Hailing from one of the wealthiest towns in the nation known not only for its reputation as a Wall Street bedroom community but also as a hedge fund, I-banking mecca of its own, my innate standards are incredibly high, as you might imagine. What you might not imagine, though, is that beneath such a highly-educated, highly-motivated, discerning demographic, was the scrappiness simultaneously required to attain it all. Sure, there’s plenty of old money in Fairfield County but I’m talking about the real people, the ruthless risk-takers willing to lay it all on the line to succeed.
Within that crowd, I learned that insane wealth and thus status was within reach. Conversely, I learned that it could quickly disappear thanks to market volatility or a business venture gone awry, nevermind any personal scandals. Speaking of – my mother, from Wilton, told tales of the Marla Moxley murder and other abounding Kennedy-esque scandals growing up. Plus, white-collar and organized crime were just known undercurrents of society outside of NYC back then and there was implicit tact in knowing when to ask questions and, more importantly, when to not ask questions. I learned to accept the superficial image of a situation, have a “tea party,” while reading the room for the real story, the hidden truth.
No greater microcosm of all of this existed than in my own home. While my Princess Di-vibing mother busied herself maintaining her image of 1980s tech startup employee, putting me in the best schools, hosting family holidays, and skiing in Vail, my father’s lifestyle constantly threatened to burn it all to the ground. Back then, gambling was not completely illegal – not in Nevada and Atlantic City, at least – but almost completely illegal, especially bookmaking and sports betting. Always the self-proclaimed exception to the rule, my father fell in love with the craft via my Nana’s boyfriend and became an incredibly successful bookie. Was it because it was illegal that he loved it so much? Or was it because he, the passionate jock with a mathematician’s brain who people naturally gravitated to, happened to possess the rare combination of star quality, skill, and muscle that made a great bookie?
Maybe both.
For a time, we enjoyed a golden era of sorts. While I had my own horse, rode hunter-jumper, practiced ballet, and played piano like a proper Fairfield County girl, I could also navigate a dog track like a boss, confidently order a Shirley Temple sitting at a bar, count and sort cash in my sleep, and shuffle a deck of cards like a pro. For better or worse, I spent a lot of time with my dad since his illegal operation required he work from home, and his carefree attitude influenced me in healthy opposition to my mother’s rigidity and perfection. I appreciate the lessons I learned from the duck pond to the casino.
All of that prosperity came to a halt when the story climaxed, though – phones were tapped, the house was raided, and dear old dad was arrested in his bathrobe on a crisp, sunny Saturday morning. I can still see the vision that day of undercover cars splayed around our large property, safes being opened, cash and notebooks flying, computers confiscated (those things were huge back then!).
Since it was covered in detail across myriad newspapers, both the social shame and the absolute fear of me being kidnapped for ransom catapulted us out of the area.
That moment started the running phase.
First, we ran to New Hampshire. Then to Florida, then to Atlanta, Cincinnati, California, then back to New Hampshire, Chicago, Florida again – you get the picture. Within those years we experienced more prosperity, my father’s disease and drug trial, homelessness, borderline squalor, a bump back to middle class, job hopping, bankruptcy, and divorce. By the time I graduated high school, I had experienced drastically different towns, drastically different living conditions, mansions, food stamps, and everything in between.
Despite the horrors no child should face alone, and the subsequent years I spent learning how to stop running, this era taught me invaluable lessons on remaining who you are when you lose it all:
- No amount of money can buy class. Class is free and is a decision, not a purchase.
- Grace under distress is the ultimate power move.
- Dignity is simple – a clean face, a plain t-shirt, and a smile.
- Economic status does not dictate elegance.
- Everything is temporary. We only own our responses.
During this running phase, I learned that one nice purse and nice pair of shoes can dress up any $1 Goodwill outfit. I learned to hold my head high in a middle school crowd getting picked up in a borrowed, broken down, beater car. I learned how to maintain my center, how much posture (free!) affects perception. I learned how to truly connect with people and make them laugh, which got me more genuine friends than any designer dress. A genuine smile is, after all, the most gorgeous thing one can wear.
Thus, “Haute” is not a nod to mere superficiality, it is a mindset. It’s doing the best you can do with what you have.
Sure, wealth can be fun and we all like nice things, if you’re lucky enough to have them for a few moments in life, but what defines true elegance, true grace, true elevated-ness is in the scrappy undercurrent of life. It’s the grit, the hard work, the authenticity, the commitment to excellence and aspiring to excel, even in the slightest. Haute-ness is driven by an internal compass towards maxing out life experience and leaving a situation better than how we found it. It is self-respect. It is leveraging hygiene over an expensive outfit, composure in the most dire of circumstances, in the best of circumstances, and kindness to others.
These lessons served me when my marriage ended and I was forced to reconcile the image I pursued with my reality, too. It was soul-crushing. I was so ashamed to be a single mom, since the term always implied suffering to me, until I woke up and reclaimed it for myself. Why can’t a single mom be prosperous and thrive? Since when do I allow circumstances to dictate my worth? Can I not carry myself with the same dignity and grace?
Later, these lessons served me again when my own career took a turn first into partnering with a NYT best-selling author and speaker. He found success in his authenticity and was living an absolute dream, arguably. We were exactly the same age and worked together for a year until he died of advanced stomach cancer, leaving his young family and devoted readers behind. Losing it all, even his life, took nothing from his dignified approach to arguing for his cause, though. He left the earth ill, with nothing, and yet did so with the utmost grace. Then, my career brought me to investment banking – a full circle moment for this 203 girl – and I collaborated with a man who lost $100 million overnight, and went quite literally from driving Rolls Royces to a rented VW. His spirit, passion for his craft, and demeanor remained. Sure, he learned his own lessons in humility but his class ultimately didn’t leave with the cash. Conversely, I’ve worked with wealthy people touting the most perfect images of yachts and family outings who actually behave disgracefully and treat people terribly. No monetary gain has gifted them class and it likely never will. Do you see what I’m getting at here?
Now that we’ve defined Haute-ness in a roundabout way, you’re probably wondering how my own backstory and anecdotes of others’ losing it all is relevant to a wellness brand, right? I’m glad you asked.
Like class, wellness is not for sale. No product or fad will get you well. True, whole wellness begins from the inside out, deep from the gut microbiota outwards. Our skin and radiance are a reflection of our internal environment and the healthy glow isn’t something money can buy. Sure, you can pay for regular facials (love!) but if your gut is inflamed and you’re carrying unresolved emotional baggage, your immune and nervous systems will ultimately act out in the form of disease.
In the increasingly popular wellness space, consumerism has taken hold. While many products can be a benefit, I’ve grown increasingly concerned that we’re buying things we don’t need, and that we’re buying a lot of it. Plus, we’re often buying things in a reactionary way, thanks to paid search and targeted ads, without truly understanding what’s in supplements, for example, and then putting these things into our bodies. And, everywhere we turn, some new wellness “hack” and set of rules is simply perfectionism in disguise. Cue another blog post.
In sum, this brand is my effort to oppose those forces. To stay grounded in grace and remember that true, peak wellness starts on the inside and comes from natural sources and internal change, not things. To empower you to maintain a high level of wellness, regardless of life circumstances and the challenges that come your way.
This brand is inclusive. It is an effort to educate, collaborate, and support you on your journey to elevated wellness. That includes fostering emotional intelligence around purchasing decisions and mindfulness generally. It includes education around root causes of behavioral eating, how to move from a place of intention, how to pursue joy as nourishment, how to prioritize mental health. It also includes simplicity.
So . . .
Welcome to Haute & Well, where we believe that how you care for yourself from the inside, how you carry yourself, and how you treat other people is the ultimate tell of elevated wellness. Embodying an haute and well mindset is practiced, earned and is not for sale – remember, neither state can be bought.
We celebrate every story, both of triumph and despair, and continue to pursue excellence, which has nothing to do with materialism and everything to do with heart. Thank you for being here.
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