What No One Tells You About Building a Brand When You're Broke, Gifted, and Black
I didn’t start this because I love fashion. Or because I’ve got some obsession with hemlines or seasonal color palettes. I started it because I needed proof. Proof that I could build something before I broke. That I could take whatever I had left and make it matter.
I’m the founder of Simply Edyn & Co. A small sustainable-centric business with a big mouth. Editor of The Commons Dispatch. Chronic illness warrior. Truth teller. Lifelong learner with too many tabs open and a dream that keeps poking me awake.
There’s a kind of hunger that doesn’t just live in your stomach. It lives in your chest. Right behind the ribs. Right where dreams go when they’ve been on hold too long. That was me. Quietly unraveling while trying to look like I had it together. What I needed wasn’t another job or degree or performance. I needed proof that I mattered. That I could make something out of what I had.
So I started. With a name. A few words. A corner of the internet where I could say what I meant. Where softness and power could live in the same sentence. Where truth didn’t have to scream to be heard. That’s what Simply Edyn & Co. was built for.
Now I’m giving myself a real challenge. A big one. I’m calling it The Mission to One Million. I’m setting out to sell one million items. Not to flex. Not to go viral. But because that number gives me something I’ve never had before. Space. Room to fail and keep going. A stretch of road I can actually move on without rushing to prove myself every five seconds.
A million gives me time. Time to try. Time to learn. Time to share what I know without pretending I have it all figured out. I’m not chasing a finish line. I’m just trying to stay in the race. And I want the race to mean something.
That’s why ten percent of everything I make is going to HER future.
HER stands for Health. Education. Rights. It’s the non-negotiables. The stuff we should never have to beg for. Access to care. Access to knowledge. The right to exist fully and safely.
But HER is also personal. She’s the younger me I almost left behind. The version of myself I thought was too soft. Too invisible. Too Black. Too much. HER is you. HER is anyone still standing after being told they shouldn’t be here in the first place.
When I say HER future, I’m not talking about a cute donation box. I’m talking about planting something now that will grow shade for someone else later.
I know what it’s like to be young, gifted, and dismissed. To carry a vision the world isn’t ready for. To be told you’re ahead of your time while the doors stay locked. I think about Lorraine Hansberry, author of To Be Young, Gifted and Black, and what it means to burn bright in a world built to snuff you out. To wake up tired and still choose to build something. Not because it’s easy. Because it matters. Because it might not go viral but it might save your life.
This isn’t a launch. It’s a lifeline.
I’m not after luxury. I want a life that feeds me in more ways than one. A home that feels like mine. Rescue animals. A garden that gives back. A space to rest and still dream. That’s the life I’m building toward.
My business and my writing are how I intend to get there.
They’re not the end goal. They’re the runway. The stretch of road I’m giving myself to learn, grow, and maybe hand something back that’s actually useful.
This is how I’m trying. This is how I’m surviving. This is how I begin to win. And maybe, it’s how we win together.
If anything in here sounds like you, come with me. You don’t have to buy a thing. Just stand beside me. Share the mission. Say HER name. Tell your truth. Show up like it matters.
Because it does.
We’re still here. Still HER. Still building.
Because care isn’t soft. It’s strong.
Because rights aren’t up for debate.
Because H.E.R. belongs to all of us.
Because Caring Shouldn’t Be Controversial.
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