When I started my work in 2017 with Soul and Story, I had a vision—a big one. I imagined dismantling inequitable supply chains, creating opportunities for marginalized artisans, and reshaping how we think about buying behavior and sustainability. Later, Tress Luxe became my way of addressing the exclusion of Black Americans from the supply side of the hair care industry. These are ambitious dreams, grounded in justice and equity, and I poured my heart into them.
But the journey has been anything but easy.
A Mismatch Between Values and Actions
One of the greatest challenges in this work has been bridging the gap between what people say they want and what they actually support.
Consumers often express disdain for exploitative practices like child labor or unfair wages, but when it comes time to buy a bar of chocolate or a bottle of shampoo, cost becomes the deciding factor. Products that reflect ethical, sustainable practices are more expensive—because paying people fairly and sourcing sustainably costs more.
Slave and child labor, by contrast, is cheap. And big companies know this. They bank on the fact that most consumers, even those who claim to care, don’t really consider the human cost of their purchases. As long as the product is inexpensive and convenient, it’s easy to ignore the suffering of those who make it—especially when those faces remain unseen.
This disconnect isn’t just frustrating; it’s a reflection of capitalism and the ways it conditions us to prioritize cheap goods over ethical considerations. We vote with our dollars, yet so many continue to choose convenience over values. This isn’t just a personal frustration; it’s a systemic issue rooted in exploitative global trade practices and the normalization of oppression in everyday transactions.
Navigating Cultural Dynamics
Working as a Black American entrepreneur in global supply chains has brought its own set of challenges. In many spaces, whiteness is still pedestalized.
I’ve seen African producers welcome white businesspeople with open arms—offering them deference and trust—while being skeptical of me, even when I’m offering fairer terms and genuine partnership. This is anti-Blackness, a product of colonialism and neo-colonization that has created a hierarchy of trust, power, and value based on skin color and nationality.
The irony is that I’m here to support and uplift, to create opportunities that are equitable and just. But navigating these spaces as a Black woman often feels like swimming upstream against deeply ingrained biases.
This dynamic isn’t just frustrating; it’s disheartening. It reflects the lasting impacts of white supremacy in supply chains, where even fair and equitable Black-led initiatives are undervalued in favor of exploitative but familiar systems.
The Weight of Doing It Alone
Another truth of this work? It’s isolating.
I don’t have a huge marketing budget or a team of people supporting me. I’m not backed by venture capital or family wealth. It’s just me, pushing forward every day with a mission that feels heavy but necessary.
Sometimes, I wonder if people resonate with what I’m trying to do. Is my message clear enough? Do people care? The emotional toll of feeling unseen, unsupported, and underappreciated is real. This is capitalism again, making it difficult for smaller, independent businesses to compete with big brands and cheap alternatives. It’s also a reflection of patriarchy, where women, especially Black women, are expected to carry the weight of the world while receiving little acknowledgment or support.
The Questions I’m Asking Myself Now
After years of carrying this work, I’ve reached a crossroads. I love the mission. I still believe in the vision. But I’m asking myself:
Can I continue to do this alone?
Am I holding onto these businesses out of obligation or alignment?
What would it look like to pivot while staying true to my values?
These are hard questions, but they’re necessary.
I’ve been reflecting on what it would mean to transition from selling products to consulting, curating, or educating. Maybe my role isn’t to carry the entire weight but to guide, connect, and inspire others to take up the mantle.
The Path Forward
This isn’t a farewell. It’s a moment of recalibration.
If I’ve learned anything from this journey, it’s that the work doesn’t stop—it transforms. I may no longer want to run a shop, but I still care deeply about the issues I set out to address.
I believe in a world where people’s values align with their actions, where supply chains are equitable, and where businesses operate with integrity. But I also believe in a world where I can honor my own well-being, too.
So here I am, planting new seeds, dreaming new dreams, and trusting that the work I’ve done has already made ripples.
If this resonates with you—if you’ve ever struggled with the weight of a vision or the challenges of staying true to your values—I’d love to hear your story. We’re in this together, after all.
With love and determination,
ty
Why Naming These Oppressions Matters
Naming these systems—capitalism, colonialism, anti-Blackness, patriarchy—is essential. They shape the challenges I’ve faced and the broader structures we’re all navigating. By calling them out, we create space to understand them, challenge them, and imagine something better. Let’s talk about these truths openly and courageously, because the first step to change is recognizing the forces that hold us back.