needs from the community

Subscribe now

Derrick: As early as you can remember, why has community been important to you?

Keba: I was born in 1966 and grew up in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood in San Francisco to a mixed-race couple. It was my older sister and me; when my mom was 22 or 24, my parents adopted our younger sister, Celeste. When you think about Haight-Ashbury in the 1960s, it was a combination of the "Free Love" hippie movement, the Free Speech Movement, and the Black Panther & Black Power Movements. So all these movements, the creativity and free-wielding spirit of San Francisco, and the adoption were all happening around me.

Adopting when you have two children is a very community-centered piece. You are reaching out to care for someone else's children they could not care for; that is the epitome of community. My middle school was literally named the San Francisco Community School. It was also an alternative school, and in terms of teaching style, we were always on field trips and camping trips. Skip forward to college, where I was a San Francisco State University student. I was on the wrestling team for four years, from 18 to 22 years old — as an athlete, you're also a full-time student. Then, I became a father when I was 19 years old, so for my last two years of college, I was a dad, had a part-time job, and was a full-time student — it was a lot. I had a lot of dreams about going away to the East Coast and trying to get a wrestling scholarship at some of these East Coast schools, like an HBCU or something. But when I became a dad, I was like, "All right, I'm going to be here." It wasn't even a second thought. I had to be here to parent my daughter, Jessica. So, from there, I settled into the Bay Area; this will be where I continue to call my home.

Wrestling was a huge commitment that required two to three hours a day, five days per week. I had to commit to road trips, competitions, and even my summers. Once my wrestling career was over, I had a little void. 

All of this happened in the late 80s, and during this time, the SF State campus was a hotbed of political activism. Our professors were the students in the student movements that created the first Ethnic Studies program in the United States. All those radical students returned and became professors: Angela Davis, Oba Tashaka, Laura Head, and others. We're being taught by these very conscious and radical thinkers and reading revolutionary texts and biographies.

I was combining this education with what was happening in the world then: the Rodney King beating, the O.J. Simpson decision, the Gulf War. These activities were galvanizing and formative, and they happened as I became a man and formed my thoughts outside of school, sports, and my home. I became radicalized through this. I joined an outside organization and was part of the founding group. And it was an anti-war organization called the Roots Against War, RAW for short. We organized rallies that drew thousands, sometimes tens of thousands, into the streets. We were super international: Palestinians, South Africans, Cubans, and Irish. We had people like Jivika, who was from Sri Lanka. We had people who weren't students, just activists and people who cared. I was moved by these activists dedicating so much time to organizing, making flyers, making banners and signs. Nobody was getting paid either. They weren't motivated by money; this was inspiring and moving. I was learning about struggles in South Africa, Sri Lanka, and Mexico; I was learning about the student movements in these countries — the concept of "they thought they buried us, but they didn't know we were seeds." There was the whole movement and the bonds we created. My belief is that your best friends are friends you make under conditions when you're struggling. Whether in school, work, or activism, these are bonds I still hold dearly.

Then I joined another group, the All-African People's Revolutionary Party, abbreviated as the A-APRP — we organized African Liberation Day. The mantra was about educating and organizing your community. Kwame Nkrumah was the founder, and then Kwame Ture (formerly known as Stokely Carmichael) led the party. This group wasn't about direct action in the streets, like the other groups I was involved with. They were more about learning, educating, and reading books. There were books on Africa, African history, and socialism and how that fits into African life — these years formed my political ideology as a Pan-Africanist, from a global perspective to a local one — just being a hands-on activist, supporting community people in all sorts of ways.

Derrick: I had a feeling you would have a cool story around that question, and you didn’t disappoint! Thank you so much for sharing so much of that. There's a lot to unpack there, and we will likely unpack more as the conversation continues, but that was incredible.

How have you built Red Bay with community at the forefront of what you're doing here? What are specific ways that you have done that? I know you're B Corp, and I know that you're hiring people of color and making that a priority, but like outside of some of these things that you've shared on social media, are there other specific things that you want to call out that have been a pillar of how you built this?

Keba:

The product is just as important as the mission

When it comes to mission and community-driven companies and organizations, there's no shortage of them. But one thing I've noticed for mission-driven commercial products is that the mission is often very forward, and they're nailing it, but they don't always nail the product. And you can find someone to support you and check you out once. If it's a $7 chocolate bar or a $15-20 bag of coffee and you're having that cup of coffee in the morning, it's part of your ritual, and it's not on point, you're just not going back. And I don't blame them. So, no matter what else we did, I always knew we had to get the product right, along with the mission. We had to walk and chew gum. We had to be about community-driven business, quality control, quality assurance, taste, and developing and hiring the best people.

Red Bay's first employee

For instance, our first employee, Kori Chen, reached out to me because he was writing something and wanted to interview me when I had Guerrilla Cafe.

He interviewed me for a little blog called Chasing Cheddar. Man, I just really admired this cat. He had a lot of good energy and was out organizing in the streets of New Orleans and the South; he was bold and community-driven. His parents were legendary activists in Oakland, Chinatown, and the Bay Area. He was involved with prison reform. He knew many people in circles around that, and he brought us to some of those meetings and brought these issues around formerly incarcerated and second-chance citizens to Red Bay Coffee; this was one of our early hiring initiatives. We knew what they needed and that recidivism was (and still is) a big issue because whenever you had to fill out a job application, there was a box for "Have you ever been convicted of a crime?" So we've participated in trying to get that box eliminated from job applications. We hired some of our first few people from some of those communities. 

Ultimately, I'm still new to business and entrepreneurship. I did start Guerrilla Cafe, but my past entrepreneurial efforts were maybe more on the "hustle" side than the official side of entrepreneurship. I'm still learning to this day. A lesson has been our shipping container concept. The idea was that the employees would keep the profits, and Red Bay Coffee would place this container and set it up for business. We would sell coffee to that outlet in the wholesale, and we would be making money on wholesale, and the team that managed it would have their salary and keep the profits. In retrospect, I was a little naive, and what I had not anticipated was how hard it would be to make a profit and what would happen. Eventually, we struggled to make a profit there at that location. But we still wanted to give the employees some raises, but by giving them raises, it made the profit even further out. 

Equity in the company

They collectively decided to forgo that model and pushed to get shares in the company (as a whole and not just that one single outlet). We wanted to make sure to offer stock options for every employee, not just the executive suite, not just the managers, but every single barista has stock options.

Kickstarter

For funding, we did a Kickstarter, and at that time (2015), the most anyone had ever raised in the coffee category was $50k. However, we needed more than that, so we set the goal at $80k. The thing about Kickstarter is that if you don't hit your goal, you don't get the money. Even though we had just started a year before, I felt confident (I don't know where my confidence was coming from) that the community was behind us and that we could raise that money. We had over 800 people contribute, raising $88k. We blew past through the record. The campaign was strong community engagement. 

Other activities include donating coffee. Sometimes, for example, after getting rained out at the farmer's market, we take our van out to some of the homeless encampments under the freeway bridges and give coffee for free to the homeless people.

When we picked our headquarters, we had community in mind. We're in the heart of the Fruitvale District, on the corner of Fruitvale Avenue and International Boulevard. It's not that there's no coffee around here, but there's certainly no specialty coffee. There's Hasta Muerte up Fruitvale, which we love, but a coffee shop to this scale, you just won't find it.

We placed it out here in East Oakland, where you're just not used to walking up to an oasis like this, especially for coffee, where there is top-of-the-line equipment, a beautiful space, two-story ceilings, big windows, lounge seats, plants everywhere, beautiful modern designer lamps, and an environment that's worthy of the community, and serving products that make sense. We can't forget it's still a commercial rental, though, and our prices aren't discounted because we're trying to pay a fair wage and buy quality products. But the fact that we're here on this corner, open daily, is a testament to our love for this community.

Derrick: In the documentary that y'all did with Upwork called “Beautiful Coffee,” there was a segment where you talked about replacing the words "supply chain" (based on its meaning within the context of slavery) with "value stream."

Can you highlight and celebrate specific partners throughout your value stream within this conversation to show that this is an ecosystem?

Keba: We're intentional about the partners and people we connect with. For some of these partners, you'll taste their element of our product. Then, some are in the background, and you'll never know. The people who dug the trenches, the people who did the construction, the plumbers, the electricians, the architects — we're very intentional around finding and choosing underrepresented professionals, laborers, all the above who are at the top of their game.

Ghost Town Oats

One great example from the value stream is that we just launched a product called Ghost Town Oats. Ghost Town Oats is a new product from a Black and Queer-founded oat milk company founded by Michelle Johnson (pictured below). They're the first Black-owned oat milk company in the country. I glow with pride when she says she's a former Red Bay employee. It was a brief pre-pandemic employment. We brought her on as our trainer and educator, and then the pandemic hit and threw everybody for a loop.

Red Bay mocha

Our mocha product starts with two different coffees with espresso. One is from Tanzania. One element comes from Burundi and a Burundian woman who left tech to go back home and start this. She's also the importer of her coffee at her farm, which she's a producer of.

The other element is Guatemalan coffee imported by a Guatemalan-led organization called Onyx. Not to be confused with the coffee brand Onyx, Onyx is an importer or coffee importer of green coffee. And that's Guatemalan coffee grown by Guatemalans, obviously imported from a Guatemalan group. 

We’ve had two coffee buyers: the first was Alicia, a Black woman. Now, we have Karla Mancio, a Guatemalan woman. She's the buyer and developed the roast profile.

Our two production roasters, Solomon (he’s in the video below) and Ashley (she’s in the photo below), a Black man and a Black woman, are brilliant at what they do and super dedicated.

The coffee roasted at our cafes is made mostly by Black and Brown baristas. So we've got this shot of espresso, Ghost Town Oats, and cru chocolate mocha from Karla.

There are also other examples of the bakers and suppliers that we use. Then, when you buy a Red Bay Coffee drink, right on the cups, the beautiful African print cups are designed by our Chief of Brand, Rachel, a Black woman, and her Head of Design, a Black man named Nick James. So you got that cup, which is compostable, and you've got the chocolate, the milk, the espresso — that's how we think about the value stream.

Supply chain and some people use the language they were taught, but often there's so much in it. And when you do, it's not about being politically correct. It's really about how our language informs how we think about the world and our choices. And when you think of just even the metaphor, just myself as an artist and thinking about words and metaphors and pictures that come to my mind. Like why do we, as a Black-owned company celebrating this liberation, need to keep thinking about chains as a metaphor, like who needs it?

A stream is water and life-giving. It moves where it needs to move. It could separate or join. We go out of our way to be intentional about who we're doing business with and who we buy from.

Derrick: What values do you consider when bringing on a potential partner within the value stream?

Keba: One low-hanging fruit is the demographic: Are they from an underrepresented community? Are they women, people of color, disabled, or immigrants?

The next layer under that is, for example, on the farm level, are they positively impacting the environment/their environment? What are their practices? Are they not exploiting children? That seems easy, but that's not always the case with coffee, chocolate, or things from developing countries. Do they have an interesting story? Are they doing other things in their community? For example, Alba Rosa Claros is doing amazing work supporting trafficked women and is one of our green coffee suppliers. Sometimes that's enough. If you're just a Black woman here, you're baking and trying to survive, and they don't have to be B Corp certified or anything like that. It's a struggle just to exist and be in business. So that's very often enough for us.

Derrick: What are the struggles of a business like yours that wants to be community-minded and intends to continue to operate in this way? What struggles might people not be aware of or see looking in from the outside?  

Keba:

Running a business isn’t easy

It is really challenging to run a business and break even. It may be easy for some people, but it's challenging for everybody I know and from my personal experience. The things that can go wrong are employees, funding, customer reviews, paying rent, and just the outside external forces of COVID and policies. And so there's just for anybody running any business is challenging. So then you put layers on top of wanting to be intentional.

The lack of diversity and paying fair wages in the coffee industry

Historically, the most represented people in the coffee industry, on the roasting and cafe side, are white men. We want to hire a Black and African-American roaster since that does not happen often.

The talent pool is very small, so we've gone to adjacent industries, such as chocolate because you roast and develop, and wine because you have to develop your palate. We've trained people in adjacent industries to coffee, which takes more training. Every once in a while, you'll find one of those unicorns who are experts at what they do.

And now we've been doing this a long time, so they know us, and they're attracted. Sometimes, we can hire experienced people at the top of their game. Very often, we're training them and sourcing the talent to fulfill the promise that at the very beginning, I told you, we want to show up excellent, compete with the very best, and be very product-forward — we want to do that. But the challenge with this is paying a living wage and, ideally, paying more than minimum wage. When we started, we were paying $15 an hour, which today doesn't sound like much, but I think the minimum wage in 2014 in Oakland was close to $10-$11 an hour, and the federal minimum wage was $7. 

We held at $15, but the minimum wage soon caught up to us. And then we had to try to stay, we went, we didn't just want to stay ahead to stay ahead. We wanted to be able to, but business is tough, and you can't just keep raising salaries. We're trying to make ends meet, and we're trying to get to that magical sort of break-even point when we're investing in elaborate industrial-scale manufacturing equipment. We want to compensate people fairly for their talent, work, and labor.

Operating in the Fruitvale District

Then, there are the struggles to show up and be on the corner in the hood. With sideshows happening, windows getting smashed, bullets flying, people that ain't well just wandering in and disturbing the peace.

Reevaluating partners

We also want to reevaluate our partners. For example, are our partners living up to our current expectations at the farm level? We validated it in 2017, but is it still valid in 2024? We don't have the budget to send people all over the world.

Standard HR challenges

When you hire folks who might not have gotten jobs at other places, some issues they come with are trust issues, antisocial behavior, and managing the HR side of people relations.

Getting past gatekeepers

Those are the handful of misconceptions about being a predominantly Black and Brown-owned company. The perception of big corporate clients means they'll throw a bone at us for Black History Month. Juneteenth showed up on the radar in the last few years, which is beautiful, and I don't resent it because we'll take that bone. We'll take the door's opening and prove what we can do to get our foot in the door. Now that the doors are unlocked, we will push our way in there. We'll meet with their Black employee resource group and have them advocate for us. We're going to get our foothold and try to build within there. But we're still going up against more established brands that may look like the purchasing managers' perception of quality.

Derrick: Thank you so much for giving me more context. I'm realizing how many pieces there are to all of this. But obviously, you're doing it with a wonderful team and community behind you.

I want to transition into what's happening in the Bay Area right now. There seems to be a national narrative about what's happening here and some of the stuff you see in the news when you tune in: "Oh, crime is like this in the Bay Area. Oh, it's not safe for tourists. Bippings and all these things are happening. Companies are moving out of Downtown SF and closing up business there." The narrative can seem troubling right now.

What advice do you have for local community-driven businesses as we continue to push forward and try to be a light in the Bay area and change that?

Keba:

Do what you need to do for yourself first

I would say do what's right for you and your family. I see people try to stick it out no matter what, and that's not necessarily always my advice. You could really get beat down. You could try sticking it out for the community because you love it. The reality is that many of us are stuck in a legal lease as a contract, or we're in debt, so it's not easy to quit. I don't want people to feel so obligated where it's just community first, and if this is just too much, too heavy, too much of a burden, and you need to tap out, do what you need to do for your mental health, your physical health, and your family. I don't want you out here having strokes, heart attacks, and mental anguish. It's no joke, but I understand what is at stake. People often put their life and family savings into these businesses and storefronts. And if you are in that position and you're going to stay in there and you're going to hang and stick it through, don't suffer silently. Tap in and let your community know.

What's interesting is there's a lot on this topic, but I'll hit some different points. Around here in Fruitvale, ain't nobody really getting bipped. But our business is down 30, almost 40% from last year. And it feels like it's the perception; it just feels like fewer people are out. There's just a fear. And it's not like shit doesn't go down in this neighborhood, but it's a different set of problems.

The general lawlessness is palpable in the streets. And I'm here a lot. I live five blocks up here. Then I come here to the HQ, and then five blocks, or three blocks the other way, is our real street. This is almost like my company campus. The Red Bay campus is right here in the Fruitvale District. So I'm here a lot. I always see sideshows in the middle of the intersection, so we have our challenges.

Let your community know what you need

One thing is we always want to make more posts. And I know a lot of entrepreneurs are proud people. We don't always want to get on social media and beg people to come to our shop or say, "Hey, we're struggling and need your support." We're proud people. I think about some advice I saw somebody give to musicians who have several thousand followers. They're complaining because they don't have millions of followers. But listen, you've got several thousand people in your room. These are your people. That's your tribe. Work with that, hold on to those people, and ensure they return. Tap in, voice what you need, and don't be shy about asking your community for what you need. You'd be surprised how they'll show up for you.

Build stronger relationships with your customers and community

Over the last week (at headquarters), I've been coming downstairs. There's a 4,000-square-foot location on the ground floor, with lounge seating, counter seating, and big windows. You could probably fit 40 people in here. There's a mezzanine looking over. My office is on the mezzanine. I'll go downstairs, pull up to everybody in the room, and tell them, "Thank you. It means a lot that you're here. I'm the owner of the company, and just seeing you here warms my heart as we're slower than we were last year. And you chose to come here today and sit here with a single cup of coffee for a couple of hours and take your calls, work on your paper, or just hang out. It means a lot, and don't think it's going unnoticed. And here's a free drink card for your next visit." I've been doing that, and it's touching. Like a woman yesterday was like, "Can I give you a hug?" And she just gave me a hug — I almost cried. And she was like, "I lived in his neighborhood, but somehow I just didn't get to coming here, and I thank you so much for having this kind of space." Another brother was like, "Oh man, I'm from Tennessee. I'm new to the area. I'm a teacher over here, but I got my side hustle. I make leather bags and love to collaborate on something." Another couple said, "Oh yeah, we were part of a downtown co-op restaurant, but we love coming here." These aren't just good gestures from me as the business owner. I get to learn about the people who show up. Another woman, an older Filipino woman, I wasn't sure if she even spoke English, but she had her cappuccino, and I could tell she understood what I was saying. And she was appreciative.

Anyway, back to the question of how we are dealing with this perception of Oakland and the Bay Area and trying to run a business during these times.

Advocating for small businesses

Some people are out there working behind the scenes on your behalf, on our behalf. People like Nigel Jones from Kingston 11 and Calabash. He should just focus on running his restaurant, marketing, getting people in the door, managing his staff, managing the food, just doing all the hard work it takes for a restaurant, sourcing the quality, and everything else. But he's out here at these community meetings, wrangling these city, county, and state officials holding their feet to the fire, demanding that they support the businesses.

Tap in with the business district communities. Every neighborhood has a little business community, our business association. You can attend community meetings or go to city hall and show up to support safer and cleaner streets; your local activists are out there pushing agendas, so please support them.

Engaging on social media

If you can't show up, post a picture because it goes a long way. Or if you can't post, like a comment. Often, social media is a lifeline because it's our primary channel for marketing, and it's what we can afford. We can't always pay to take out ads. So when you see your community business post something, don't just like it; comment on it, too. It shows engagement, which gets the algorithm going.

We have 45k followers, but we'll put a beautiful post out and get 80-100 likes, and I know this did not reach everyone. And I don't know about shadow bans and all that. But I do know that when we do one of these posts, we have a lot of engagement, like when we do say more overt political posts, like we did on King's Day, calling out the genocide in Palestine or in July with the fourth America calling out just the things that are happening in the country. And you have some people who might have different political opinions, and they're chiming in and challenging you. Our followers were trying to challenge them or clap back, but that level of engagement gets the virality going. So, of course, you first support the business with your dollars, let people know about it, and engage their social media in ways that help that message get out and reach the intended audience.

Derrick: Thank you so much for sharing your journey and the many vulnerable parts of the story. I feel much more connected to Red Bay now than before, and I'm very grateful for that. I appreciate this opportunity and your trust in me in this conversation and to tell your story. 

Keba: Derrick, I appreciate you reaching out. You can imagine my email inbox moving so fast. I get hundreds of emails daily, and sorting through them is tough. Yours was pretty simple; you reached out, and something authentic rang through. I was like, "Alright, this is a real one. Come through, let's talk."

Since it's February, we've got some stories to tell, so let's tell them. We've been in this storytelling mode with the tenth anniversary, digging up all these stories. And when you hit ten years, going back to Guerrilla Cafe, I've been nostalgic and a little tender around the edges thinking about the folks that got us here and who we've lost. So, for sure, we appreciate it.

"This might be my new favorite ice cream shop in the Bay," I proclaim to Dipen, whom I didn't yet know. I end up getting a split single with the Banana with Dulce de Leche and Shrikhand. My friend Adele gets the Chai. And we walked out of the shop, absolutely blown away by how delicious it was.

This memory from early December 2023 was my first experience at Miharu, and I’ve wanted to learn more about its story ever since.

In today's interview, we'll be kicking it with Dipen Pattni, Co-Owner of Miharu Ice Cream in Oakland, CA!

Table of Contents

1. Miharu's origin and how they developed their unique flavors

2. What community means to Dipen

3. The specific ways Miharu is building its business with community in mind

4. Where Miharu sources their ingredients and the partnerships/collaborations they've created

5. What help does Miharu need from the audience and the community to continue doing what it's doing?

6. Closing reflections

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Derrick: Tell me more about your role, Jessica's role, and what the team currently looks like at Miharu.

Dipen: I handle all the front-of-house stuff, including hiring, training, and scooping. Jessica's in charge of the back-of-house, making all the ice cream and cookies. We have a team of four scoopers: Noah, Scott, Marco, and Cheyenne.

Derrick: How did Miharu come to be?

Dipen: Both Jessica and I started making ice cream as a hobby; this dates back to when I was still in Tanzania, where I'm originally from. Once I moved out to the Bay Area, I started working for another ice cream company and enjoyed it for the five years I was there. I started as a scooper, making just above minimum wage; then I became a shift lead, and then I wanted to learn how to make the actual ice cream, so I kept pushing them to let me learn. Eventually, a position like this opened up, and I interviewed and got the job.

This company also happened to be where I met Jessica, my partner. She was a pastry lead, organizing everything and ensuring things ran efficiently. Once she left the company, we started dating.

Over time, we realized we wanted to do our own thing, mainly because we wanted to experiment with different flavors. Given our cultural upbringings, we've always wanted to create international flavors.

So, I quit working at the company in February 2020 but kept working part-time somewhere else until COVID-19 caused a layoff. At this point, nothing else happened besides playing Call of Duty for a few months with my friends. I had no choice but to research what we needed to do to open the business. We focused on the name, logo, and random stuff like permits from March to October. We opened in October 2020 at the Cloud Kitchen on East 12th Street in East Oakland. We could've bought or leased a food truck, but opening at the Cloud Kitchen and on the food delivery apps made the most sense because nobody was out, and we didn't want to wait up to a year to see if this business could gain traction. We saw a few flavors stick with our customers a few months in, and these flavors are still on the menu today.

Derrick: I want to dive into the flavors a bit and let the audience know that I love Miharu because of the Asian-themed flavors. Y'all have become one of my favorite ice cream places in the Bay Area. I love Fenton's because they're a classic and the OG, but Miharu is right there now. Obviously, Fenton's doesn't offer Asian-themed flavors, so it's dope that you're serving a different market.

In L.A., I love this place called Wanderlust, and in San Diego, there's a place called Stella Jean’s, both of which serve similar themed flavors. These places and Miharu are some of my tops because I'm biased (being an Asian-American), and I love my Asian-themed ice cream flavors. I'm glad that you're here! 

Why did you create all of the flavors that you offer?

Dipen: At the core of it, ice cream is the perfect blank canvas. You can always make a flavor savory, sweet, or something in between. For example, I've always wanted to create my own version of dark milk chocolate; ours is a nice balance of sweet, milky chocolate, but it's not all sugar. It's got a fruitier and darker element to it, which I think is the best of both worlds. When I was growing up, chocolate used to taste like chocolate. Now, it tastes like something else. I want a milky milk chocolate, but it's not just cocoa powder.

Then we have our lychee with raspberry rose, which is very popular. It's influenced by other places that we've gone to. Growing up, I ate rambutans, not lychee, which has a similar flavor. The raspberry part we'd had taken influence from this French baker, who put raspberry rose together with the lychee, and they tasted so good together. We knew we had to create the flavor here.

Derrick: Tell me a little about some of the Indian-inspired flavors, too.

Dipen: That's easier for me because I'm Indian, and that's all inspiration from home. Our most popular Indian ice cream flavor is Shrikhand, a dessert from where my family is from in India, Gujarat, and other nearby states. It's yogurt infused with saffron and cardamom, with almonds and pistachios mixed in. This combination makes it sweet and tangy and has a nice crunch. It's usually eaten for celebrations, as well as a daytime dessert. We've always had it during lunchtime, especially when you're in a warmer place or during a warmer time of the year; it's perfectly cooling. It's not super heavy where you feel like, "Oh man, I just ate some huge dessert."

Derrick: How many flavors do you have right now? 

Dipen: We're at 16. Hopefully, we'll add one more soon, but Jessica's not ready to unveil that yet. One thing we've learned about flavors created here versus at the Cloud Kitchen is that the only honest feedback we received from the Cloud Kitchen is how many people were getting certain ice cream flavors. We based demand on whether we ran out of a flavor in a given week. Over here, people tell you straight to your face, or you can see their reactions.

Another thing we've had to consider now is to get that balance right of savory flavors, sour flavors, and then sweet flavors. We must strike a balance between creating our signature flavors and ensuring that when somebody is stepping into the shop, they get something they would like. It's not going to happen every time, of course, because we don't want to serve the same stuff that a Baskin Robbins would, but we want there to be a flavor a customer is familiar with.

Derrick: I love the range of flavors here: sour, savory, and sweet. It seems like there is a constant process of experimentation and iteration. I also love how you don't limit the number of flavors a customer can try, which many ice cream places do. 

Dipen: Yeah, definitely. We also ensure our team members know everything about each flavor, how the ice cream is made, etc., so they can accurately describe it to customers.

Derrick: What does community mean to you? Why is community important to you?

Dipen: It means a lot to me. It's something I've learned from where I used to work. It was present even when we were at the Cloud Kitchen. You see similar names pop up on order tickets. You realize these people are super close to us in proximity, and they want to support us. Many would stop ordering on DoorDash and just come in to pick up their ice cream directly.

These were my first real face-to-face interactions with them as the owner of Miharu. Oaklanders want to support a small local business, especially if they like you, and obviously, we're doing our best to be welcoming to everybody. We're trying to make flavors that can bring them back to their childhood. Or if somebody's never had Pandan, we try to introduce it to them through the ice cream, and they're usually pleasantly surprised.

We're still on our journey to becoming more involved in the community and learning how to do that. 

Derrick: How does your cultural upbringing show up in Miharu today?

Dipen: I grew up in Tanzania, and there's a decent-sized Indian population- not huge, but still an extreme minority. It's about 1% or less; then you break that down even more.

My community had an international vibe, so I was always open to meeting people, listening, or trying new food or cuisine at lunch. My friends and I would mix and match different snacks. Food is the easiest way to learn about somebody's culture. This experience taught me about people, which has become our approach at Miharu.

We want to try different flavors and have new experiences for ourselves and the customers. We try to see what flavors customers wish to see created, inspired by their childhood, or just a random idea. I always say with a little asterisk, it won't be immediately, but we want to try it. We're always open to ideas because that's one of the funnest parts of making ice cream. You're always experimenting, whether good or bad; you always learn something, or you take part of it, and you can morph it into something else.

Derrick: And where did the name Miharu originate? 

Dipen: It's a Japanese name that means beautiful spring. Also, it's Jessica's middle name. We had different name ideas, but this one stuck, so we just went with it.

Also, my cousin designed our logo, fonts, colors, and menu.  

Derrick: What specific ways are you building Miharu with community in mind?

Dipen: With hiring, we want to hire people who are as close to the shop as possible; that doesn't mean we're looking at people's addresses. But I used to have super long 30-mile commutes — they were such a pain. So we try to hire people who live around here. It's also nice when a team member talks to a customer they know and says, "Hey, how's it going? I saw you were at the market today." Or, "Have you tried the new ramen place just around the corner?" These interactions, even subtle ones, help create a real sense of community. We want to grow this actively as time goes on.

Derrick: Everything you're saying has so much power because you're a local business that understands its role and impact in the community and continually builds a relationship with the community, creating growth that compounds. Miharu is empowering the Oakland economy and community.

Where do you source your ingredients?

Dipen: Jessica worked at the farmer's market for five or six years. Through this experience, she has developed many quality relationships with local/Central Valley farmers. We always use their produce for different flavors, especially the uglier fruit they don't sell. We'll buy it or use it because we're going to blend it up anyway, no matter how it looks.

We always try to incorporate this mentality into our ice cream. Currently, we get Cara cara navel oranges from Jessica's good friend. We collaborate with someone named Farmer Eric. He's always at the San Leandro Farmer's Market. We also get Yakimo sweet potatoes from Borba Family Farms. We also focus on organic produce and organic ingredients from the dairy. We use Straus Dairy, which is local. We use Signal Coffee, started in Alameda, for the coffee we put in our ice cream. I emailed them one day, "Hey, we want to make a coffee flavor. Do you sell big bags of coffee?" Everyone else I emailed for coffee was from slightly larger companies, and they never got back to me. But the owner of Signal, Brendan, emailed me immediately at 10 pm on a Saturday. Boom! I asked him when I could pick it up, and he said Monday. Then I just went over and met the owner, picked the beans up, and our partnership started from there.

Derrick: I love the speed at which local businesses can collaborate and partner. This helps to create such a strong local economy and community — the power of this can't be understated.

Dipen: Another example I want to shout out is a guy I know named Daryle, an Oakland-based baker who started a company called D’s Treats. He makes cakes, pies, and drinks, and we met at the Cloud Kitchen. We met one day and shared what we both do, and he told me he loves ice cream. I brought him to the back of our area, and we ate some of our ice cream. He enjoyed it and told me he wanted me to make custom flavors for him. We have a partnership now where we'll use his cakes in our ice cream, or he'll use our ice cream in his cakes. He has a similar outlook to us about trying different flavors and combinations. He has a wide range of things that match up with us. We need more collaborations, like, "You get my vision, I get your vision, let's make it happen." 

Derrick: Are there any other examples of partnerships you've tapped into recently? Are you planning upcoming collaborations like that?

Dipen: One prime example is Soke, who's been helping us with our social media recently, specifically reels and videos. She's been a fan of our ice cream and kept coming to the shop and asking to help us in this area.

She also makes juices that she'll bring into the shop and does pop-ups a few times a week. At some point, we want to do an ice cream or sorbet flavor with her juices.

So we're hoping to do things like that. Now that we're on a bigger scale, it's challenging to do that all the time.

Derrick: What do you need help with from the community? 

Dipen: The most significant area is just telling your family and friends. We're still new here and evolving in our journey to become part of the community and Oakland.

We were hidden for 2.5 years at the Cloud Kitchen but greatly appreciate our Day Ones. They saw us in this random building with zero signs and no name on the front.

Derrick: Your journey happened organically, with both of you working in ice cream and realizing that you wanted to try your flavors and do your own thing. You went from the Cloud Kitchen, testing the idea and seeing traction. Then, seeing enough success to justify having a storefront from there, you plug into the local Oakland community, making sure that you know what this place is about, how you can make an impact here, and also bring people into what you're doing to your hiring strategy and your ingredient strategy.

You have a compelling story. Thank you so much for what you're building and how you're building it. I'm more invested in what you're doing and want to continue seeing this place grow. I hope more of the audience now feels the same way, too.

Yes, absolutely. Let's make Oakland proud. Right now, given the landscape and everything you hear in the news, Oakland is always portrayed in a negative light. How about we find a way to highlight examples and stories like Miharu's to spread more light and positivity in Oakland? This place is still incredible.

Dipen: If you see the news, it's evident that Oakland can do things to help and change things around, but we're still here and trying to serve delicious ice cream. Oakland deserves to have delicious and interesting ice cream. We want to make good stuff and bring people to Oakland.

Derrick: I'm going to share the s*** out of this story, and we're going to run up all the numbers here, and we’re going to make sure that you have too much business from now on.

I appreciate you, your time, and trusting me with your story and allowing me to tell it. Now, can I tap into some of this ice cream?

Dipen: Yeah, let's see what Jessica's making.

If you’re looking for some dope Miharu content, check out this Instagram Reel of Dipen teaching us how to make a Banana Split!

Thanks again to Josh for helping with this episode!

"Aye, it's dark as f*** in here! I'm out!" screamed one of the guys with a flashlight as he started sprinting towards one of the exits. Then we all started running out of the abandoned naval building, with each stride further breaking each piece of shattered glass on the floor, mixed in with rumble and remnants of torn-down walls.

This was one of my early memories of the Alameda Naval Station (aka the Base), which, for most of my life, included many empty buildings across its 2.5k acres. My friends and I would come to the Base at night and venture into these buildings to see if one of them was haunted. These excursions were the only actual forms of entertainment happening on the Base during these times.

But in the late 2010s, a beer company named Almanac came in and made a splash statement about what the Base could be, aside from a destination for exaggerated haunted excursions amongst immature high school sophomores and juniors.

In today's interview, we'll chop it up with Kevin Scoles, EVP of Sales at Almanac!

Table of Contents

1. Almanac’s origin story/ethos, why he joined the company

2. Why is community important to Almanac?

3. What are ways Almanac is being community-minded in how they're building the company and product?

4. What help does Almanac need from the audience and the community to continue doing what it’s doing?

5. Closing reflections

Derrick: What's the elevator pitch for Almanac? What makes Almanac different from other breweries?

Kevin: From day one, Almanac's goal has been to draw the one-to-one connection between ingredients and the end product in beer. I'll dive into our name because that's so important.

Our name, Almanac, comes from the Farmer's Almanac. You may be familiar with that, but the Farmer's Almanac has been published annually since 1818. It's a historical reference to weather patterns that farmers use to help them know when to plant their crops and when to supplement water; there was a lot of connection between the name Almanac and weather patterns.

I'll dive into the origin story because Almanac was founded in 2010 and 2011. Our co-founders, Damian and Jesse, met in a homebrew club. As they started to evaluate the marketplace and wanted to start a brewery together, they thought there was a big gap here in the Bay Area.

Here we are, in the home of the farm-to-table movement — thank you, Alice Waters, who's just a few miles up the road at Chez Panisse. But there was still a big disconnect between consumers and which ingredients mattered in beer. You could show up to any of a couple of hundred restaurants within the Bay Area, sit down, and learn exactly where the lettuce was grown, where your protein was raised, and for your bottle of wine, you would show up and learn about the terroir from where the grapes were grown. But even though there were some great craft breweries at the time, the beer was just dropped off and left with the consumer, and there: A) wasn't much of a story behind that presentation, and B) consumers also didn't realize how much ingredient sourcing mattered. And beer is just like a great jazz composition or a delicious meal — it's only as good as the sum of its ingredients. 

All that acts premised from day one has always been to, again, draw that one-to-one connection between farm, whether that's the barley farmer or the fruit farmer that we work with on a lot of our sour and wild beers, and the end product and let consumers know that, again, the sum of the final product is only going to be as good as the sum of its parts. 

In our first six years, 90% of the beers we released were direct collaborations with family-owned farms. For example, we would partner with a farm like Blossom Bluff Orchards outside of Visalia and brew a specific beer with them that was released once. We would win numerous medals and awards and get emails, and people would say, "Hey, when can we buy this beer again?" And we would say, "Bad news, never." We brewed that beer once, and we won't make it again. But as time passed, we realized there were better business plans, so we created a brand people could connect with.

To this day, we still hone in on that focus of working directly with family-owned farms, whether it's Blossom Bluff Orchards, Sierra Cascade Blueberry Farm in Chico, or King Orchards in Michigan, where we get our cherries from. We can source all of our ingredients down to their specific farm. And we're lucky to have our neighbors, Admiral Maltings, right next door. Admiral Maltings is California's first post-Prohibition maltster – essentially, they're a middle-person between the barley farmer and the brewer. It's the maltster setting up the barley to be brewed and having those sugars be consumable by the yeast during the brewing process. Admiral sources most of their grain from farmers between Fresno and Sacramento. Often, it's locally sourced grain that's malted locally and then brewed here locally. So, tracing ingredients to where they come from is essential to our actions.

Derrick: Why did you join Almanac? 

Kevin: Great question; I'll start with why I joined the beer industry. There have been two industries I have focused on during my career.

For 12 years, I worked in the music industry for a company called Ernie Ball, which makes guitar basses and guitar accessories, working on the marketing side of the business for them. I started working for them in San Luis Obispo; the company relocated to Palm Springs, where I lived for ten years before returning to the Bay Area. And I grew up in Northern California.

So, when I made that move, it was in 2013. At the time, the music industry was struggling, and there were few jobs in music just because record sales were in a tough spot with the incoming digital streaming age. I started to look into other industries I would be interested in, and since I was a home brewer, craft brewing was at the top of the list. It was either going to be snowboarding, skateboarding, or craft beer. 

I started working in the industry for several companies before Almanac. This whole time, I still had a close relationship with Damian, Almanac's founder, going back ten years and joining the company about three years ago. For me, the ethos is what drew me in. Almanac has a fantastic reputation for brewing delicious beer.

But what was most important to me were the people who work here, the vibe here, and things like Almanac being part of the Inclusion Project, which essentially deems Almanac a safe space; there's no room for hate, homophobia, sexism, or racism here. All the things Almanac has stood for and has proudly stood for for many years are essential to me. It's inspiring. I love the product. I love the angle that we're going with the brand. But most importantly, the initiatives that Almanac gets behind and the type of people that work here.

I've always been motivated by passion. Pursuing that passion in my career has been very important because when you work in an arena you're passionate about, you become very self-motivated to succeed.

Working in an industry that I'm passionate about, for a brand that I'm passionate about, and with people who are just great, welcoming, friendly, good souls keeps me going every day. It gets me excited to wake up in the morning.

Derrick: Why is community important to Almanac?

The attraction to Alameda for setting up headquarters

Kevin: It goes back to some of the things I touched Base on already. A lot of that was built around Damian's welcoming personality. We've been in the market as a brewery since May 2011, when we released our first beer, which we had aged for over a year. We only moved to Alameda Island in February of 2018. Before that, we existed as what's known as a partner brewer. So we would go to another brewery, use their equipment to brew our beer, age that beer in oak for several months, and then release it to the marketplace. When we started looking for a place to call our home, having a community we could feel a part of and lean into was a big draw for us. When we started to look for a home, we looked as far as Livermore, throughout the East Bay, and a little bit in the South Bay. The thing that attracted us to Alameda Island was that sense of pride, that sense of community. People are very passionate about being Alamedans here.

Alameda is a connection point for people. We wanted to build our taproom around that, and we're proud of the deliberate community and family-friendly approach we've created. Believe it or not, that's unique in the craft beer space. There are a lot of amazing breweries that certainly allow families, but we've leaned into being a pillar of the community and a community hub — we're most proud of that.

When you come here and spend time on the weekend, it's a melting pot of the Alameda community: young families, young couples, a car club, a retired couple, a single person with their dog — there isn't one demographic. It's an accurate snapshot of Alameda, which we're very proud of.

The Alameda Naval Air Station/Base

We moved to this building six years ago, and it's incredible how much the former Naval Air Station has changed since then. We've been an anchor tenant since the early days. Some other tenants were in the area, but the Alameda Naval Air Station was still building up to what it is now. It's inspiring to see the Seaplane Ferry Station finally open, which was discussed for years, and the potential performing arts center they're looking to get approved.

There are so many great businesses here on the island. We've got our neighbors, Faction Brewing, Humble Sea Brewing, and Admiral Maltings. We know a rising tide raises all ships. The Base has become a destination for people now, where people will come and spend a half day out here and then go to Firebrand Artisan Breads. Or their kids are playing soccer at the Bladium, and they'll come hang out afterward. The Base isn't just a community hub; the island is also becoming a destination point for the extended Bay Area. And that's great for Alameda as a whole because the Alameda community is so unique, and whether it's the beautiful houses downtown or the great historic Park Street, there are so many significant aspects about Alameda. And the more the Base can draw people in, the more they'll see how fantastic the other parts of the city are. It makes such a remarkable story when people visit us to give them the history of the Base, which was formed in 1937. Our building was built in 1942 with all the original redwood and Douglas fir still intact. In fact, at that point, there was a freight train that would run right down the middle of our building. They wouldn't build planes here on Alameda Island, but they would repair planes that would come back from the Pacific Theater damaged during World War II. So, our building housed the parts, and the next building did the repairs. When you're on the Base, the history becomes palpable when you see these old buildings and the remarkable structures that have been repurposed. It makes for a fun vibe and a fun backdrop. The Base started in 1937, was decommissioned in 1996-1997, and sat idle for the next 15ish years until some businesses began slowly moving in.

Derrick: Kevin's just over here giving history lessons! And I love that. I had yet to learn that this was what happened in either this building or the adjacent buildings. I've always driven around the Base and knew some of the history because I went to Alameda High, and it's talked about here and there, but it's cool to know that this hanger was doing some cool stuff back in the day. 

Kevin: Our building housed old circus equipment. When our founders came to look at this spot and scope it out, it was creepy because they opened the doors and walked in; some old clowns were propped up in the corner, and some defunct roller coasters were set up in the other corner. It was quite the look, but it's been a wonderful home for us. We couldn't be more excited about it. We feel lucky that the community has welcomed us over the last six years.

Derrick: As a native, I want people to feel welcome and experience how beautiful the city is. As I mentioned, we've been under the radar for so long, and it's cool to know that now people appreciate this place. So, thank you for coming in and bringing what you have to the community. 

What are ways you feel Almanac is being community-minded in how you're building this?

Kevin: I'd love to share more about the charitable causes we lean into each year, specifically around Love Hazy IPA, which is our number-one-selling beer. It's a beer that we make year-round. It's nearly 45 % of our total production and one of the most popular beers in California. It's in every Safeway in the state of California, every Whole Foods, every Bevmo, and every Total Wine. It's been on tap at places like California Adventure, Oracle Park, Dodger Stadium, and the Hollywood Bowl. You can find it in so many places throughout the marketplace. We switch the label on our most popular beer twice yearly and give back to a local charity.

The first time is in May and June. Every year for the last six years, we've partnered with the Oakland LGBTQ+ Community Center, which they're doing some fantastic work. If anyone's unfamiliar with them, check them out and see some of the work they've done for the greater East Bay community. They do everything from counseling to clinical work and everything in between. Every May and June, we switch the label on the "Love" can to a Pride label and put the statement on the can that "love is love." Then, we give a portion of the proceeds of every case sold back to the community center. Over the last six years, the program has raised close to $40,000 in total donations. It's a partnership we're proud of. We have many LGBTQ+ community members on our staff and in management, so it's an area we hold close to our hearts.

I mentioned earlier that Almanac is a safe space, so there's zero tolerance for any homophobia, sexism, racism, or any of those types of things that just aren't accepted here at Almanac. We've got it on posters throughout the brewery, and we want to let the community know that everybody should feel safe to come and spend time here. Then, the other time of year, we change the label on Love Hazy IPA during the holidays: we switch it up to a Christmas-themed label. Then, we give a portion of the proceeds back to the Alameda Food Bank, which happens to be our neighbor here right behind us on the island. And they're doing some fantastic work as well. They take a different approach than most food banks do, where they have a grocery store-style setup. It brings a lot of dignity to the process as if you're going to a typical grocery store; you get your grocery card, and everything's set up. So you can go and pick and choose the items you want to take home versus most food banks where you show up, and you get a box of the donations they've received, which is also terrific. But it's great to see the different approach that Alameda Food Bank has taken. We also do another charitable beer called The Future is Fluid. We just brewed the first batch of that beer this past week here, but we release it yearly for International Women's Day on March 8th. Then, we donate some of the proceeds back to the Pink Boots Society. The Pink Boots Society promotes diversity, equity, and inclusion within the brewing industry, highlighting females in the brewing industry and creating opportunities and a sense of community for them.

Derrick: From what you just shared, Almanac is putting its money where its mouth is when it comes to supporting the community in unique ways, too. You all understand who you are as a company and what your team looks like, and you represent them in the way you're doing business and creating business.

As you mentioned, Almanac works with different local and California farms. Can you talk to me and explain how you engage the community to build the actual Almanac product? What does that look like, and how has it also been community-driven?

Kevin: Some of those relationships date back to before Almanac officially started. Damian and Jesse were home brewing, so they would go to the SF Ferry Building Farmers Market on Saturdays and purchase fruit to put in these Belgian-style beers they were making. Blossom Bluff Orchards, which I mentioned earlier, was one of the first relationships we developed; they just met them directly by purchasing fruit from their stand at the farmers' market. Also, from a waste elimination perspective, this process provides a source to sell fruit that might be bruised, or they might want to avoid putting it on the shelf at Whole Foods or taking it to the farmers' market. However, the fruit still has all these delicious sugars and flavors we're looking to include in our product as brewers. 

The vast majority of fruit we purchase is from California-based family farms. Sometimes, we'll go to spots like King's Ranch in Michigan simply because they have a cherry variety, a Balaton and Montmorency, that plays well with our beer recipes. But last year, to give you an example, we purchased a little over 60,000 pounds of fruit for our beer recipes.

Also, during brewing, you have leftover barley, which still has some great protein and makes great feed for cattle and pigs. We have local farms that will come pick up that feed free of charge. It's an excellent outlet for us because it gets us gets it out of our backyard. The farmers love it because it makes delicious feed for their livestock, and once a year, they'll bring us some cheese or a little trade of an item they've made through the farm. But it becomes a great circle of life where we support the farms, purchase some of their goods, and provide grain for them. And it becomes an excellent working relationship for everyone.

Derrick: The whole ecosystem you mentioned has so much intention. I want to call that out to the audience. There's an ecosystem here at play, and your average beer drinker probably only thinks about that whole ecosystem sometimes. But when you're drinking that beer, so much goes into it.

Kevin: And that's a great point because we've changed many ways we market regarding branding and marketing. Those were the things that were very much the backbone of our marketing plan, the farm-to-barrel or farm-to-bottle process and leaning into that aspect of our business. These days, from an in-your-face marketing aspect, that's not what we rely on. We trust into more being part of the moment, being part of the vibe with brands like Love and True and Flow, and the new brand Seaside we're getting ready to release is meant to be part of the moment. But at the same time, we still use those same processes and have never compromised our ethos in terms of ingredient sourcing. So those are all things that are still very important to us when crafting our product. But just from a visual marketing standpoint, we lean into the fun aspect of our brand.

Derrick: Absolutely. Staying present with what's happening is a great call out, too. You see some brands hesitant to stay current in the moment. It takes a lot of courage for a brand to lead in that way, to show up in that way, so I want to give that call out. 

Kevin: Thank you, I appreciate that. And that's something that we try to do deliberately. A motto we say is, "In transmutation, we trust." The brand constantly evolves, which is important in staying relevant in the marketplace and for consumers. No matter what kind of product you're talking about, whether it's beer, the music industry, or the automobile industry, everything has a lifespan, and you think of car design and cars will keep that same design pattern for four, five, six years, and then things will evolve a little bit. And sometimes, it might be a subtle tweak. Sometimes, it might be something more pronounced, but you look at something like the Mustang over the years and see how that brand has changed but still attracted a similar consumer and stayed true to who it is as a brand. Those are all things we look at, and something we try to do when planning our business is look at other industries. Often in business, you get stuck looking at your competitors and saying, "Hey, what are our competitors doing or what's happening in our industry?" But some of the greatest ideas come from outside of the industry, regardless of what business you're in.

Derrick: For any local business owner or someone aspiring to be a business owner who might be listening, what advice do you have for building a community-minded business?

Kevin: It starts and ends with creating a welcoming environment. If this aspect isn't there, it's hard for all other things to resonate. It starts with simple things like making eye contact, smiling, and being friendly. The more warmth we bring to our interactions with the community, the more sense of community we'll have.

Derrick: What plans does Almanac have to continue to be community-minded in other businesses?

Kevin: We'll continue to lean into what is vital for us, especially diversity, equity, and inclusion. That's true for us internally, regarding how we run our business and outwardly. And that could be with the types of events that we're putting on. It could be as simple as the recently installed sandbox out front. And what a great outlet for families to spend time here on the property. It's tough to say where exactly that might take us because we've got a lot of different plans and fun things already in place. Things can change from week to week as we develop fun ideas. We're a small enough business to remain nimble and return to our motto: "In transmutation, we trust."

But... to tease, a little project we're working on now that will be ready in mid-February is our new game center. We just recently brought in four pinball machines. We will bring in another six to ten arcade machines, like NBA Jam, car racing games, and Miss Pac-Man. Again, we want to give the community an outlet and a fun spot to hang out and spend time with their family.

Derrick: What community-driven events in recent or historical memory do you want to highlight or are proud of? I want to give the audience a sense of how you think about bringing people together.

Kevin: I'll highlight two events: one public-facing event and one private one.

Noel Fest

The public-facing event we just wrapped up about a month ago is called Noel Fest, a yearly event that we do to celebrate the holidays. And it's become a great gathering of the community. This year, Santa Claus took pictures with the kids on site for Noel Fest. We were serving hot chocolate. We had delicious beer, a food truck, and a DJ — it was a lot of fun. But then we also had the tie into the Alameda Food Bank. And they were out on site giving out information about the great work that they're doing. We set up some donation stations with QR codes where local community members could contribute funds. And it allowed us to highlight what's so unique about what Alameda Food Bank is doing as our neighbor. The Alameda community was out in full force during the event. And I know the food bank had a great time and felt an impact. 

The Golden State Warriors event for season-ticket holders

On the private side, I would mention our Christmas event with the Golden State Warriors. Every Christmas, they do an annual full buyout of the brewery. We closed down to the public that day, but it's specifically for all their season ticket holders. They do several different activations on-site. Essentially, the Warriors own the brewery that day. There are Warriors banners up and blue and gold everywhere. And they selected us to be their partner for an ongoing event like that, which is flattering. They're community-focused and have done many great things for the East Bay themselves, so having a partner like that has been incredible. Those are two beautiful examples of bringing the community together in this way.

Derrick: What help do you need from the audience and the community to continue doing what Almanac is doing?

Kevin: From a local standpoint, we want to spread the word that we're a welcoming place, a hate-free zone, and a safe space for people. Again, we are in the Bay Area, where we're lucky to have many places that believe in the same things. But the more vocal we are as businesses about this being a zero-tolerance zone and a safe space, the better.

Besides that, we love it when people take home our "Love" IPA, which keeps the lights on here, so enjoying our beers is fantastic. We also encourage people to reach out to us. You can find our contact info on the website. We take community suggestions very seriously and want to be a part of the community. If locals want to see anything they'd like to see at Almanac, we're always open to suggestions. The sky is the limit regarding the fun things we could do: live music, special events, or movie nights. We're open to all sorts of fun; if it's fun, engaging, and welcoming, it's usually in our wheelhouse.

Derrick: We're just going to bombard Kevin with ideas and make this space even more lively than it has been. Thank you so much for telling us more about how Almanac came to be, about the culture, how you've been community-driven so far, and how you plan to continue to be community-driven. I'm excited to continue to be a part of that journey with you and invite more people into that journey.

Kevin: Wonderful, Derrick — it's our pleasure. We appreciate you highlighting what we consider to be special about this place. And, of course, we enjoy seeing your face around here regularly. We're honored that you chose us for this episode. We look forward to hearing the additional episodes you do as well.

Almanac links

Website

Linktree

Instagram

Thank you to my boy, Josh, for providing feedback for this episode!

"Nature is such a huge part of me, and its presence has always been consistent."

When Celeste told me this while she, Max (her husband), and I were having lunch at a restaurant in their neighborhood called Kai Roa this past fall, I was immediately intrigued to learn more about her business, Euflora. Max had shared posts about Euflora on his Twitter and LinkedIn pages, but I only found out more about the business during this lunch.

Then, around mid-December 2023, as I began to think about this interview series, I thought back about the conversation with Celeste and had to learn more about how she had built Euflora.

Table of Contents

1. What is Euflora?

2. Why is community important to you?

3. What led you to build Euflora?

4. How have you created Euflora with a community-driven mindset?

5. What specific needs Euflora has right now that we can tangibly find ways of helping you solve?

6. Closing Reflections

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Derrick: What is Euflora?

Celeste: Euflora is a biophilic design studio that creates art with plants. We love to use plants, flowers, and local flora as the primary materials for our art.

We create direct-to-consumer products (all of which ship nationwide), such as succulent arrangements, which you can think of as living floral arrangements. We know that people will get flowers delivered in the mail, but sadly, they usually die after a week. The succulent arrangements allow us to give a gift that keeps growing.

Another product we have is our Do-It-Yourself Moss kits, which are popular and allow people to create or curate with the materials provided.

We source different types of moss and flowers locally in San Diego, and our headquarters are also in Normal Heights in San Diego.

We love these products because they're a way for friends to get together and create while having fun and spending time together. They're also a great way to exercise our creativity. Everyone starts with the same materials, but everyone always comes up with a different rendition — a different kind of piece that is unique to them.

We also offer business-to-business products, which are shipped wholesale to different shops. Our succulents and DIY kits get shipped to shops all over the country.

The other B2B product we offer is our large-scale green walls, for example, our 12-foot preserved moss walls or different panels of succulent walls that live outside.

Derrick: Are you only doing these moss and succulent walls in San Diego?

Celeste: I would love to expand at some point. One of my goals for the beginning of the year was to approach different airports and hospitals. We thought about it last year but have yet to get around to fleshing it out. But we think of these pieces as a way to help people center themselves. They're not just beautiful; they are calming in a space. And I was thinking, "What kind of businesses would benefit the most from these walls?" And my first thought was airports and hospitals, which are places that usually have a sterile vibe. I remember going to the Centurion Lounge at SFO and seeing this live green wall there. And I remember thinking, "This is the perfect place for this." It's a way to be in nature even when you're not in nature – that's an essential factor for us.

Derrick: Why is community important to you? At what point did you understand your community's impact on you and your impact on your community? Are there stories, core memories, or events that sparked this feeling of community and its importance for you?

Celeste: I’m an only child and have always been independent. I can entertain myself and have no problem being alone. I love my own company, but I started feeling lonely and wishing to be with my peers and others over time. That sense of community has always been something that was ingrained in me and something that I always craved.

I found community by playing on a sports team or playing doubles tennis.

Overall, I used to have a relatively narrow view of community, but there are lots of different forms and expressions of community. I have created my own brand of it that's natural and authentic to me.

Derrick: What were specific moments in your life where you felt a strong sense of community?

Celeste: In my formative years, it was family. Growing up, my parents were always working, and I was always left alone to do my own thing. Still, I grew up with many friends, cousins, god-brothers, and god-sisters around, so even as an only child, I felt the sibling dynamic through them – they were and still are my community. My parents couldn't be there to entertain and hang out with me, but they trusted the support system around them to be there for me. The cliché is true: raising a child takes a village (or community).

Derrick: What led you to build Euflora?

Celeste: I was very drawn to plants as a child. My dad loved designing our garden, and this activity made us bond. As a family – on the weekends – we would go on hikes, visit a botanical garden, or go to the mountains and experience nature. Nature has always been a massive part of me, and its presence has always been consistent.

I studied political science during college and considered going to law school. We have quite a few lawyers in our family, so my parents believed it to be a tried-and-true career path, similar to how many Filipinos believe nursing to be a tried-and-true career path.

I chose not to go to law school, which didn't go well with my parents, but they got over it eventually. It took me a long time to find my path. But this gave me time to follow my interests and what I was drawn to, which, at the time, involved blogging.

I created a blog about coffee back in the Tumblr days — it was called Java Aficionado. During this time, I made many blogger friends, and at a blogger meetup in Philly (my hometown), I met someone named Melissa, who became my first business partner ever. She approached me and told me she loved my blog and asked, "Who designed it?" I told her I designed it in HTML and WordPress. She said she did the same design, and we decided to take on clients together.

Femme & Fortune

Celeste: From there, we built an online magazine, Femme & Fortune, to empower women to develop their businesses and get into STEM. It was also a space to learn and talk about finance and help each other with our goals.

We presented at Philly Tech Week in 2014 and had a local community of women business owners. I loved it, and it was great for me to transfer some of the digital skills I had cultivated into helping other women find their voice in business.

Coffee

Celeste: Coffee was another subject that I really needed to discuss. And it's funny because coffee is made out of plants (the Euflora connection!). Coffee has always been romantic to me; I study specific species of coffee plants, where they grow geographically, why they produce particular notes at specific elevations and their soil composition.

I worked in coffee for a while, going from a barista to general manager to opening coffee shops for a local roaster in San Diego as one of their first employees.

While working in coffee, I was simultaneously freelancing and eventually met one of my very first clients, Lori.

Lori

Celeste: Lori used to be the Dean of the Art Institute in San Diego. She told me she wanted to open a business and work with plants. I told her I could help with the website and brand photos.

As time passed and I did more freelance digital work, I missed working with my hands. I wanted to have another creative outlet besides my business. So, I contacted Lori and asked if I could buy some materials from her, whether planters or plants, to start making arrangements for friends.

Serendipitously, she told me she was moving out of the country and liquidating the business so I could have anything. I went to her house and was like a kid in a candy store – there were all these different succulents, cacti, and planters. I rented a U-Haul to grab all this stuff to store in a storage unit and in my apartment.

My bedroom and balcony were full of plants, and I would make random arrangements here and there. I had so much fun creating! These were the early days of Euflora – just me messing with arrangements at home.

Lindsay

Celeste: At some point, my buddy, Joe, my coworker at the coffee shop I worked at before, told me he knew a guy he played rugby with whose wife, Lindsay, had a succulent business called Sweet Digs. At first, I wasn't ready to reach out, but after about a year, I finally did. When she told me her story about the business, I related to so much of it, mainly because she left Corporate America to pursue entrepreneurship. She also needed help moving more of her business online, so I helped with website design and digitizing operations.

I worked under her for a couple of years and learned about the business behind the scenes. Eventually, she moved to Arizona and asked if I wanted to buy Sweet Digs from her. This led me to Clarisse and how she became involved in Euflora.

Clarisse

Celeste: I met Clarisse, my now business partner and close friend, through a mutual connection back when I lived in Philly. She was one of my first friends IRL in San Diego when I moved.

With my newly formed hobby of creating succulent arrangements, I made an Instagram page called Euflora because I just wanted a place to share my creations. I wasn't trying to sell anything; it was all for fun.

I told her about Euflora; she thought it was a fantastic idea. She's also a graphic designer, and for one of my birthdays, she made stamps and stickers of the logo I made and gave them to me as a gift – the best gift ever!

During this time, I have been running Sweet Digs independently since Lindsay left, and it is becoming difficult. Then, it dawned on me that Clarisse would be a perfect fit as a partner in the business. We shared similar skills and values, but she's brilliant and unique. I pitched the idea of her joining – with a 12-page business plan – to her and her then-boyfriend. They said yes, and we bought the business from Lindsay. We acquired Sweet Digs and made it our own. We officially changed the name to Euflora, changed the look & feel, and eventually the business models. The rest was history, and Euflora formally became a business.

She's the best. I couldn't have asked for a better partner to do this with. She's absolutely essential to everything that is Euflora.

Derrick: How have you created Euflora with a community-driven mindset?

Celeste: As I've thought about Euflora's story, it feels like a series of happy accidents. 

The name "Euflora" is actually a combination of "You" and "Flora ."Since this is the name, it always reminds me of our relationship with nature. This naturally also reminds me to always continue engaging with the community. One of the ways we do this is by hosting workshops. Our DIY kits were born from the idea that people out there want to create but need access to the necessary resources or our workshops in San Diego. The workshops are a fun way to meet new people in our community and collaborate with other local businesses.

We do a lot of collaborations. For example, we did a two-part workshop with Mud Lily, a fabulous local and woman-owned pottery studio. We also donate our time to organizations like UPAC; they help people in underserved communities with a focus on mental health services, addiction, treatment, and rehab services for all ages.

Clarisse and I understand how fortunate we are to be in the position that we're in. We want to represent Filipino people/Filipino communities, Asian-American communities, women-owned businesses, and BIPOC-led businesses – we want to be an example of how we can do business and give back to the community. We try to give back in multiple ways, whether it's donating our time, having our product be available for shipment to (as far as) Alaska and Hawaii, volunteering at Creative Mornings, and being members of 1% for the Planet.

Hoping to hire employees at some point

Celeste: I hope we get to a point where we can be proper employers who pay fair wages and offer equity and good benefits to people in our community — to be a source of livelihood for someone outside of ourselves. This is one of my main goals. On top of that, having sound business practices and not sacrificing the nature conservancy aspect of what we do.

Creative Mornings & 1% for the Planet

Celeste: We believe everyone is creative. It's easy to say, "I'm not creative because I don't work in the arts or design." But creativity has many expressions. Strategy is creative, problem-solving is creative, data analysis is creative.

This led us to attend and volunteer at Creative Mornings — a global breakfast luncheon in most major cities. Their manifesto states that everyone is creative. I highly recommend their community, wherever you're listening from. The community is full of interesting people and organizations with amazing causes. If you're in San Diego and come to one of the events, you'll probably find me volunteering in the coffee section (coincidence, right?) – come talk to me!

Dedicating time to organizations like these and 1% for the Planet for Nature Conservancy, which have similar values to us, helps provide a compass for how we build the business now and in the future.

Derrick: What specific needs Euflora has right now that we can tangibly find ways of helping you solve?

Celeste: We definitely want to be out in our community more. Sometimes, we just need more bandwidth to do proper outreach. Whether you have a local business or not, we're constantly exploring different ways to collaborate, even with people who are not local. I would love to get some fresh ideas. There's strength in numbers when more minds are working on the same goal. If you're listening as a consumer and you're curious about Euflora, please give us a follow. We have more of a presence out there that is comfortable and true to us.

On the tactical side, one of the challenges we've had from the end of last year to now is production power. It's really just Clarisse and myself. Whenever we're really strapped, we hire people to help us out. But we're in a growth phase right now, where I really want to scale, and I want to do so much more, but we're limited because we're working on the business and in the business at the same time. In the future, I would love to scale our products and make them available to more people.

I'm still figuring out what this looks like: is it digitizing? Is it systematizing? Is it more manpower/womanpower? These challenges are top of mind for us and what we're tackling now.

Derrick: Closing Reflections

Thank you so much for sharing more about how you built Euflora with community, intention, and creativity, Celeste!

You understand who you are; Clarisse understands who she is. You understand what you're passionate about. You know your role and impact in a community, and it's transparent with everything that you just shared with us about how that manifests and is expressed in the business.

Selfishly, I hope more businesses think about building the way you have made Euflora when it comes to being centered around community.

If you want to learn more about Euflora, here are all the places you can find them:

Website

Instagram

FB

My homie, Chris Tam, and his family have been pillars in the Alameda community for decades. He's built several brands and businesses before creating his current company, All Good Living.

Over the years, All Good Living has evolved its offering from a clothing and merchandise business to building a non-profit arm called the All Good Living Foundation, created to help provide necessary resources for unhoused youth in the Bay Area.

In this interview, we explore All Good Living's origin story, Chris's journey to creating the business, Chris' inspirations, the successes and challenges the company has faced, and his most significant needs for the industry right now.

Check out the edited audio interview below!

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To give the people a proper understanding of your offering: what is All Good Living?

We have All Good Living as a brand; we started with baby clothes, but now, we make kids' and adult clothes, gifts, and accessories. Then, we have our design and production arm, where we help make different types of merchandise (clothing, toys, and accessories) for other companies and brands. My wife, Rose, runs the operations for both the brand and the design arm – shoutout to her for holding it down!

Why did you start All Good Living in the first place? How did the vision come to be?

Initially, I co-created a shoe store called District Footwear, and we sold trendy shoes. Eventually, my partner and I had different views on building the culture and where we wanted the business to go.

After District, I started a clothing brand called Peacekeeper, with sports and locally themed designs. The business fizzled out, so we ended up selling it.

Then, I had this dream for a brand centered around a positive lifestyle. Over time, the brand idea felt like the right thing to pursue, so I decided to sell our business, and we eventually started All Good Living.

What was your background before starting All Good Living?

Honestly, I was just okay with art, but I always felt like I saw the greatness in other artists. When I was younger, I thought I was creative and could develop good ideas for certain things. But I had a vision of helping other artists do incredible work. I became more of a Creative Director, managing other artists and their work. 

Who have been your biggest inspirations?

My dad is my biggest inspiration. He was a healer who helped people a lot. He had a 40-year career in the Alameda Unified School District. He started in Special Education and then became the Vice Principal at Otis Elementary. After that, he went to many different schools before becoming Principal at Miller Elementary School. He positively impacted the culture in each school he worked in through test scores, grades, and faculty satisfaction.

My mom has also been such a big inspiration for me. After my dad passed away, she was heavily involved with my kids. She's helped us with All Good Living, which I'm so grateful for.

Regarding more famous people, Tony Hsieh from Zappos has been a huge inspiration. I've read about what he did for Zappos's culture. He was in the trenches with his employees, and I strive to lead like that.

I also have a friend named Joey, one of the most brilliant artists I've ever known. I've known him for decades now, since high school. Once we started using Adobe in the early days, we designed a lot of stuff together–this work became the foundation for what All Good Living does to this day. He's always had excellent technical skills and an imagination that I've never seen before, and he would draw bizarre shit. He had this book of art, and on one page, he'd draw three little pigs with axes killing a fox; then, he had another page full of penis drawings — just teenagers being teenagers. He's been my leading creative partner for a long time now.

Why did you start the All Good Living Foundation?

About four years ago, we wanted to create a non-profit with a vision based on the values of All Good Living, i.e., strengthening and helping the community.

We started by helping unhoused kids with essential resources. We partner with schools and their administrators to provide a free service to the kids called community closets. The closets provide clothing, shoes, and toiletries, and now we're doing food because one in four kids in Alameda County go hungry every day–we've got to change that.

We're in most of the schools in Alameda and six in Oakland, but we provide our services to all the Alameda County school districts.

What've been the most significant successes you have seen throughout All Good Living's history? What would you call out so far?

We've been able to get into stores like Whole Foods in most parts of Northern California, which has been huge for us. We also partner with Hyatt Regencies and want to continue expanding that partnership.

What wisdom would you want to share with the audience about your and All Good Living's journey?

I started brands, companies, and the foundation because I just felt called to do what was right. But, if I could go back, I would've tried creating a better plan for executing our strategies. We learned how to build the plane as we were flying it, which worked because we've had success, but life could've been easier with a plan. 

What are your biggest goals for All Good Living right now?

We have big plans to expand to the Oakland Airport soon. We're in a lower foot-traffic area in Downtown Alameda, and we love the impact we have in this location, but we want to be in a higher-foot-traffic area.

What are your most significant business needs right now? What can the audience or I help you with?

We've been fortunate enough to build success with the quality of our design. Still, we need more help with marketing and storytelling, so we appreciate you helping to tell our story through this interview and project. We can get our story and name out more in ways like this.

Learn more about and support All Good Living’s mission through the links below!

Instagram

Facebook

Google

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All Good Living Foundation

Immediately, I’m transported back to 1993, and I’m walking down Broadway in San Francisco’s Chinatown hand-in-hand with my Po-Po (Cantonese for grandmother). She brings me to the bakery section of the V.I.P. Coffee & Cakes Shop, and orders a pink box filled with Cantonese pastries. I devour most of the BBQ pork and pineapple buns immediately. The place always bustles and stimulates; smells of Hong Kong-style cuisine consume the cafe, patrons speaking Cantonese at loud volumes, leaving me without a clue as to whether they’re mad at each other or engaging in everyday conversation with dials turned up (IYKYK). The elderly men are smoking their Lucky Strikes and reading the Sing Tao Daily newspaper. After grabbing a snack, Po-Po and I head over to the markets on Stockton Street.

At one of the markets, we hit the produce section of a market to grab choy sum, Chinese broccoli, bok choy, apples, oranges, and lychee. In the poultry section, she orders soy sauce marinated chicken, and in the seafood section, she requests some fresh cod from the fishmonger. Last but not least, Po-Po lets me grab a box of Pocky, Botan Rice Candy, and a bag of White Rabbit—ya boy’s in absolute heaven at this point, and my heart smiles as I think about this memory.

Next, we walk over to meet with my Gung-Gung (Cantonese for grandfather), who’s playing Chinese chess at Portsmouth Square with more elderly men who smell of cigarettes, barking at each other, and bantering about the move that was just made. I look around and I see a group of elderly women practicing Tai Chi in a grassy area under the trees. In the playground, kids of all ages frolic on slides, swings, and play structures. Now, five year-old me obviously has no idea what he is witnessing at the time, but looking back, it's clear to me this was his first experience of a real sense of community.

Fast-forward thirty years later: I find myself having lived in LA Chinatown for about five months, and honestly, I didn’t move here as a way to feel closer to my heritage or culture. The main reason my girlfriend and I moved here was because our apartment checks many of the convenience boxes that were important to us. But these five months have sparked such vivid memories of my childhood in SF Chinatown that I’m starting to attach familial, cultural, and generational significance to living here.

Actually, scratch that: I’m choosing to attach significance to my experience living here as a multi-layered reclamation of my identity as a Chinese person—an identity blurred by cultural assimilation to Western life.

Even though I’m from the Bay Area, as a Chinese person, every Chinatown is my community. How beautiful and human is that? Whether I’m 300 miles or 10,000 miles away from home, if I’m in a Chinatown, I’m in my community. To know, and feel, this fact empowers my soul. It’s the ultimate reminder that our community transcends time and place, representing the true meaning of community to me, and I’ve witnessed multiple examples of this in LA Chinatown.

A distinct characteristic I’ve noticed when meandering the streets and alleys of Chinatown is the converging of past and present. Landmark areas like Central Plaza have been here for close to 100 years, and while there’s been significant renovation on the majority of buildings, they all still maintain elements of their classic flair. I’ll bring my coffee and sit on a bench in the plaza, wondering what daily life here felt like in previous decades; what did the energy feel like when every storefront and space was occupied? What conversations were happening? What were people wearing? What music were they listening to? But, even with this connection between the past and present, there’s a generational divide that exists, as well.

As a Millenial ABC (American Born Chinese), my parent’s generation and my own have dealt with generational divide for a long time. Many of the cultural traditions I grew up around no longer exist, or exist with less frequency. (As a kid, I remember yearly Lunar New Year celebrations that would consist of multi-day dinners and family gatherings. Sadly, this doesn’t happen anymore.) But from what I’ve seen in LA Chinatown, the majority of businesses are still either owned by Chinese immigrants or children of immigrants/first or second-generation Asian-Americans. While it would be impossible to follow the exact blueprint of the types of businesses their parents operated, it’s evident that (my) generation has taken the blueprint from their parents and injected their own energy/culture into it; paying homage to the past but adding their own flavor to the soup. 

A prime example of the interconnectivity within LA Chinatown is the Far East Plaza. I was able to chat with people from businesses within the plaza like The Fulcrum Press, Amboy, Lasita, Endorffeine, Scoops, Thien Huong, East West Shop, and Laroolou. They talked about how they share many of the same restaurant vendors, promote each other’s businesses to customers, and find ways to connect outside of business hours–I could feel a shared sense of community over competition in each conversation. And to hear the story of how a group of cooks banded together during the pandemic, to reignite the energy in Chinatown, sparks inspiration. Ironically, as I learned through research for this essay, there has also been a veil over the knowledge I couldn’t evade: gentrification within Chinatown.

Gentrification has played a leading role in the film of Los Angeles for the past two decades, leaving areas like Leimert Park, Inglewood, Echo Park, Highland Park, and… Chinatown, to play supporting roles. It’s undoubtedly one of the most polarizing situations faced by metropolitan cities, resulting in nuanced, complex ripples.

For example, I’m Chinese-American and I live in a newer apartment complex that the majority of people would consider a “gentrifying” building. For native Chinatown residents who have been here for a generation or more, I’m considered a gentrifier because the average rental price of my building far outweighs the average rent in this area. The presence of my building (and my residence in it) forces market dynamics that push native residents out of the area.

I feel an inherent sadness, knowing I’m a part of the reason native Chinatown residents had to leave or are forced to leave now, in order to survive. I feel anger towards the system responsible for situations like this. My grandmother and grandfather could’ve easily been some of the people I’m pushing out.

How much more paradoxical can my presence here get? 

A sense of confusion, helplessness, and shame engulfs me everytime I think about my role in gentrification.

There were no policies that were going to keep me from living here—I’m here regardless of anyone’s desires. I find myself analyzing this dilemma constantly as someone who has seen gentrification transform my home: the Bay Area.

My family has been fortunate enough to continue setting roots in the East Bay, but throughout the years, many friends I’ve grown up with haven’t experienced the same fortune. Due to rising cost-of-living standards, gentrification, and the tech boom, many have left the Bay for a more financially sustainable lifestyle, but my privilege has shielded me from these realities.

So, what can a “gentrifier” do when they land in a community like this? Renowned LA chef and food truck pioneer, Roy Choi, vulnerably explored this question in an episode of “Broken Bread” titled “Returning to Chinatown”. He’s Korean-American, from the LA area, and owned a restaurant in Chinatown called Chego from 2013 to 2019. His claim to the gentrifier title could arguably be stronger than mine, given the history, success, and impact of Chego. In an emotional scene during the episode, he asks a community advocate, “What could I have done better? Was Chego a part of the problem (of gentrification in Chinatown)?” I could sense genuine worry and concern about his role in this conversation–feelings I can relate to.

At the same time, I feel dutiful and responsible for creating an intentional experience here grounded in community. I acknowledge that LA Chinatown looks different and will continue to look different, but as long as my generation empowers the community, this iteration of Chinatown can embody a fresh sense of diversity—and more diversity can only strengthen a community.

Chinatown instilled my first lessons of community, and it continues to teach me to this day. I’m reminded that this place symbolizes so much for Chinese people, our history in America, and the role community plays in our survival. The foundational human activities of sharing resources, investing in each other, intergenerational connectivity, honoring past and present, and reimagining the future–they’re all actualized here. When we’re in Chinatown, we stand on the shoulders of our ancestors and relatives every day, and we don’t exist in isolation. Even though I’m Chinese-American, I can be seen as a newcomer here, and newcomers like me need to educate ourselves on the history of this place, the successes the community has created, and the challenges it has faced. Instead of prioritizing what our communities give us or what we can take, we have to find ways of building and contributing to the community, even if in subtle ways, like spending locally or immersing ourselves in the stories written from and by the community (bonus points if we’re able to carry these stories on). Without a commitment to this process, we become what places fear most about newcomers: gentrifiers and exploiters.

Is this what we want?

Now, I turn the conversation to you:

How do you feel about your relationship with your culture, its history, and your place in its future?

What’re (simple) ways you can reconnect with your culture?

What can your culture remind you of when it comes to community? What can it teach you about community?

What’re ways you can contribute to supporting your cultural community?

If you’re a newcomer in the place you live, how can you learn more about the history of the place? How can you (uniquely) contribute to creating a better community and future for it?

Huge shoutout to Lyle, Allie, Ellen, Russell, and Diana for helping edit this piece!

“Do you ever feel like you care too much about work?”

“I just work to make enough money to have more free time.”

“Can we stop talking about work?”

“Work has been meh lately.”

These statements and questions have been thrown around by my acquaintances and friends when they’ve talked about work. And each time I heard them, I became more jaded and pessimistic about what work represented for me. I would think to myself, “They clearly haven’t found work meaningful. I don’t want to feel that way about my work. Hell no. Not if I plan on working for a long time. There has to be another way.”

My relationship and journey with work

As I’ve dissected my relationship with work, I’ve battled a mix of external and internal narratives. The external narratives usually revolve around survival and scarcity in the world—narratives like, “I don’t have enough money and resources to work on what I find meaningful.” The internal narratives revolve around the conflict between doing the type of work that my background is most suited to and doing the type of work I find most meaningful, which, ironically, always meant tapping into my inner child.

My relationship with work started very early. Growing up, I saw grit and hard work firsthand as I watched my mother run her restaurant, which she has owned for the better part of thirty years. I remember a moment when, at about the age of six, I snidely asked her, “Why are you always at the restaurant? Don’t you want to be at home with us?” 

In case you’re wondering… these questions didn’t turn out well for me. I ended up with a good old-fashioned “Tiger Mother” stare right through my soul and a smack on the side of my head.

But funny enough, I actually started working on Sundays as a busser at her restaurant in seventh grade—and I made enough tip money to buy all the dopest Jordan 11s, so don’t feel too bad about the child labor. My mother was an exemplary model for work, even though she has literally worked seven days a week for as long as I can remember. But it's quite simple: her work as a restaurant owner is the art she creates every day. She expresses herself as a restaurant owner better than any other place in her life. When we do family dinners at any restaurant, she’ll talk about the finest of details at the restaurant as a way to gain inspiration for her restaurant—I’m not joking when I tell you it happens every time. I used to think she hated being at the restaurant so much, but over the years, I’ve realized how much her identity, self-worth, and passion revolve around her work; she simply doesn’t know any alternative to this.

As I got older, I took on jobs without having much clarity into the real reasons I took them on, you know, like any young adult typically does; during this period of time, career reflections weren’t that introspective, yet. I’ve been a bank teller, salesperson, ops manager, account manager, team lead, sales consultant, and drove for DoorDash for a few months. At various points during my time in each of these jobs, I’ve felt like my work was an expression of who I am, but there were far more moments where the work wasn’t. I recall a moment recently when I was listening to a podcast at around 11:30 pm, heard a strong insight, and decided to write nearly a full page of ideas to help with my writing. Recalling moments like these (of which there are plenty in my life) has made me realize how similar my mother and I are in our work needing to be an expression of who we are. Throughout my career, I’ve clawed for clarity into the ways I could turn my work into expression, but the journey hasn’t been easy.

There are no shortcuts

I’ve brought work into most of my conversations with all of the therapists I’ve ever worked with; I’ve done career coaching, read books, watched Youtube videos, listened to many hours of podcasts, and had countless conversations with people on this topic. Finding clarity on what I want to do for work has been an arduous journey full of starts and stops. There have been months where I feel like I’ve finally found clarity on what I want to work on, only to realize there’s still more clarity to be gained. But there’s no cheating the internal work—this work requires us to face ourselves head-on.

I had moments where I would try to take shortcuts from the work, like asking my close friends or colleagues what they thought I should be doing with my career, without diving into myself for those answers. There isn’t anything wrong with asking people (who know you well) these questions, but the problem was that I was outsourcing the work to them, which isn’t theirs to take on.

Lacking clarity has also led to some painful experiences when deciding the type of roles and companies to take on. I’ve had one-week, two-month, and four-month stints at companies because I realized the role and company weren’t a fit for me until it was too late. Sharing this is incredibly scary—they’ve been some of the darkest moments of my career so far but… here we go.

My first couple of days at the company (where I spent a week) felt normal. People were generally welcoming to me. But around the third day, I started to feel like there were some deep political undertones across all of the teams I had exposure to. I asked some questions to certain people about what the culture was really like, and I was met with tiptoeing and roundabouts. I also felt like the company and team culture didn’t encourage people to be authentic or celebrated. The majority of people strikingly kept to themselves, even in an open office floor plan. There wasn’t much energy or camaraderie between teammates. The difference between the company culture I was a part of before and the culture at this company was night and day. The vibe didn’t match what I felt during the interview process with various members of the team, and I simply couldn’t see myself at this company long-term; on day five, I informed my manager I would be resigning. After coming in and turning in my laptop, I felt embarrassed and defeated; like I had failed miserably. The fact that my friend brought me into the company only intensified these feelings. How could I let her down like this? How will she be perceived with this happening? Did I just burn every bridge I had at this company? The SF startup scene is small, I bet this news will get out to so many people I know. There was no doubt that I needed to find clarity on what I wanted.

It wasn't the first time I'd left a job shortly after starting. Several years back, a former leader at a previous company reached out to me about a role at his new company that he felt I was a strong fit for. However, I wouldn’t be reporting to him, I would be reporting to someone else. I had my doubts about this but given how much I admire the former leader, I decided to trust the process, and I took the role. My first month at the company generally went well, too; I met some incredible people, who were also very talented. Around the second month, I started to feel some deeper stylistic conflict between my manager and me. There were times when I felt like he wasn’t trying to fully understand me, and I saw this attitude in the way he worked with (and talked about) other people at the company, as well. This became alarming for me because of the importance I place on treating everyone with respect and empathy. The third and fourth months became so strained between us that I dreaded coming into the office every day; I would get anxious leading up to my one-on-ones with him. Alright, so if you’re not going to try to see me, I’m not going to try to see you either. Towards the end of my fourth month, I hit a breaking point and told him I was resigning. I felt many of the same feelings I felt with the company I only stayed at for a week: embarrassment, feeling like I failed, feeling like my model for picking the right company and manager was flawed, and feeling like I let my former leader down. I’m sure I burned more bridges here. What’s wrong with me? What the fuck am I doing with my career? Am I going crazy?

I began asking my friends big questions like, “Do you see me in tech? What do you see my doing in my career? What did you always see me doing?”

A couple of years back, I joined a company where a former colleague was leading a team for several years. He enjoyed his experience there, and there was a role he reached out to me for that he felt fit well. I met the team, enjoyed all of the conversations, and felt like the opportunity would help progress my career. Upon joining, the company did have some strong elements going for it: there was a high concentration of technical and analytical talent at the company. However, there was a lack of training and structure that hindered my experience very early on; when you combine this with direct leaders on my greater team chalking up these challenges as “startup problems” while not taking ownership of the challenges, it ultimately led to a culture I didn’t feel aligned with. My role was new and became shockingly high-volume work with customers. Around the two-month mark, I was so stressed out about work that my gums were painful every morning from clenching my jaw in my sleep—I’d never felt that before. I was clearly burning out way too early. But I can’t let my former colleague down—he vouched to bring me into the company. I can’t leave yet another company this early again. I can’t do it. I have to stay at least a year. But this is physically becoming a problem for me. Can I really last a year? The lack of career clarity was rearing its head again, and this time, I simply had no choice but to face it fully. I could no longer hide from exploring and processing all that needed to be processed when it came to my career. This was the point where I knew I could benefit from career coaching so I enrolled in a twelve-week-long program that helped me begin the process of finding clarity into what I really wanted out of my work.

How do I want my work to feel?

After all of these experiences, what I’ve found to be the most important—and simple—aspect of figuring out what work means to me has been to remember and pay keen attention to what I enjoy day-to-day, and where I enjoy the process more than the results or outcomes.

Finding community building as a role (in early 2022) has been a significant breakthrough for expressing myself. I’m close to a year into this career pivot, and I finally feel able to fully express myself when I’m creating space to connect people, ideas, and opportunities; when I’m able to help people learn and grow; when I can write and tell stories. I want to give people a platform to do everything they’re capable of doing. Every single day, I get to think about how to do everything I mentioned above. I’ve also been able to inject creativity into my work at a level that I didn’t know was possible before.

When it comes to who we work with, this is another important element of my work that I want to be fully expressed. I want to work with people who are open to ideas and possibilities; who help to bring out the gifts that people possess and hype people up to bring as much of their best selves to work as possible; who prioritize people over metrics; and above all else, people who prioritize diversity. The same goes for the types of organizations I’m working with. The people and organizations I work with are an expression of who I am. I’ve found communities that align with my values like Generalist World, Rosieland, and Foster; by being a part of these communities, I’m able to naturally find my own unique ways of contributing and building.

My friend, Jason, created his own research-based design firm, Burntsienna Research Society, where he gets to do work that seems to align perfectly with who he is. He’s a natural teacher, and he gets to write, lead workshops, do in-depth field/academic research, and build curriculums. He also curates his clientele to align with those he knows he serves most. He’s been an inspiration to me in figuring out how to do the same. In my opinion, his work is his art. I also look at someone like Pharrell Williams, who works across many disciplines but is ultimately bringing all of himself to his projects like the music he’s part of creating (with a wide variety of artists and genres), the clothing lines he designs for, and the products he launches. Pharrell is expressed in everything he does, and I’m continually inspired by his work.

I want there to be more examples like Jason and Pharrell. I want to take the model of this my mother showed me but mold it uniquely to my vision. A world where we’re all fully appreciated, seen, and valued for our individual gifts. A world where we can exercise and actualize those gifts. I’ve experienced a world where the opposite is true, and it leaves me drained and empty—I can’t compromise on this anymore. I refuse to trade my purpose, meaning, and values for a job that pays a high enough salary for me to feel like my work doesn’t have meaning. I’ve done this in the past and it has only led to misalignment. It’s a waste of everyone’s energy for me to give you less than who I am; the world deserves more than that from me.

If we’re all able to live in a world where this is true, we can all show up the way we really want to show up in the world, and I’m a firm and idealistic believer in work being an expression of this. Work, family/social life, creativity, hobbies, and leisure should flow in and out of one another gracefully. This is the life I want, and it’s the life I want for all of us. I want our work to be our art.

I now turn the conversation to you:

What is your relationship with work?

How do you want your work to be represented?

How do you want to express yourself through your work?

What do you want to create more of in the world through your work?

How can you turn your work into your art?

Thank you to Pandy, Amber, Sam, Theresa, Daniel, Katerina, Minnow, & Caryn for your feedback and editing on this piece!