My story

 it was a feeling before it was a brand

I’ve always found myself in spaces that made me feel like “the lost one.”
Not lost in a sad way—more like... misplaced. Floating. Figuring it out alone.

First decade of life: split down the middle.

I was born in the U.S.—yes, first-generation American-born.
But by the time I was five, I had already become a first-gen Samoan immigrant too.

Half of my first 10 years were in the U.S. The other half? Spent in Samoa, thinking I’d be there for life.

My U.S. passport even expired while I was there. I thought I’d never come back to the place I was born.

I lived with my grandparents, aunties, uncles, and cousins. The village raised me: friends, neighbors, faifeaus from the Catholic and LMS churches. But I was never anyone’s kid. I was someone’s grandchild. My grandmother’s masaga (Samoan for "twin") with my cousin. Someone’s niece. Someone’s friend. But never someone’s daughter.

My biological father lived in Samoa. Ran businesses. People respected him. I never met him.
My mom was in the U.S., building a new life for herself. And I was just... there. Learning to be both seen and invisible.

Second decade: came back to the U.S. and felt even more lost.

Four years in, I moved back—and everything changed. I lost my village, my people, my rhythm. Now I had to figure out who I was without the foundation that raised me.

High school was wild. I was smart—but no one cared about that. Here, it was about status. Fashion. Being cool. And I wasn’t cool.

Even other Samoan kids teased me. I didn’t “look” Samoan. Didn’t sound “palagi” either. I was somewhere in between. I mean… Charlene Lewis? Does that sound Samoan to you?

Still, I made friends from everywhere. I cherished those connections. I co-founded the Cultural Awareness Group at West Seattle High with my friend from Ethiopia. Last class under the "Indians" mascot—first class to graduate as Wildcats. Class of ’03.

I graduated with honors. Renaissance award. Poetry published in the district collection. I was ASB secretary (but those kids never invited me anywhere), Drama Club secretary, FBLA secretary… like I was born to take notes or something. 😂

And when it came time for my awards ceremony? No one showed up. Just me, my certificate, and a solo walk home.

I miss high school sometimes. Was that another “lost” moment? I don’t know.

Third decade: ran straight into the fire—and learned how to hustle.

I finished high school, went to college at Northwest University (back when it was Northwest College). First class under the new name—because of course I was. I only stayed a year. I couldn’t see who I was becoming.

I was dating a lot, living lowkey, feeling unseen again. Then I found a newspaper ad for a “cool travel job.” They interviewed me, ran my background, and offered me a one-way ticket to L.A.

That’s how it started. I joined a crew of 18 to 35-year-olds selling magazines door-to-door. We made cash daily. Partied everywhere we went. At first, I sucked. But I was raised Samoan—so quitting wasn’t an option.

I stopped reading about success and started living it. After Cali, we hit Vegas for Thanksgiving. By Christmas? I was at Club Iggy’s in Rosarito, partying and cheating on my boyfriend with a friend’s man. Yeah… I was that girl. That phase of my life taught me: If you want something, you can take it.

Eventually, I realized I didn’t want to be that version of me anymore. I started managing. Running my own team. But I tried to run it differently: no scams, no lying, no making customers overspend. I made my own moral compass and stuck to it.

The wildest part? The harder I worked with integrity, the harder it was to succeed. That world didn’t reward honesty. It rewarded chaos.

Most of the “power agents” I knew? Dead now. Addiction. Violence. Burnout.

I survived. Because my village taught me how to.

By 30, I was living wild, unstable—and the thinnest I’ve ever been. And honestly? I still wish I had that body. But today, I’m healthier. Happier. And that’s enough.

Fourth decade: tried to build stability—but kept falling in love with chaos.

In 2015, I tried to build a business around myself again. Same mission, always: provide space, share knowledge, uplift the community.

Names changed—Mag Gypsy, Shovan, The Black Boot Club—but the heart stayed the same. I just didn’t have the foundation to push through.

Then I fell for another lost soul. We had passion and grit, but no boundaries or emotional tools. So we hurt each other. Deep.

When you don’t understand boundaries, you don’t know how to apply loyalty right. We loved hard. We hurt harder. If I had stayed any longer, I might not be here today.

I don’t think I’ll find that kind of love again—and honestly, I don’t think I want to. Lost souls attract lost souls. And lost souls bleed.

Eventually, I chose to walk away. Had to face some painful truths about how I kept hurting myself. And how to stop contributing to my own loss.

Now?

I’m a real estate agent who loves what I do—even in the chaos. Because this chaos? It builds people. Builds homes. Changes lives. And I profit greatly from it. And I’m proud of that.

But I don’t want to hustle forever.

I’d rather hustle to uplift my community.

So when you check out our products—know this:
Every single item was created with the intent to help “the lost” recognize themselves.
To honor the people who helped raise us.
To reflect the mess and the beauty of the ones who had to figure life out without a map.

We’re not doing anything fancy.
We’re just doing good work.
And that’s more than enough for me.