Built for the
way fashion
actually works.

I.

I have been thinking about the same problem for twenty years.

It started the way most obsessions do — not with a grand plan, but with a pile of clothes on a gym floor.

I majored in fashion merchandising, interned in New York, and went on to work in high-end retail after college. I understood clothes. I understood how people related to them — the way a great piece could change how you walked into a room, the way getting dressed was never really just about getting dressed. But it wasn't until I took a job at a nonprofit, managing events to generate clothing donations, that I understood the real problem.

The inventory was staggering. People didn't just donate — they unloaded. Beautiful things. Designer things. Well-made garments with real stories behind them, dropped off in garbage bags like they were nothing. We couldn't keep up. There were seasons when we had to stop accepting donations entirely because there was simply no more room. We were drowning in good clothes.

That image never left me.

II.  The Ice Cream Truck Years

I got on eBay. Then I started a company called GoGarbaj — I would go to people's homes, clean out their closets, and resell everything on my own site. It was scrappy and it was exactly right. People had so much more than they needed and so many others couldn't access what they wanted. I was just the bridge.

Then I bought an ice cream truck.

I gutted it and turned it into a consignment store on wheels — a rolling boutique that showed up where the people were. It was the most fun I'd ever had in business and, looking back, it was the purest version of what I believed: that secondhand shopping should feel like discovery, like stumbling into something wonderful, not like digging through bins.

Eventually I made the classic mistake. I went brick and mortar. And in doing so, I drifted away from the thing that actually drove me — making beautiful, well-made clothes accessible to people who'd never pay full price for them, and making the experience of shopping secondhand feel exactly like walking into a boutique you love. Not a thrift store. Not an online warehouse. Something worth the visit.

III.  The Years Away

I spent years after that in marketing — eventually serving as VP and helping bring a small company public. I was good at it. But I thought about the clothes constantly. I thought about what was piling up in closets everywhere. I thought about how designer pieces had become so absurdly unaffordable that an entire generation was being priced out of quality entirely. And I watched platforms like Poshmark and Depop try to solve the resale problem by throwing more inventory at it, which is the exact wrong answer.

More isn't the answer. Better is the answer. Meaning is the answer.

IV.  Why Now & Again

What I want to build is the thing I couldn't find anywhere: a place that combines the two things I believe every person needs when it comes to fashion — inspiration and access.

I want someone to open this app the way they open Pinterest. To discover a closet and think that's exactly how I want to dress. And then I want them to be able to actually buy those clothes — not at retail prices, not locked behind a consignment wall — but at real prices, from a real person whose taste they've just fallen in love with.

There are too many garments in the world. Designer fashion has become a luxury in the worst sense of the word — aspirational in a way that excludes rather than invites. And the platforms built to fix that have made it feel like digging through a thrift store online.

Now & Again is the boutique. The curated one, on the street you love, where the person behind the counter actually knows what they're talking about. Except it lives in your phone, and the closets inside it belong to real people with real taste — people like you, just a few seasons ahead.

I've been working toward this for twenty years. I just finally built it.