I will never forget my first time watching The Wizard Of Oz. I have always been someone who is extremely curious on how things work. This was the movie that started that curiosity. The set- phenomenal. Technicolor used as part of the fantasy of the story. Real painted backdrops and flower fields. And of course, the COSTUMES! A costume and character who stuck with my mind the most, was in fact the Tin Man. It truthfully is one of the most recognizable costumes in film history because they made every spot on the outfit so freaking intentional. Tears made of oil, bolts on the side of the head yet no additions to the face other than a funnel-like nose. It kept him likeable, and it kept him sincere. Something that I think about a lot is the “heart” he receives- an item sticking to his body due to being a magnetic surface, and becoming the pop of color on him in poppy red, and a simple chain to add texture and drapery. All of it matching his specific feel, perfectly suited for him. We do not have people who care about being picky because everything matters anymore. I am one of those people. It can fuel the next generation, even if it does not seem like it. I learned from a simple creature like the Tin Man that intentionality is the heartbeat of mankind. I would rather overkill intentionality and thoroughness, than suffer from the lack thereof. If you are someone who does not agree, I would love to sit down for coffee and convince you.

I am a huge movie buff (if you cannot tell). I truthfully believe when the movie industry is portraying something, society follows at a rapid pace. The Truman Show is a phenomenal example, that even Gen Zers around me do not know impacted their everyday thoughts and feelings towards the digital entertainment age. Also Stranger things season 1 specifically, but that is not the point. At eight years old, I watched The Truman Show for the first time while on vacation in Seaside, Florida—the very town where much of the film was shot. I remember waking up early one morning, and my mother turning on the movie. I became completely captivated after the first runthrough. Instead of spending the day outside, I stayed in and watched it again and again. Even then, I knew there was something special about it, though I couldn't fully explain why.

Part of what drew me in was how much I related to Truman himself. I grew up in a pseudo-famous household, recognizable enough that people would occasionally stop us on vacation, and much of my childhood was spent on tour trips, at film blocks, and around creative projects. Like Truman, I was curious, loyal, and largely unaware of how much people were paying attention to me. Looking back, I've realized that my inability to be anyone other than myself—sometimes loud, sometimes dorky, always sincere—has continued to attract attention throughout my life, whether I wanted it to or not. But what affected me most was the world around him. The pastel homes, walkable streets, front porches, and carefully designed architecture of Seahaven felt like a dream. As someone who has always loved vintage aesthetics, I was mesmerized by a place that felt both nostalgic and hopeful. Staying in Seaside made the experience even more powerful. It showed me that this kind of beauty wasn't fictional—it could exist in real life. Even now, there is nowhere that makes me feel more grounded than the ocean, especially the beaches of Seaside. I cry almost every time I'm at the beach. Something about the endless horizon, the salt air, and the feeling of being small within something much larger strips away every distraction and leaves only what matters. It is one of the few places where I feel completely carefree. As I've grown older, I've also come to appreciate how prophetic The Truman Show was. Many people my age have grown up in a world where social media, personal branding, and constant digital entertainment are simply normal. They never experienced a world before the questions the film asked became everyday realities. Yet The Truman Show anticipated them all: what happens when life becomes content, when observation becomes entertainment, and when authenticity exists under the pressure of an audience. The film inspired me not only because of its message, but because it gave shape to something I already felt. If Truman could inhabit a world designed to be beautiful, thoughtful, and emotionally uplifting, why shouldn't the rest of us? It taught me that the environments we build—both physical and digital—shape the way we experience life. More than anything, it left me with a lasting belief that beauty, effort, and intentionality are not luxuries. They are things every person deserves to experience.

Every year, one of the highlights was attending Planet Wisdom and sleeping on a row of chairs backstage, eating a muffin from the various venue’s cafes, and getting to run around during mic check for the band. Most tweens went home remembering the speakers, games and music. I went home thinking about the people who made the experience possible. I remember photographers crouched in aisles waiting for the perfect shot, merch volunteers carefully arranging stacks of shirts and how each year the design on them changed, and space coordinators turning ordinary hallways into immersive environments. The conference logo was everywhere—printed on banners, projected onto screens, and pressed onto sheets of temporary tattoos that I would proudly stick onto the top of my little hands. For some reason, those tattoos fascinated me. Someone had designed them. Someone had decided they should exist. Someone had taken an idea and made it real enough for thousands of people to carry home. I couldn't stop thinking about the amount of work hidden behind every detail. Every stage backdrop, every flyer, every lighting cue, every piece of merchandise represented hundreds of decisions made by people whose names the audience would never know. While everyone else watched the show, I found myself wondering who built the world around it. That realization never left me. The older I get, the more I appreciate how much passion, coordination, and creative vision it takes to execute a live show remarkably rather than simply adequately. A great event isn't just performed—it's art directed. Long before I knew the title "creative director," I knew I wanted to be the person connecting all those moving pieces into a single unforgettable experience. And especially, how most of these factors in today’s industry are not only given the bare minimum, but sometimes completely disregarded. Merchandise is a walking ad. When it is done correctly, it should start conversation, to which the wearer of said merch can quickly give the sentence- “yeah its __, CHECK IT OUT!” I could write a doctoral thesis on this. Anyways, I am very passionate about the small things, If you cannot tell.