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- Apr 2, 202637 min
The Materialist : Spicy Dan
Marc Bridge and Danielle Meyer, The Dominick Hotel, NYC, March 27, 2026What happens when a brand is built not from strategy decks or heritage training, but from instinct, speed, and a refusal to wait for permission?In this conversation, Danielle Meyer of Spicy Dan shares how her business has grown out of pure creative impulse—designing pieces she wants to exist, then refining them through real-time feedback from her community. The result is a brand that sits in a rare space: playful but intentional, accessible but aspirational, and deeply personal without feeling precious.We explore the tension between creativity and commerce—why customization works when most brands fail to execute it, how rapid production cycles clash with traditional wholesale timelines, and why her best-selling instincts often contradict her personal taste. Danielle is refreshingly honest about the realities of building a business: procrastinating the unglamorous work, learning by doing, and embracing imperfection as a growth strategy.At its core, Spicy Dan is less about jewelry and more about world-building—a distinct point of view that customers can step into, whether they’re buying their first piece or their fifteenth. It’s a reminder that in a category where differentiation is notoriously difficult, originality often comes not from invention, but from conviction. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit atpresent.substack.com
- Feb 26, 20261h 6m
The Materialist : Malaika Crawford
A conversation with Malaika Crawford on flex culture, gatekeeping, and why print still matters.There’s a moment in my conversation with Malaika Crawford—Editorial Director of Hodinkee Magazine, former fashion-world operator (Mel Ottenberg’s assistant in the Rihanna heyday), and current resident anthropologist of the watch internet—where she says the quiet part out loud:“Watches are like jewelry with logos. Period.”It lands because it’s true… and because so much of watch culture is built around pretending it isn’t.This episode is about that tension: watches as craft and watches as status signal, watches as “timeless” objects we tell ourselves we’ll pass down, and watches as the most socially acceptable way to peacock at a dinner table without tossing your car keys down like a cartoon villain.It’s also about something else I love: what happens when an outsider walks into a closed room and names what everyone’s been politely not naming.Who is Malaika Crawford?Malaika comes from the fashion pressure-cooker—shoots, sourcing, customs nightmares, Met Gala-level stakes—and then, through a pandemic-era twist (and a very specific Deepak Chopra “look for a sign” meditation), she finds herself being pulled into watches. Not just collecting, but writing, shaping, and expanding the editorial voice of the most influential watch media brand in the U.S.She didn’t arrive to quietly follow the playbook. She arrived and asked, essentially: why is this hobby acting like a gated institution?The watch world’s fragile egoEarly on, Malaika took heat for writing about watches through a style lens—shooting watches on models, talking about context, clothing, culture. It wasn’t that she wasn’t doing the research. It was that she was threatening the hierarchy.She puts it plainly: a lot of the backlash wasn’t about movements and calibers. It was about who was “allowed” to speak.“A lot of them have a very narrow view of what their hobby should be—and who should be allowed inside their hobby.”And there’s a key distinction she makes that I think explains 80% of watch internet:Collectors vs. enthusiasts.The real collectors—the people with serious, historic, museum-grade collections—are often private. The loudest outrage, on the other hand, tends to come from “the cheap seats.” People emotionally invested in the identity of the thing, whether or not they’re actually buying the thing.Watches as flex culture (and why that’s uncomfortable)Here’s the provocation at the center of the episode:“Most of the time, when you’re buying a Rolex or Patek or AP… you want people to know.”Not everyone. Not always. But culturally? The signal is a feature, not a bug.And watches have the perfect cover story:“Watches have a functional alibi.”You can roll up your sleeve and show the world exactly what you’re wearing while pretending it’s just… timekeeping. That’s why they’ve become, arguably, the most elegant status object on earth. It’s also why people get defensive when someone names it.Because once you say “this is a flex,” the wearer has to ask: what am I trying to say about myself?Why watch design gets stuckOne of Malaika’s most interesting points is structural: watches are engineered first, designed second.In fashion, the creative director is the figurehead and the vision leads. In watches, the movement often dictates the case, and brand “heritage” becomes both asset and shackle.So you get a stalemate:* consumers want the watch that signals the brand* brands want to modernize without losing the totem* enthusiasts want the “old rules” preserved* culture keeps moving anywayWhich helps explain why the “jeans” of watches—Tank, Submariner, Speedmaster—remain dominant. The market rewards recognizability and permanence.The early-2000s era: the most honest watch momentMalaika calls the early 2000s her favorite era from the “Jane Goodall chair.” Oversized everything. Bottle service. Wrapped cars. Murakami Vuitton bags. Watches became loud.Panerai. Big Bang. Offshore. Jacob & Co.Not subtle. Not apologizing.And she argues something I love: watches may be old-fashioned objects, but they’re reflections of the culture that produced them. The early 2000s watches make perfect sense… because the early 2000s were perfect nonsense.The Travis Scott problem (and what it revealed)When Audemars Piguet collaborated with Travis Scott, watch internet lost its mind. Malaika wrote a long piece calling out what she sa
- Dec 30, 202557 min
The Materialist : Monica Stephenson
Marc Bridge and Monica Stephenson, Anza Gems Worldwide Headquarters, Seattle, WAMonica Stephenson is the kind of guest who makes you see a familiar object—one you might already love—like it’s brand new. In this episode of The Materialist, we sit together in her Seattle office overlooking Lake Union and the skyline, and we follow a thread that runs from the jewelry counter in a Midwest college town all the way to artisanal gem mines in East Africa—and then back again, into the hands of the designers and collectors who ultimately give these stones a second life.What unfolds is not just Monica’s career story (though it’s a fantastic one), but a bigger argument about what jewelry can do when it’s treated as both beauty and infrastructure: an object that sparks desire on the surface, and—if you care to go deeper—a vehicle for livelihoods, dignity, and long-term economic power.A retailer’s education: why the “floor” mattersMonica’s origin story is refreshingly unromantic in the best way: she starts in retail in the early 1990s, selling jewelry while studying art history and fine art at the University of Iowa. That experience, she argues, isn’t a detour—it’s the foundation. Retail trains you to listen, to understand what customers actually respond to, and to translate a piece of jewelry into a reason someone chooses to bring it into their life.It’s also where she first feels the pull of what she calls the “small sculpture” quality of jewelry—the idea that a piece can be materially precious, artistically rigorous, and emotionally immediate all at once. She remembers being captivated by the intention and artistry of emerging designers, a shift away from mass-manufactured sameness toward jewelry with a point of view. You flip a bracelet over, she says, and it’s as beautiful on the underside as it is on the top—craft as moral clarity.There’s a personal echo too: Monica didn’t grow up in a jewelry family in the classic sense, but her father worked outside sales for a New York designer and would have merchandise spread across the kitchen table. So the objects were always there—close enough to normalize, just far enough away to remain slightly magical.And then she says something that is both funny and true: we’re all magpies on some level. We like the shiny things. But for Monica, the “bug” goes deeper than sparkle. It’s the entire ecosystem—materials, workmanship, makers, and the people who carry the knowledge. It’s a love affair with process.Tech, jewelry, and the limits of a “flat detail page”From the jewelry counter, Monica’s path bends into the early internet. In the late 1990s she buys the domain for a diamond referral concept and builds what amounts to a matchmaking site connecting consumers to local retailers. It’s an early clue of what becomes a recurring theme in her work: jewelry is relational. It moves through networks of trust, story, and access.That blend of jewelry fluency and tech curiosity leads to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: Amazon asks her to help launch its jewelry store in 2003. Monica becomes, in her words, “the tech translator to the jewelry industry,” straddling two worlds and learning to speak both languages.What’s especially interesting is her reflection on why Amazon’s vision didn’t fully match the reality. Jewelry can translate to digital—today we have video, richer storytelling, and much better tools for dimensionality and nuance—but at the time, the attempt was to fit a complicated, largely non-branded category into a UPC-driven system. Watches could behave like that. Diamonds and gemstones couldn’t, at least not cleanly. Even within diamonds, there’s real variance from stone to stone, and the effort to “shoehorn” that complexity into a flat product page was harder than it looked.When I ask what she wished the platform could have been, her answer is basically a thesis for modern jewelry commerce: more immersive visuals, more dimensional truth, and more designer storytelling—who made it, why they made it, what the process is, and what’s embedded inside the object beyond its specs. The implication is clear: if you remove story, you remove meaning—and jewelry is meaning-driven.I Dazzle: the closet years and the power of deep storytellingAfter Amazon, Monica steps back for family life, has two daughters, and then—like a lot of high-functioning creatives—hits the point where being “only” a parent isn’t enough for her brain. She needs a creative outlet that isn’t organized around snack time.That’s where I Dazzle returns, this time as a blog. She subscribes to the industry magazines again, starts writing, and—nudged by her husband—channels her ideas into WordPress. What follows is the kind of grassroots editorial work that, in hindsight, feels inevitable: she travels to studios, interviews designers, attends trade shows, reports on tr
- Dec 13, 202556 min
The Materialist : Randi Molofsky
Marc Bridge and Randi Molofsky, The Peninsula Beverly HillsThere are people in the jewelry world who write about it, people who sell it, people who design it—and then there’s Randi Molofsky, whose superpower is weaving all of these worlds together. Randi doesn’t simply work in jewelry. She connects miners to designers, designers to retailers, and collectors to pieces that will live on their bodies and in their lives. She is a translator, mediator, curator, and—by her own admission—a sentimentalist with impeccable taste and a love of objects that carry stories.In this episode, recorded in sun-drenched Beverly Hills, we go deep into the heart of contemporary jewelry: where it comes from, how it gets made, who gets to participate, why it costs what it costs, and how personal style—and personal history—shape the objects we choose to carry with us.But we start at the beginning, with a young woman from a small Maryland town who loved fashion magazines and dreamt of a job at Vogue, only to discover a very different world in the pages of National Jeweler.A Connector Before She Had the Language for ItRandi never set out to work in jewelry. She studied journalism, imagined a career in fashion media, and took an interview at a trade publication she’d never heard of. They hired her—“young, passionate, and totally green”—and that job changed everything.As the fashion editor at National Jeweler, she was suddenly immersed in a universe she didn’t know existed:• trade shows• gem-cutting studios• retailers’ back rooms• global supply chains• and, eventually, gemstone mines in AfricaA trip to the Tanzanite mines in Tanzania was a defining moment. Standing at the foothills of Kilimanjaro, meeting miners and witnessing the challenges and humanity embedded in every stone, Randi began to understand jewelry not as a product but as a global system of craft, risk, beauty, and meaning.That perspective—ground-level humanity fused with aesthetic sensitivity—is what shapes her work today.The Jewelry World’s Great Misunderstanding“There’s nothing harder,” Randi says, “than helping a consumer understand where the value in jewelry actually comes from.”We live in a world where you can buy diamonds at Costco. The average consumer sees sparkle, price, maybe the four C’s—not the miners, cutters, alloy-makers, bench jewelers, or the hands the piece passes through before it lands in a box on a dresser.Randi argues that jewelry suffers from an education gap. We romanticize the final object but rarely discuss its life before us. One of her goals—whether mentoring designers or advising retailers—is to bridge that gap:Jewelry is not a commodity. It is a collaboration between earth, craft, culture, and the deeply personal taste of its wearer.The Case for Uniqueness in a Saturated MarketRandi’s agency, For Future Reference, works with emerging independent designers to shape their identity, build collections, manage wholesale, and navigate a retail landscape that has become simultaneously more crowded and more challenging.She tells every would-be jewelry designer the same thing:“Don’t do it.”Not because she doesn’t love this world—she does—but because the cost of entry is enormous, the margins volatile, and the competition intense. Designers fail not for lack of vision, but for lack of support. Randi’s work is to be that support: part strategist, part editor, part therapist, part guardian.She looks for designers whose pieces form their own vocabulary—work that is visually identifiable, that tells a story only its creator could tell. “Authenticity,” she says, “is the only real differentiator left.”Vintage as Liberation: Lowering the Barrier and Raising the JoyIn addition to championing contemporary designers, Randi has built a thriving business sourcing unsigned vintage fine jewelry—pieces made with craftsmanship equal to the old houses but without the brand stamp or the six-figure premiums.Vintage, for Randi, is more than a category. It’s a philosophy:• sustainable• personal• expressive• democratic• endlessly uniqueShe delights in watching a customer discover a 1960s gold ring or a pair of 1980s carved earrings remade into bangles, realizing—often for the first time—that jewelry can be both exceptional and accessible. Vintage also introduces stakes and emotion: “Nothing will haunt you like the vintage you didn’t buy,” Randi jokes (and every collector knows she’s right).To her, the future of jewelry isn’t mass luxury; it’s individualism.<st
- Nov 12, 202535 min
The Materialist : Jenna Perry
In this episode of The Materialist, Marc Bridge sits down with celebrity colorist Jenna Perry, the artist behind the signature looks of Kendall Jenner, Bella Hadid, and a generation of “It Girls.” Known for transforming hair into a medium of emotion, identity, and self-expression, Jenna shares how a childhood fascination with her grandmother’s salon visits evolved into one of New York’s most coveted creative businesses.She opens up about the emotional connection between women and their hair, why a haircut after a breakup can feel like therapy, and what it takes to turn artistry into enterprise. From a 600-square-foot East Village studio to a 40-person salon empire, Jenna recounts the leap from stylist to founder—and how she learned to balance artistry, leadership, and brand-building without losing her creative soul.The conversation ranges from the personal to the philosophical: what makes a good collaborator, how celebrity and social media shape trends, and why entrepreneurship is as much an art form as coloring hair. Along the way, Jenna reflects on her love of vintage jewelry, creative friendships, and the quiet satisfaction of building something lasting—piece by piece, client by client, strand by strand.It’s an intimate, high-gloss conversation about creativity, control, and the material culture of beauty. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit atpresent.substack.com
- Oct 21, 20251h 4m
The Materialist : Brynn Wallner
If you’ve peeked at modern watch culture in the last few years, chances are you’ve felt Brynn Wallner’s impact—whether you realized it or not. She’s the founder of Dimepiece, the platform that reframed watches through a lens that’s stylish, pop-cultural, and—crucially—women-forward. In our conversation for The Materialist, Brynn unspooled the origin story of Dimepiece, the pandemic moment that sparked it, and why a Cartier on a wrist can carry just as much meaning as a family heirloom or a diploma on the wall.Who Brynn Is—and Why She’s InterestingBrynn came to watches through words. While working on editorial projects at Sotheby’s, she found herself immersed in the mythology of the “greats”—Patek, Audemars Piguet, Rolex—and the pop-cultural stories that made models like the Paul Newman Daytona household names. One problem: in all that coverage, women barely appeared.When the pandemic cost her job, it gave her time. She went to Florida with family, turned 30, and realized she had never once aspired to own a watch. That realization became Dimepiece: first an Instagram moodboard of women (past and present) wearing watches; quickly, a movement. From Princess Diana in a Tank to Rihanna in a Nautilus, Brynn used recognizability to create an accessible on-ramp for new collectors who didn’t speak reference numbers.She blends pop culture fluency with archival curiosity—and she isn’t precious about it. Brynn is the rare voice who can decode a movement, then ask how it looks with your bracelets. She writes for mainstream fashion titles, sits with Swiss brand heads in Geneva, helps private clients source vintage, and now designs: her recent Timex Intrepid “baby diver” collaboration (co-created with dealer Alan Bedwell/Foundwell) scaled a ’95 design down to 36mm with crisp, wearable styling—and promptly sold out.What Dimepiece Changed1) It widened the picture.Dimepiece popularized a simple idea: if you can see women wearing watches—stylishly, contextually—you can picture yourself wearing one too. Instead of “for her” remixes in pink or diamond-festooned minis, Brynn advocated for intention in design: what would a modern woman actually want to wear every day?2) It normalized self-purchasing.In her DMs and interviews, Brynn saw a structural shift: women buying watches to mark promotions, launches, moves, and milestones. The watch as self-made heirloom—not just a gift received—has real cultural weight.3) It reframed how watches are worn.Bracelet stacks next to cases. A Tank with denim. A small diver to the beach. Dimepiece treated watches as part of an outfit, not museum pieces under glass. That styling voice mattered—and brands noticed.4) It nudged brands toward better product.Cartier’s reemergence of the Baignoire on a bangle—explicitly “meant to be stacked”—was designed with women in mind from the start. The secondary-market frenzy that followed proved the point, and other houses (Omega, Hermès) have put real R&D behind smaller mechanical movements rather than reflexive “shrink it and sparkle it.”The Topics We Covered (and Why They Matter)Pandemic acceleration & the waitlist era.From 2020 onward, watches surged alongside art and other “passion investments.” Supply couldn’t (or wouldn’t) match demand; waitlists ballooned; secondary prices spiked. More people paid attention—some for love, many for speculation—and the culture broadened beyond the old forums and trade catalogs.Quartz vs. mechanical, minus the snobbery.Brynn can break down the quartz revolution without turning it into a purity test. The point isn’t to dismiss quartz (or Swatch or Timex); it’s to understand why a movement matters to you—accuracy, romance, serviceability, sustainability, story—and buy accordingly.Styling and agency.Stigma around scratching cases or mixing bracelets is giving way to a wear-your-watch life. That’s not carelessness; it’s use. Patina, in this view, is biography.Heirlooms and meaning.Brynn’s father passed her his 1980s Datejust—an act that subtly rewrote a familiar script (father-to-son). We talked about the way objects carry memory across decades: the watch you b
- Oct 8, 202550 min
The Materialist : Lionheart
From a small town in Denmark to a sun-splashed bench in New York’s Diamond District, sisters Joy and Sarah Haugaard (the minds behind Lionheart) have built a jewelry universe where heritage, handwork, and human connection matter as much as gold and gemstones. In this conversation, we cover the origins of their partnership, Joy’s second-chance spark in 2020, the storybook that gave Lionheart its name, the community that sustains them, and why their clients don’t want what everyone else has—they want what feels like theirs.The origin story (and why it had to be the two of them)Raised “like twins,” the Haugaard sisters grew up inseparable—then bi-coastal—until the phone call that snapped them back together. In 2020, after a terrifying health crisis, Joy decided there was no more deferring the dream: she had to create Lionheart, not as a mood board but as a life. Sarah dropped everything in LA, flew to New York, and they got to work—7:00 a.m. to past-midnight, fueled by neighbors’ casseroles and customers’ letters.Why Lionheart—and what it really meansThe name is a promise. As kids, they worshiped Astrid Lindgren’s The Brothers Lionheart—a tale about two siblings who always find each other and face down every challenge, together. That devotion now shapes the brand’s ethos: courage, loyalty, and pieces that are made to live multiple lives.Making the personal, universalJoy learned the craft the old-school way—sales floor to polishing wheel to stone-sorting bench—so Lionheart’s pieces feel deeply lived. Motifs recur: birds (for freedom and their grandmother’s spirit), equestrian emblems (from their childhood around horses), and hefty, sculptural chains and charms meant to stack among the “greats” and still speak in their own voice.The Legacy collection & giving backHorses aren’t just a motif—they’re a mission. The Legacy collection supports 13 Hands, an upstate rescue that rehabilitates abused horses (and hosts veterans with PTSD). One signature pendant (their only regular sterling-silver design, also available in gold) sends 100% of proceeds to the nonprofit. It started as a capsule; it’s now permanent.Who buys Lionheart (and why)Lionheart clients are confident individualists: they might stack Van Cleef and Cartier, but they want one piece that feels like theirs. The Haugaard sisters don’t chase sameness or easy identifiability; they prefer conversation-starting forms, personal stories, and made-for-you tweaks. Social media helps, but what sustains the brand is the human exchange—DMs that turn into appointments, heirloom ideas that become rituals, and the occasional Sephora line-check where a stranger whispers, “Are those Lionheart?”Process, practice, and the editJoy sketches 40–50 pieces; Sarah insists on the story and the edit—eight or so designs to start—then opens the door to bespoke variations. That tension (vision vs. viability) keeps the work bold and wearable. Their grandmother’s lessons guide the ritual: wear your jewelry, love it, respect it—then take it off at night so you can wear it again, for decades.Where this is goingGrowth, yes—but with meaning. The Haugaards want Lionheart remembered not just for weighty gold and luminous stones, but for how the work made people feel: stronger, freer, seen. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit atpresent.substack.com
- Sep 23, 202554 min
The Materialist : Charlotte Groeneveld
Marc Bridge and Charlotte Groeneveld at the launch dinner for The World of Charlotte Groeneveld, presented by At Present. Raf’s New York, September 9, 2025. Charlotte’s dress is by ALMADA Label, Necklace from At Present.Charlotte Groeneveld—aka The Fashion Guitar—joins me during New York Fashion Week to talk about how blogging became the creator economy, why authenticity (not algorithms) is her north star, and the thrill/terror of debuting our new jewelry capsule together. From front-row politics to fabric snobbery and the “feel” test, Charlotte traces her path from WordPress fits to building a modern luxury business that’s personal, precise, and proudly independent.We get into: how NYFW is regaining its spark, the job-to-be-done for creators and brands, and Charlotte’s rubric for partnerships (“know your audience; be consistent; work hard”). She opens up about the mental gymnastics of invitations, the power of a tight network, and why her style starts with quality—then proportion.Then we unveil highlights from the At Present × The World of Charlotte Groeneveld capsule: an open-front diamond choker that “feels rich” without feeling heavy, its sister version tipped with organic pearls, a rose-quartz-kissed pearl choker, a saturated green fluorite strand with adjustable length, and a (soon!) ear climber. The brief we set for ourselves: make pieces that feel unique yet instantly wearable—day to night, knitwear to gala.Charlotte also shares what’s exciting her now—from TWP’s fabric-and-fit mastery to the return of the Chloé Paddington—plus why emerging designers face a brutal money/creativity tradeoff while mega-houses wrestle with the inverse. We close with where to follow her long-form writing (yes, Substack) and why community—DM by DM—still matters.Callouts & linksHouses & heritage* Chanel – the Karl Lagerfeld photo that inspired her blog’s name and the dream of sitting their shows. * Ralph Lauren – anchoring NYFW’s renewed excitement. * Chloé – current collection inspiration + the return of the Paddington bag. * Valentino – early adopter of working with bloggers. * Burberry – among Charlotte’s first European brand collabs. Contemporary & indie she’s watching* TWP – fabric, fit, and a “keeper” brand; new store out east. * Nordic Knots – rugs; a home brand she admires. * Interior NYC – beloved, now-closed indie; she still wears and tags their pieces* Ellison Studios – Australian home brand; small-batch furniture.People & media* The Fashion Guitar – Charlotte’s platform (site & Substack). * Vogue Runway – street-style time capsule. * Leandra Medine (Man Repeller), Susie Bubble, Bryanboy, Aimee Song – early era peers Charlotte cites.* The Frick Collection – where she plans to wear the diamond choker. Our capsule (At Present × The World of Charlotte Groeneveld)* Open diamond choker – front-closing, twin diamond tips (elegant, breathable “feel”).* Open pearl choker – same silhouette with organic pearl tips.* Pearl + rose-quartz choker – short, sits high; daytime-to-evening.* Green fluorite strand – lush color; subtly adjustable length. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit atpresen
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About The Materialist : A Podcast from At Present
An exploration of material culture with At Present Founder Marc Bridge. Marc is a Materialist. He loves things -- the things artists make, the things we sell, the things we make part of our our lives.But he was conflicted.Why do things matter? Why do creative people dedicate their lives to crafting them? What does it mean to obsess about what we buy, wear, and put in our homes. Are we destroying our planet, our children, and ourselves through this obsession? The Materialist Podcast is an exploration of this and so much more. Join us for conversations with the world's best jewelry designers, stylists, influencers, admirers, environmentalists, academics, and a bunch of just interesting people. atpresent.substack.com
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