Want Your Ambition Back? Put Yourself in the Right Rooms

You wanna touch a live wire?

You want to feel like you’re twenty-five again, and buildings made of glass still excite you, and the idea of starting this GREAT BIG DISRUPTIVELY COOL COMPANY still feels thrilling, and you’re still stylish and cool and you know exactly what to wear and how to do your hair and how to stay out late and say witty things and eat pepperoni pizza at midnight with people who all swoon over each other as if they’re the best thing that’s ever happened, because that is how young people all view one another, as tiny little deities, and there you are, feeling larger than life and high on ambition, and probably rum, because you don’t know how to drink yet but you’ve just gotten your very first thing published, and someone very, very exciting emailed you, and you’re in the throes of a budding new romance with someone who finally knows the difference between ‘they’re’ and ‘their,’ and how could anyone not be madly, feverishly, exasperatingly in love with life, when it is all this promising?

This is how I feel when I’m in Dublin, Ireland.

Did you know a city can make you feel a decade more cool?

I had disregarded it before; wrote it off as a gritty cacophony of tacky souvenirs and musicians who’ve been playing ‘Galway Girl’ against their will since the Bush administration.” But, this time was different.

I wasn’t looking for a Guinness.
I was looking for an idea.

It was a spontaneous trip. Saw a round-trip ticket for $399. Bought it and left. I mean, why not go to Dublin for the weekend? Why wouldn’t I do that? Airfare aside, there is no difference if I go to Philly for the weekend, or Dublin. Same hotel room cost. Same eating out cost. Same drinks cost. Same entertainment cost. There won’t be soft pretzels, but there sure as hell will be the reminder that life is short, planes exist, and I’m not dead yet.

These are the kinds of things I couldn’t easily do when I lived in far flung places like Chile, and Costa Rica, and the kinds of places that prevent you from hopping on a quick flight to anywhere except Nicaragua. (Which I have done too many times to count.)

Being here on the east coast again? My god. It’s too easy. And, lemme tell you: is so much easier to be a person you respect when you do the kinds of things you respect.

Dublin feels like a city that’s just been popped out of a champagne bottle.

There’s energy here. Youth. People pouring out into streets. Lines for Detroit-style pizza that go around the block. Glossy tech companies that have set up their headquarters down by the river. Old brick facades painted with modern new logos. Neon signs for ramen bars. Glass buildings in between ancient ones. Smiles and jokes and genuinely friendly faces, with the words “no worries” coming off everyone’s lips. Tights. Boots. Punk meets Country House. But, most importantly? There is this sense that most people used to get when they visited New York: that you could do anything there.

That you could be anyone.

That Dublin would yell, “hell yeah!” and throw you in the back of a cab.

And, that’s exactly what I was looking for: that rebellious tech energy CEO spark. I’ve been working on plans for my new witty wallpaper & interiors line, and you know what became absurdly obvious?

I have to start with the marketing.

YOU KNOW HOW I DO.

I have never been a “build the product and figure out how to sell it later” kind of girl. My method of madness has always been: build the audience and then make whatever awesome thing excites you all.

This is, of course, the long way.
But, it is also a healthy, profitable way.
Why would I want to have to hawk my wares and lower my prices and beg people to try my product when I can gather the right people together and all yell “hell yeah!” together?

My MO:

Find your weirdos first.
Talk to them.
Make things specifically for them.
And make it feel like a glorious inside joke.

The business world calls this “audience-led product development.”

I call it “doing business like a human.” (An ancient, rare business strategy.) I’d rather build a table I’m happy to sit at, not a crowd I have to win over.

SO WITH THAT IN MIND . . . . . . 😀

I’m excited to put myself in more places, rooms, hotels, and Airbnbs where my wallpaper weirdos are, AKA Dublin, AKA places where European sensibilities meet Chuck Taylor cool. Because my god, does this feel good, being in a place where people get your vibe. And you can feed off off that vibe. And get ideas for that vibe. And build that vibe.

As much as I LOVE my country farmhouse property in the middle of Pennsylvania, the vibe isn’t there for this. People still have PTSD from the wallpaper their granny had. And, that’s okay! Because, in the end, when I finish renovating the cottage as an Airbnb, and folks from New York and Jersey and Philly show up—as they do, since I am only 2.5 hours away and surrounded by lakes and skiing and nature—they will RECOGNIZE. 🤣 Like vibes seeks like vibes. (I can’t believe I’ve finally given in and used the word “vibes.” I know. I KNOW!)

But “vibes” is leading my marketing strategy on this one.

Because something like this is never just about “decor.”

It’s:

• Identity signaling
• Humor signaling
• Cultural literacy signaling
• And belonging signaling

I’m not selling wallpaper.

I’m selling the membership card to the club of people who “get it.”

So, it’s time to build the club first. 💪

Because nobody is buying wallpaper.
Nobody is buying fabric.
Nobody is buying paint.
Nobody is buying a goddamn throw pillow.

They’re buying permission.
Permission to be a little weirder.
Permission to be a little funnier.
Permission to be a little louder, softer, stranger, REALER — whatever they already are inside.

They’re buying a signal flare that says:
“I have taste, and also I have jokes.”

A wink in pattern form.
A personality masquerading as interior design.

This is not about decorating.
This is about identity construction through pattern and color and absurdity and delight.

And THAT, my friend, is why you get on a plane to Dublin on a whim.
Because that’s where the people who get your vibes are walking around in the wild.
Drinking espresso martinis in mismatched scarves.
Buying neon ramen bowls at 2pm.
Arguing about fonts for fun.

Because the product is only half of this.

The other half is culture.
A shared language.
A knowing look.
A joke without a punchline.

The wallpaper is just the uniform.

The real thing I’m building?

A world.

A home for the people who walk into a room and immediately rearrange the furniture in their minds.
The ones who can’t not comment on the sconces.
The ones who collect weird chairs like pets.
The ones who have a favorite shade of green and will absolutely fight you about it.

My people.

The club of the fabulously alive.