"I believe feeling good in your own skin starts with self love. Self love can be really hard sometimes, but I truly believe that practicing being kind to yourself, and seeking out resources can help everyone become better at owning who we are." It's an earring party, and you're invited. Influenced by the lives and styles of women we admire, The Look was created to celebrate what the incredible women in our community are thinking, doing, and wearing. Inspired by Amara Haywood, this edition of The Look features earring stacks — from subtle studs to statement hoops. Advocate for body positivity, racial equality, and women's rights, Amara is one of our H&B style muses. She inspires us with her fashion sense, creative layering techniques, and use of personal style for embracing self-love and expression.   H&B: What's the key to a successful earring party? How do you layer your earrings? My current jewellery style is everyday maximalist with simple gold pieces. I always start with my first holes, and decide what my “feature earring” will be – whether it’s a hoop, statement earrings or stud. My second holes usually takes a supporting role, and I look for different shapes, stones and metals that will complement my feature earring. My third hole is always the cherry on top. This earring is typically small and simple, but complements the two other pieces.  What's your go-to earring look? As of right now, the charm hoops in gold with the pearl charm have been an everyday essential for me. The pearl is detachable, and the hoop alone is the perfect everyday gold hoop. You can pretty much always find my gold Clara Hoops in my second holes as they are an everyday staple. From head (or ears) to toe, describe your ideal fall outfit. My favourite part of dressing for fall is layering different textures. My ideal fall outfit would include a silky midi skirt, a graphic t-shirt (usually featuring one of my favourite bands), a knit cardigan, a leather jacket (in case I get too cold), paired with a pair of ankle boots. I love my accessories, and am usually wearing a headband or hat, and of course my favourite Hillberg & Berk pieces, which is currently the Beryl Herringbone Choker, Charm Hoops and the Petite Pearl Hoop Earrings.  What social cause are you most passionate about, and why? Narrowing this question down was difficult, as I think we have all learned a lot about different social causes. 2020 was an eye-opening year for many people, myself included. But the core cause in my life has been the feminist movement. Growing up with strong women, it was always instilled in me to have a passion for female empowerment, which developed into a genuine interest in the social and political movement. Throughout my education in University, I was exposed to feminism which sparked my participation in community events as well as local and online activism. This grew into an interest in different branches of feminism and how they relate to my world, including the body positivity movement, racial equality and women’s rights.  What's your favourite thing about fall? To put it simply – everything. Canada can have some crazy weather, but fall temperatures are always the most comfortable for me. The colours are amazing, and nature always puts on a show in the autumn months across the country. And of course, Halloween. In October you can always find movies like Beetlejuice playing in my house. Any tips for feeling good in our own skin? What works for you? I think as women we can be really critical of ourselves, but I believe feeling good in your own skin starts with self love. Self love can be really hard sometimes, but I truly believe that practicing being kind to yourself, and seeking out resources can help everyone become better at owning who we are. For me, I am really aware of the language I use when I am talking about myself, specifically my body and take time to reflect through different methods when I am being critical.  When do you feel most empowered? I feel the most empowered when I am connecting with other women. I am lucky to be surrounded by such influential, and passionate women in my work life, friendships and family. Click to shop Amara's favourite earring stacks. 

“I write for the same reasons I practice law: to use my voice for positive change.”  In light of Person’s Day on October 18, we’re getting political with Paula Ethans, a human rights lawyer, writer, and feminist reform advocate based in Winnipeg. In this Q&A, we chat with Paula about what the iconic Person’s Case did (and didn’t) do for Canadian women, why she’s never wanted to be “just a lawyer,” and how we can use social media and personal style to create positive change.  H&B: Can you tell us a bit about the person’s case and why it matters? The Person’s Case, Edwards V. Canada, was a constitutional ruling in 1929 that established the right of women to be appointed to the Senate. It’s called the Person’s Case because it was a challenge to the interpretation of the Constitution—then known as the British North America Act—that didn’t consider women to be “persons.” The Act referred to “persons” being in the Senate, and this case determined that women were “persons,” too.  This case cleared the way for women to serve on public bodies, including the Senate, and to be in important decision-making positions, but I think it’s also important to talk about what this case wasn’t. This wasn’t a cure-all or a picture-perfect feminist act. Members of the Famous Five [the group of women who pushed the case forward] supported the eugenics movement and compulsory sterilization of those considered mentally deficient—they were overtly racist and ableist. So I think it’s important to acknowledge that, while these Canadian feminist heroes helped some women for sure, they harmed others. It’s not enough to just celebrate this day in history; we also have to interrogate it.  Why did you decide to become a lawyer, and specifically a human rights lawyer? I’ve never been able to imagine myself in a career that wasn’t serving others. I decided to go to law school specifically to become a human rights lawyer because I wanted the law to be one of the things in my tool belt to help advocate for justice. That’s why I don’t identify as just a lawyer. I’m a writer, a poet, an organizer—and a lawyer. I’m using all these channels for advocacy.  Can you explain what you do as a feminist legal reform advocate? Feminist legal reform is, in its simplest terms, pressuring governments and courts to change laws and policies that adversly affect women or other marginalized communities. This can look like many different things: starting a petition, forming a coalition, writing open letters to governments, or acting as an intervener in a constitutional case. I work with a women’s legal NGO called NAWL (National Association of Womens and the Law) that’s been around for decades fighting laws that harm women. I’m a reseracher for various projects and, in particular, I created and facilitated a workshop called A Feminist Guide to Social Media and Activism, which is about helping students and organizations use social media as a tool to enact change.  Any quick tips for using social media for change? First, don’t be intimidated by it. Just do it, get on, make an account on Twitter, start a TikTok page, make a website—just create a presence. I would also say that, especially when you’re getting started, you should be doing a lot more listening than talking. One of the benefits of social media is that you get to hear perspectives you wouldn’t encounter in your daily life. I have learned so much from following Indigenous land defenders, trans activists—people I might not come in contact with on a daily basis but whose perspectives have really informed my feminism and how I advocate for social change. How does your law practice intersect with your writing life, and vice versa? Almost all of my writing is on social justice issues, so it’s directly connected with me being a human rights lawyer. Most people are intimidated by the law because it’s very inaccessible. So I love taking a complex topic—let’s say Canada’s migration policy—and translating all that legal jargon into a few straightforward pages that someone can digest and then go talk about with their friends and family. I write for the same reasons I practice law: to use my voice for positive change.  What’s a social issue you’re particularly passionate about right now? I’m very passionate about highlighting and fighting against the racist structures of law enforcement, the criminal justice system, and the prison industrial complex. It’s just in so many more facets of our lives than we notice. I’ve identified as an abolitionist for years, but as conversations about defunding the police have gone into the mainstream in the wake of George Floyd’s murder, the advocacy around this issue has really gained momentum. Every human rights issue is so deeply intertwined that, if you’re passionate about one, you kind of have to be passionate about all of them. But given our current political climate, I’m throwing all my weight behind abolition. How does your personal style intersect with your professional life?  Like everything, I think style is political. Our make-up, jewellery, fashion—these are ways for women to affirm our autonomy, to put our money where our mouth is, and to showcase what we support. Fashion is a way for us to present ourselves to the world in the way we want to be seen. It’s also a way for us to be allies, and to fight against things like worker exploitation and climate crisis. We can actively choose to support Indigenous creators. We can actively choose to support Black-owned businesses. We can make the move to reject fast fashion. Lastly, we can literally spell out what we believe! My aunt is an artist and I love to screen-print shirts with her, often with a political message.  Do you have any advice for young women pursuing a career in law or justice advocacy? There are countless tips and tricks for navigating law school, or landing an internship with the UN, but I think the most important thing for people interested in advocacy is to know what moves them. Whatever makes your blood boil—work on that. The form in which we work—as a journalist, lawyer, social worker, politician—will always be trickier to pin down, and it might even change. But the content should be more clear. Work on what moves you, what makes you get out of bed, what makes your heart pound—out of excitement and out of rage. If you don't have your whole body behind your advocacy, it can be hollow, so make sure you pick the field with care. Writing: Mica Lemiski Images: Supplied

From 2019-2020, H&B participated in a social entrepreneurship project to bring meaningful work to a women’s collective in Mandalay, Myanmar. Alongside these artisans and our partners, we worked to design and manufacture a new Sparkle Ball™ colour: Shimmer  How it began Empowering women has always been at the heart of Hillberg & Berk, but we wanted to take things a step further by giving a group of talented but systemically impoverished women the resources necessary to empower themselves. We partnered with the Ostro Foundation and Fair Share Myanmar to create jobs and a positive work environment for a collective of women in Mandalay, Myanmar. The task at hand? Creating Sparkle Balls™ in a brand new colour. The colour story Once in Myanmar, we brainstormed with our new team and collectively decided on a light, slightly-iridescent gold—a colour inspired by a natural facial cosmetic called Thanakha. Many women in Myanmar prize Thanakha for its aesthetic value and sun-blocking properties. Several women in the collective wore it daily!  From her hands to yours Each Shimmer Sparkle Ball™ has been handcrafted by a talented woman artisan. The creation process, which involves hand-placing Swarovski crystals into gold clay, takes incredible attention to detail. From the start, these women were up to the task. After a series of lessons with us, they began to make Shimmer the reality we hoped it would be. About the workplace We prioritized a positive working environment with proper tools and equipment, regular nine-to-five weekday hours, fair pay, regular breaks, supportive employers, and freedom to express religious identity. These conditions are human rights and should never be sacrificed for the sake of profit or convenience. It’s not revolutionary; it’s just right.  About the artisans Each woman in our Myanmar collective was hired by husband and wife team Raihan and Thuzar (the co-founders of Fair Share Myanmar). They selected these women based on potential and need: each came from a highly vulnerable, systematically-impoverished community where low pay, long hours, unsafe working conditions, and high levels of debt made it extremely difficult for them to properly care for themselves and their families.  Social impact There are innumerable social and economic benefits that come to communities who place women in positions of economic independence and agency. The Myanmar Project was a way to kick-start those benefits and to rethink the way businesses “do good” in our world. Instead of giving these women goods or money, we gave them a business model, and with that, a chance to do meaningful work in their communities. We reversed the traditional business model of investing in profit first, then donating it back to communities.  Why wear Shimmer? To support women’s economic independence To bridge a global connection  To celebrate cultural difference To empower women you don’t know To empower women you do know To empower yourself. Click here to shop Shimmer.

"I’m a person who wears many hats. Some days you’ll catch me as an entrepreneur. Other days you’ll catch me as a daughter, a sister, or a student. If you boil it down, the common denominator is that I’m a person who is trying to do something bigger than herself, and to help other people." In celebration of International Day of the Girl, we’re spotlighting social entrepreneur Mylene Tu. A management engineering student at the University of Waterloo, Mylene is also the co-founder and CEO of Lumaki Labs (formerly FEM in STEM), a startup that helps connect students and employers through virtual internships. We chatted with Mylene about her goals for the startup, the gender disparity in STEM (the combined fields of science, technology, engineering, and math), and why she loves to “put a ring on” her accomplishments.  H&B: What was the inspiration behind your startup, Lumaki Labs, and what are your goals with it now? As a female in engineering, I realized early on that there was a big disparity in the number of boys versus girls. Even when I was putting myself out there, going to events and conferences, I didn’t see much representation in terms of women and young people. That sparked me to start my first venture, FEM in STEM, which was a social enterprise to help empower other young women and provide them with resources to succeed in STEM.  Then last year, I started Lumaki Labs. It’s an edtech startup that focuses on revolutionizing the future of work through virtual internships. As a student, internships are invaluable in terms of gaining real world experience and just figuring out what adulting is like! For myself and my peers, a lot of these opportunities have disappeared or been canceled because of covid. At Lumaki, we saw an opportunity to shine a light on how people provide experiential learning and create opportunities for students to work virtually and attain experiences they might not have access to otherwise. The platform we’re currently building is designed to help employers recruit and onboard interns virtually.  Is there a way that these virtual internships are more accessible to women? As a young woman in STEM, you do hear those horror stories about tech bros and how your ideas can get drowned out in meetings. But in a virtual setting—especially in times like these—everyone is looking for new connections and a sense of community, which I think translates to increased opportunity for women, but also just all people, to speak out. Traditionally, people look for internships close to home because it’s hard to pay rent or commute a lot when you’re an intern, but when things are virtual, you can access opportunities outside your home town. It also gives employers a chance to reach different demographics of people and diversify their talent pools. What do you think are some barriers that prevent women from becoming involved in STEM in the first place? One of the biggest things is exposure. I grew up in Windsor, Ontario, and so I didn’t really have a lot of exposure when it came to STEM fields. I originally entered university in chemical engineering, then broke into the technology and business side of things. But I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I didn’t have the opportunity to try different internships and stuff like that.  Another barrier is the way people talk about STEM in general. There’s a big move towards empowering women in STEM, but I’m hopeful that one day we no longer have to emphasize the fact that there’s a gender disparity. I want it to become really normal for everyone to have equal access and resources. When I ran FEM in STEM, a lot of young women would ask, “How should I deal with any kind of discrimination from male peers?” But the number one thing I always said was that you shouldn't be thinking about how you’ll react or respond to that stuff—you should just be thinking about your own career path and your success.  Using our business model as a force of good, specifically in terms of female empowerment, is really important to us at H&B. What does being a social entrepreneur mean to you personally?  For me it means building things for good. My initial impression of business was that it was all men in suits trying to make money. But as a social entrepreneur, you’re working towards something bigger than yourself, not just for the money, but for the good of other people. And during tough times when business is difficult, it’s really nice to think back to your purpose and the potential impact you’re having on people. Social entrepreneurship also means doing business in a sustainable way. Because one thing I’ve learned from my previous work with FEM in STEM, and from other strong female entrepreneurs, is that you do need that revenue to help move your mission forward. That additional capital helps you do greater things.  What excites you about the world of technology? Technology has always been confusing to me. It’s inter-rooted in our daily lives but we don’t often sit down to really think about how everything works. The not-knowing gravitates me to want to learn more. Trying to figure out how these systems work, why they have certain impacts on people, and what makes them effective—all of that interests me. Because it could be knowledge I can use to help impact other people positively.  How do fashion and accessories fit into your life? Do you use them mainly for self-expression, or for other reasons? I use my jewellery for a few different reasons. If I’m going into a pitch or an important meeting, I like to wear jewellery because it makes me feel more confident even though it’s such a small touch. Another reason is accountability. I have a habit of buying rings, especially if I want to keep a promise to myself. I remember last year I bought a little knot ring that stood for a promise I made to myself. Also, for engineers in Canada, when you graduate you get an iron ring. The whole idea of getting that ring when I graduate has been really motivating and I guess that’s played into how I view other parts of my life. If something happens with my entrepreneurship, either something that I’m proud of or want to work towards, I’ll buy a piece of jewellery.  What does empowerment mean to you personally? To me, it’s breaking free of your comfort zone in a way that only you can do. Often, with the way education is set up and the way people are raised, you just kind of wait for opportunities to come your way. You work hard because you think that getting your degree is going to guarantee you a job. But I think empowerment is being able to break free from the norm and push your own limits to define your own path. I think empowerment has a very unique meaning for each person that chases after it.  The answer to this may seem obvious, but I’m wondering if you can articulate why it’s so important to have more female representation in STEM? What are some of the tangible benefits to having this field be more diverse? You really do need diverse perspectives in order to drive new ideas and innovations forward. Half the population is made up of women, so not having those perspectives at the table—it’s really an injustice when you’re designing products you want everyone to use. From a psychological and biological perspective, the way women think and act can be so different from men, and so to be able to have both voices present when you’re actually building something will ensure your business has twice the impact. Writing: Mica Lemiski Images: Supplied

Cree trans woman. Human rights advocate. Lover of beauty, makeup and all things fair. On October 4th, a series of Sisters in Spirit vigils will be held nationwide to honour the lives of more than 1200 missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls, and gender diverse people across Canada. The disproportionate violence against Indigenous people in our country is a national tragedy, and participating in a vigil is only one of many ways we can create a safer, more respectful environment for Indigenous people in our communities. For more information on the SIS Vigil and how you can participate in person or online, click here. In honour of this year’s vigil, we’re spotlighting Chevi Rabbit, a diversity advocate and makeup artist originally from Ponoka, Alberta. In 2017, Chevi was the first trans person to be named to Avenue Magazine’s Top 40 Under 40 list in Edmonton—an accomplishment she says validated her decade’s worth of work making Alberta a more welcoming place for gender diverse people like herself. In this Q&A, we chat with Chevi about what the Sisters in Spirit vigil means to her, why she became an activist, and how she uses makeup to express her identity.  H&B: In a few sentences—who is Chevi Rabbit?  CR: I’m an Albertan Canadian advocate for human rights and gender diverse people. I’m a Cree trans woman and two-spirit person who loves beauty, makeup, and all things fair. H&B: You’re one of the organizers of the Sisters in Spirit vigil in Wetaskiwin, Alberta. What is this event about to you? It’s 100% about honouring the lives of those that have been lost to a society that, in the past, and even today, is not welcoming toward Indigenous women. When you think about women and two-spirit Indigenous people who have been murdered or gone missing, it’s because they were in vulnerable situations, which arose because society pushed them to the fringes and failed to normalize who they were as people. In a way, it’s sad that we have to have a day to honour these lost lives—because hate and ignorance, within an unjust system, are the reasons we lost them. The event is amazing, but there’s so much more work that needs to be done in terms of systemic changes. We still need to advocate for inclusivity, equity, and space for Indigenous women.  H&B: What’s your specific role in relation to the vigil?  I’m organizing a vigil in Wetaskiwin with the Minister of Indigenous Relations, Rick Wilson. It’s cool because not only is he my MLA but he’s also become a close friend, and I’ve taken on a role within his government. I’m a two-spirit consultant who helps advise The Alberta Joint Working Group on MMIWG—a group working with the Alberta government to implement action items recommended in the final report of the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. The goal is to address calls for justice and build a province that better supports Indigenous girls and women, and my role is to advocate for the gender diverse community.  H&B: Why do you think you became an activist in the first place?  I think it comes from my upbringing and my Cree values. I’m from Montana First Nation and I grew up in Ponoko. My family has been in politics since the creation of that reserve, so well over a hundred years, and I grew up watching my aunts and uncles serve the nation. My uncle, Chief Leo Cattleman, was the longest serving chief in Canada at one time—he served our community for over 40 years. And my grandma, Sarah Schug, did amazing things in the world of childcare. She received a Centennial Award from the Alberta Government for her life’s work. These changemakers in my family inspired me to use my voice not only for me, but for others. They paved new trails and that’s what I see myself doing, too. There was also an incident in 2012. I was in my fourth year of Native Studies at the U of A, and I was working as a makeup artist for Murale Cosmetics, Holt Renfrew, and as a regional makeup artist for L'Oreal. One day while walking to get groceries I was assaulted—simply because of my appearance. At the time I was expressing myself through fashion and makeup, just really living my best life. I couldn’t believe I’d been assaulted—just for the way I looked. And so I began to advocate for change through a campaign called Hate to Hope. In speaking up, I realized there were so many other people in Alberta who’d been feeling unheard and silenced. And so I went all out to create change for Alberta’s LGBTQ2S community. I rallied with the government, sent out letters, went to events, joined committees, and started speaking at schools and conferences. It was all to make sure people like me aren’t assaulted when all they’re doing is living their best lives. H&B: Who are some of your role models?  My life is shaped by my mother, Lavenia Schug. She raised me with love, respect and dignity, and encouraged me to pursue my education, dreams and self-improvement. Without this support system I might have been just another statistic but because of the love I received from my mom, family, aunts and cousins, I know I’m valued. In recent years I’ve leaned on my aunty Shirley Rabbit—a respected Cree Elder in Maskwacis Alberta—for spiritual guidance and reconnection with my Cree cultural roots. I find I need to live in two worlds to be successful.  H&B: I’d love to hear about how your interest in fashion and makeup began. I came out as a gender diverse person when I was very young and it wasn’t a big deal. It was like, oh, that’s Chevi, and Chevi can be whatever Chevi wants to be. And I had this fascination with my aunts, who would always dress up. One of my great aunts loved fur, and another aunty loved to travel the world and bring back all this cute artwork. I loved their elegance and sophistication. I thought they were so pretty and it planted a seed. Ever since then I’ve been fascinated with makeup and fashion and beauty. H&B: What’s your own makeup routine like?  Right now I’m at an age where I need skincare! I think of my face as a canvas that needs to be maintained. It requires love and respect. I really focus on my eyebrows because they’re the architects of the face, and I like to stick to very light, natural makeup. Nudes are my favourite. If I’m feeling lively I’ll put on a bright colour, but I don’t like it to be too noisy. So if I have bright lips I’ll have quiet eyes and less contouring.  H&B: How do you use fashion and makeup to express your identity? I use fashion and makeup to express my femininity and gender. As a Cree trans woman, I’ve been blessed with very feminine features, but in order to get rid of the hard edges, the masculinity within me, I have to feminize my face through makeup. When I got certified as a makeup artist at Marvel College, I freelanced all over Alberta and worked for every local fashion designer in Edmonton and Calgary. I’ve even worked with women like Ashley Callingbull. She did so much for our community and I really congratulate her for winning Miss Universe. I've also worked with model Michaella Shannon and actress Linsday Willer. Both ladies have done great things for Indigenous representation in mainstream media.  H&B: What’s your favourite way to practice self-care?  I love to go on small, local staycations. I’ll book a hotel and just isolate myself for like three days with a book. I grew up seeing my mom love books—she used them to escape—and she passed that love down to me. My life is so busy, and so it’s good to isolate, recenter, read a good book, and just forget about everything for a while.  H&B: Do you have any guiding words for people facing discrimination or barriers? Just know it will get better. It will. Create those circles of friends who will support and help you. It takes time to cultivate those kinds of friends, but that’s part of the process of living in this world. The world has an ugly side, but you have to understand how to navigate it, while knowing that as a person you are valued, loved, and needed. Look for role models, positive examples, and become your own advocate. And finally remember that challenges are inevitable. Don’t over-give, and just keep going. Writing: Mica Lemiski Images:  Soko Fotohaus,  Darlene Hildebrandt,  Aaron Pedersen,  Talvinder Singh

Meet Kam Bahia: High school teacher, founder of I Am: H.E.R., a workshop program focussed on empowering teenaged girls, and one of the amazing women that inspired The Look. Influenced by the lives and styles of women we admire, The Look was created to celebrate what these incredible women are thinking, doing, and wearing. Featuring stylish chain pieces, these designs are inspired by real women in our community, like Kam, and we hope wearing them serves as a reminder to always embrace your own authentic look.  We asked Kam everything from how she incorporates these designs into her everyday style to why she feels it's important for brands to represent everyday women, and even her favourite skincare tips. Get to know her, and her bright personality, below! H&B: What do you like most about wearing jewellery chains?Kam: They make me feel beautiful but with the minimalist, carefree look. They don’t take up much space on my skin, they don’t overshadow my entire neck line, but yet somehow still make a loud, radiant statement. The dainty look is what I am drawn to; a gold or rose gold chain choker. I feel like the chain speaks for itself and for the woman wearing it, she says, “I am gentle, I am kind, but look out world, I do indeed shine!!!” And the world NEEDS our unique glow!  What outfit (clothes and accessories) makes you feel most like yourself?High-waisted jeans or pants and just a plain white T-shirt with sneakers. I grew up playing soccer, so I am most comfortable in sneakers. And as for accessories, a single dainty chain choker and dainty rings. When it’s time for a girls night out, I will substitute my sneakers for platform sneakers to really take it up a notch! Why do you think it’s important for brands to feature everyday women as models? The appeal of the real, is SO real. In a world that is evolving every single day, with that comes the evolution of the word, “beauty." I think we are in a time that we have to learn to redefine the word “beauty." Models are used to promote a product, and they do so flawlessly. But I believe when you share “regular” customers wearing a product that they love and willingly associate themselves with that brand, those images just breed an organic, and just as flawless, image and feeling of beauty. It’s just a natural extension of marketing, but it’s coupled with women who are believing in and supporting these brands because that brand makes HER feel beautiful. And truthfully, if a woman feels beautiful emotionally, spiritually, mentally, socially, and physically, she is literally unstoppable! What’s your wake-up ritual like?First foremost, I take time doing my daily devotional. Gets me in the right mindset. From there, I am ready to tackle the day. In my months off, I will head straight into a workout. For the months I am working, it's right into the shower and getting ready for work. On my drive to work, I drink a hot water with lemon and listen to my favourite podcasts. What’s your top skincare tip?Don’t cringe…but soap (hand soap or body soap bar) and warm water. Stems from my mother who was born and raised in India and that’s all they used and that’s how I was raised. Why break the generational routine, right?! It’s Sunday and you’ve got no plans. How do you fill your day?I put in quality time with my distant siblings, also known as Netflix, Crave,  and Amazon Prime. Can’t have them feel too neglected!What’s something you’re obsessed with that most people aren’t?Herbal Essence shampoo and conditioner. Also, in saying that, I am also obsessed with showering. I take 2-3 showers a day, and I wash my hair everyday…sorry to all the hairstylists out there. You’re the founder of “I Am H.E.R.” Why is providing tools to support young women and build their confidence something you’re particularly passionate about? Every decision we make is rooted in our self-worth. Unfortunately, our youth are facing an epidemic of self-doubt. It is our responsibility as an older generation to nurture and empower the younger generations. I am dedicated to having young females realize their full potential through encouragement and self-belief. If we can cultivate positive change in our younger generations’ lives, they in turn will then model positive change to others around them. What ingredient do you use most in your cooking?Garlic powder!What advice would you give to girls or women struggling to make peace with their bodies? Is there a piece of wisdom that has helped you personally?Out of 7+ billion people in the world, not one other human being has the same body as you. Not one other woman in this world has the same curves as you, the same skin as you, the same smile as you. I have curves, I have a butt, but with that, comes cellulite and stretch marks. But I wouldn’t give up any of that to share the same figure with any other woman who is absent of those things. In fact, in order to have the butt I love so much, I had to get stretch marks and cellulite, so in a way, dare I say I'm actually thankful for those features. We truly are unique creatures. Our world NEEDS our uniqueness. Our uniqueness in our bodies, our shapes, our skin, our languages, and everything in between. Each woman’s uniqueness should be defined as perfection. Because there really is nothing else out there like it. There is no one else out there in this world like me or you, actually THINK about it, cling onto those words. THERE IS NO ONE IN THIS WORLD LIKE YOU!! How incredible is that?!

“Cycling has helped me accept my vision loss. I’m at peace with it now.” Carla Shibley is pedaling hard. Seated at the back of the tandem bike she shares with teammate Meghan Brown, she pumps her legs relentlessly, trying to catch up to the pair of riders she knows must be just around the bend. It’s the 2019 Canadian National Road Race. She and Meghan have a shot of winning—if they make up some ground. Her legs burn; sweat pours.  But something feels off to Carla. Where is the leading team? Given how fast she and Meghan have been riding, shouldn’t they be caught up by now? Carla doesn’t let this thought distract her too much. She continues pedaling and follows Meghan’s instructions. Harder, let’s go, keep pushing. She recites the team mantra internally. The pain is temporary.  Meanwhile, Meghan is keeping a secret: she and Carla aren’t chasing the leader; they are the leader. The reason Carla doesn’t know this is because she has only two per cent central vision. At ten years old, Carla was diagnosed with juvenile macular degeneration, and ever since then, a large black spot has been growing in her line of sight, eclipsing her vision. “I don’t know when the lights are gonna go out,” she says. But she does know it will happen eventually.  Which means Meghan is much more than an ordinary teammate or tandem pilot. On the road, she is Carla’s eyes. Not only does Meghan steer the bike, but she also instructs Carla on how to prepare and respond to the terrain. Is there a hill coming up? A steep corner to ease up for? Meghan relays this information verbally—sometimes using code words if they’re in competition—or through a sort of leg-language. “I’ll ease off on the pedals a tiny bit and Carla knows right away to ease off. It’s almost like she can read my mind.” And while Carla is usually able to judge her and Meghan’s race position by counting the competitors they have or have not passed (she still has partial peripheral vision) she has miscalculated in this particular race. “We made an attack and got away really early in the race,” Meghan recalls. “We kept pushing to increase that gap. But Carla thought we were chasing.” When they cross the finish line—first—Carla doesn’t know they’ve won. Meghan tries to tell her the good news, but Carla thinks it’s a joke. “I was so dumbfounded. It didn’t sink in.”  Carla’s shock lasts until she’s on top of the podium—top centre. “My hands were shaking. I was like, what? Is this a joke? Am I being pranked?’” As cameras click and fans cheer, Carla and Meghan raise their arms high, trophies in hands, medals shining.  It is definitely not a prank. “I’ll ease off on the pedals a tiny bit and Carla knows right away to ease off. It’s almost like she can read my mind.” Two months later, they’re back on the podium—again, top centre. They’re in Lima, Peru, having just finished their final event at the 2019 Parapan Am Games, an international, multi-sport event that only occurs once every four years, similar to the Olympics or Paralympics. It’s Carla and Meghan’s fourth time on the podium this year in Lima. They’ve won two golds, a silver, and a bronze. They’ll return to Canada with much heavier bags.  No doubt their performance has edged them closer to making Team Canada and heading to Tokyo for the Paralympic Games, now being held in 2021. “But we’re hopefuls, not shoe-ins,” says Meghan. “The selection process is still being finalized and will depend on some races next year.” But they certainly look like Team Canada material. Watching Meghan and Carla ride—legs churning exactly in-sync, heads bowed at identical angles—it’s easy to assume they’ve been riding together since childhood. But it’s only been two years. After meeting at a cycling club in Calgary, they began training together upon the suggestion of a mutual friend. “I was terrified at first,” Meghan admits. “Tandem bikes are very big and very fast. It’s not like riding a road bike by yourself at all.”  Carla had almost no fear at all. At the time, she was willing to ride the bike with pretty much anyone. “I can teach you to ride in two minutes!” she’d say to prospective partners, downplaying the steep learning curve. “I think it really scared a lot of people.” “The more you ask for help, the more you’ll see that people are willing to give it.”  Meghan was able to keep her initial fears in check by taking a slow and steady approach to learning. That easing-in turned out to be crucial for establishing a solid, sustainable partnership. “I’ve had a few different pilots,” Carla says. “But the difference with Meghan was her conservative approach. It allowed us to build a foundation.”  Now, their sense of trust is iron-clad. “I can be on the back of the bike with Meghan and not feel any sense of anxiety,” says Carla.  Sports haven't always been a source of calm or joy for Carla. After her childhood diagnosis, athletics were an outlet for anger but also a huge source of that anger. Her vision loss made participation in sport either difficult or impossible. At 18, she had to give up running because she was constantly near-missing running into things—most notably, small children and deer on the road. She constantly wrestled feelings of why me?, especially since her sisters were both provincial-level athletes. A wrestler and a gymnast, they derived a sense of identity from sport that Carla craved but couldn’t access. She resorted to self-deprecating humor, joking that she was “just the blind girl.” “I used jokes to stuff away my feelings about my vision loss,” she says. Wanting to help, her sister suggested she try goalball, a team sport played exclusively by people who are visually impaired. But playing goalball was a bit like trying on a pair of jeans that was designed to fit but didn’t. “The atmosphere wasn’t for me.”  Then a coach told her about Para cycling—the possibility of zooming down hills and powering up slopes with a sighted guide. “I was like, woah, a tandem exists?”  She felt hopeful. Her family felt...concerned. The fact that Carla wanted to ride a bike—without seeing the road—seemed reckless. “Everyone thought it was crazy!” she laughs. It didn’t stop her. “To this day, my mom says her heart just pounds [when she watches me ride] and I’m like, why? This is so much fun!’” "The para community I’ve been exposed to in Canada—they’re such incredible, hardworking, humble people. It’s quite powerful. I enjoy working with Carla and being a part of something bigger than just myself.” It’s been more than just fun. “Cycling has helped me accept my vision loss. I’m at peace with it now.” If she’s having a bad day, Carla will get on the bike with Meghan or her good friend Janelle and think, “ah, that felt good.” Like Carla, Meghan discovered cycling as a result of physical challenges. A multi-talented athlete and former competitive soccer player, Meghan’s sports career took a turn after a series of knee injuries led to a frank conversation with her orthopedic surgeon. To avoid further injury, the surgeon advised Meghan give up soccer and try cycling. “The week after, I went and bought a road bike. And that was that.”  But it wasn’t quite that. Her true sporting breakthrough didn’t come until she discovered tandem cycling—and specifically, a tandem teamdom with Carla. “I enjoy Para cycling and being a part of that community more than any solo cycling I’ve ever done,” Meghan says. When asked how she feels to be accepted into the Para sport community as an able-bodied person, Meghan pauses to reflect. “It’s hard to put into words, honestly. The para community I’ve been exposed to in Canada—they’re such incredible, hardworking, humble people. It’s quite powerful. I enjoy working with Carla and being a part of something bigger than just myself.” Their friendship outside of cycling carries its own power. They say they’re like sisters—unafraid to communicate their qualms but more unified because of it. They also just have a good time together. Meghan comes over for Middle Eastern dinners at Carla’s house, and they love to have those no one else would get this but us-type conversations. Chats along the lines of “what kind of mascara works best for when you have to sweat on a bike and then potentially appear on camera?” keep things light and fun between strenuous training sessions. “Finding makeup that we can wear while racing on a bike is a challenge we’ve been working on for a long time,” Meghan laughs. As for their ten year age gap? They hardly notice it. “Carla has an old soul! She surprises me with her wisdom.”  They both cite remaining positive as integral to their partnership. This optimism has been especially crucial for Carla personally, as she doesn’t know how long her partial-sightedness will last. “I’m going blind and I’m looking forward to it,” she says. “That might sound bad, but it is what it is.” She says becoming less stubborn and learning to ask for help have been essential to her acceptance. “The more you ask for help, the more you’ll see that people are willing to give it.” Her advice for anyone facing unique challenges, especially physical ones, is to find some sort of outlet, to quit making excuses for yourself, and to let negativity fall away from you like water. “We have to be waterfalls,” she says. “Especially now.”  "It’s about the experience. It’s about enjoying whatever comes at me, with Meghan.” As for competing at the 2021 Paralympic Games, Carla and Meghan say that’s definitely their goal—it would be a huge honour to represent their country at that level—but making Team Canada isn’t some kind of shining end point. “I’ve been asked before, ‘what if you don’t make it?,’” Carla says. “But it’s about the experience. It’s about enjoying whatever comes at me, with Meghan.” Writer: Mica LemiskiPhotos: Provided

To honour Indigenous history and celebrate National Indigenous History Month, we’re spotlighting up-and-coming Indigenous artist and jewellery maker, Adrienne Larocque, and her brand Kihew and Rose.  Adrienne Larocque is a Nehiyaw Iskwew (Plains Cree Woman) from Maskwacis, Alberta, who lives, works, and creates on the traditional and unceded territories of the Coast Salish peoples (Vancouver). Along with working full-time as a program coordinator for the First Nations Technology Council (a BC-based non-profit that aims to make jobs in the tech sector more accessible to Indigenous people) she’s also the creator of Kihew and Rose, a line of handmade accessories created with traditional Indigenous materials such as home-tanned hides, animal bone, shells, and beads. Following the launch of her latest collection, Hillberg and Berk chatted with Adrienne about her journey to becoming a beader, how she’s using beadwork to reconnect with her culture, and why those cultural ties were lost in the first place.  Interview by Mica Lemiski Hillberg & Berk: How did you land on the name “Kihew and Rose” for your jewellery business?  Adrienne Larocque: So my Cree name—given to me by my late grandfather, my Mosom —is Kihew Iskwew, which means Eagle Woman. When I was thinking about names that aligned with my beadwork, I wanted something that represented a part of me but I didn’t want to use my full name. So I pulled Kihew. As for Rose, growing up, there were a lot of wild roses that grew in the field near where I lived in Alberta. So for me, Kihew and Rose reminds me of who I am as an Indigenous person, and also where I come from.  What is your origin story as a beader? How did you get started? I know a lot of Indigenous women who learned beading techniques from their grandparents or family members, but beading techniques weren’t passed down to me that way. I’ve only been beading for about four years now. I grew up in my community—Maskwacis located in Treaty 6 territory in Alberta—but I was very disconnected from my culture as a result of the Indian residential school system. All of my grandparents and my parents went to residential schools (my parents went to day school and my grandparents went to the boarding schools) and these schools were designed to remove and isolate children from their homes and their families, traditions, and cultures. Unfortunately, it was a really well-designed system. Because of that, myself and my whole family were not exposed to a lot of these cultural traditions, including traditional art practices like beading. I did have one beading lesson from my cousin when I was a teenager, but I was very young and very impatient! I gave up, thinking it wasn’t something I’d ever do. But I’ve always loved sewing. I used to make little patches and pouches on my Kokom’s ’s sewing machine, and all through my formative years I was sewing and learning how to pattern-draft and stuff. And so after high school and one year of general studies in college, I moved to Vancouver and took a fashion design diploma program. I had that background in sewing and thought, if I go into fashion, what could happen for me? But when I graduated from the program, I was discouraged by the competitiveness of industry, the lack of paid internships, and the distance away from my family. I was being called home. I went back to my community, and after working in education for two years, I just felt like I wasn’t really growing as a person. I decided to go back to school, this time focussing on Native Studies at the University of Alberta. That program completely shifted everything for me.  Oh wow—in what way? Native Studies taught me so much about the residential school system, Canadian legislation, and how historical injustices against Indigenous people really created the world that myself and my community lived in. I always knew residential schools existed, but I didn’t know how they were structured in a way that forced Indigenous people to assimilate into the dominant culture. I just didn’t know this. Taking the Native Studies program gave me historical perspective and taught me about the Indian Act and how it still impacts Indigenous people today. It really opened my eyes. I just understood my world better.  It sounds like you had a whole new context put on your life. For sure. Because if you don’t have the language to describe your experience, or the understanding of why you live a certain way, then how are you supposed to know? That program helped me understand why my upbringing and my family was the way it was, and why I didn’t have that connection to my culture. So I finished that program and graduated with my Bachelor of Arts Degree. It took me ten years to get my undergrad degree—that growing and learning process took time—but I did it. From there, I started building a career for myself. I began working with government and non-profit organizations to try and remove barriers for Indigenous people to access post secondary education opportunities. I also started looking for community classes to take in Edmonton, and I found a series of free workshops for First Nations women living in the city. I signed up, went to a beading class, and discovered this amazing group of people, including one woman with whom I had community ties I wasn’t aware of before. She demonstrated to us how to do a two-needle beading technique, and something just clicked. Since then, I’ve been beading non-stop.  I’m wondering if growing up without that understanding of your cultural history affected your relationship to your Indigeneity as a young person? And did you ever feel ostracized or othered as an Indigenous person?  I’ve definitely experienced instances of discrimination and racism and being stereotyped for the way I look, and it was definitely something that I struggled with growing up. Back then I wasn’t proud to be Indigenous because of the way I had been treated. To cope, I would try my best to blend in with the world and not draw too much attention to myself. But education really helped me become stronger in my Indigenous identity. My Native Studies program helped me shape that strong Indigenous identity for myself and better understand who I was and where I came from. I was able to develop stronger values because of it.  It sounds like that program really helped you go from feeling shameful to really feeling proud of your Indigeneity. Yeah. One of the things I think about often is the collection I designed at the end of my fashion diploma program. When I look at that collection—it was beautifully made and I’m really proud of all the hard work I put into it—but you know, the inspiration for it didn’t come from me being an Indigenous person. I didn’t base those designs off my own lived experience or connect them to my Cree culture. I look at the collection and think about how you can’t tell that an Indigenous person made it, which is not to say that it needed to look Indigenous, but more that I just don’t see myself reflected in that work. Now that I’ve really grown to love beading and have built it into my life, I see myself reflected in the work that I do, whereas that wasn’t the case with my graduation collection.  I also have to say, your jewellery is hot right now. Going on your website, a couple hours after your collection dropped last Friday, I kept seeing sold out, sold out, sold out. How does that feel? It’s weird! But it feels really great to see the support of the community—because that’s really what it is. It’s just inspiring, and it encourages me to continue to work. Working on that most recent collection—it took a long time. At the start of the pandemic, I was able to leave Vancouver (where I’m based) and go home to my family in Alberta, which really relaxed me, but still, for about a month I could not bead. I felt all this heightened anxiety, and so I didn’t touch my bead cases. There are so many teachings that go with beading, and one is that it’s not only an artform but a cultural practice, and so you always want to be in a good frame of mind and a good heart space when you bead. It’s an act of love, the way I see it. At the start of quarantine, I wasn’t feeling the right way, and so I couldn’t do it. But eventually, as things got better and I felt more calm, I started thinking, what’s something new that I can do? I began thinking of new designs, chipping away at it, and it grew into this really beautiful collection.  Can you talk a bit about what inspired the colours and shapes in your new collection? There seem to be a lot of references to Alberta’s native plant-life. They’re based on plants that grow in Canada and are known to grow in Alberta, but what really drew me to that style of work was the feeling of going back a season, from spring to winter, which is what happened when I travelled from Vancouver to Alberta at the start of isolation. I got to experience the snow melting, the little signs of spring coming to life, and the regrowth all around me. Growing up in Alberta, the change of seasons has always been a big part of my life.  Yeah, I guess Vancouver has a very different kind of spring. There’s no big thaw like there is in the prairies. Exactly, and traditionally in Indigenous communities, there were specific patterns and styles you recognized as belonging to certain Nations. Like you could tell where someone was from by the patterns and colours of their beadwork, and sometimes you could even tell what family they were from! The idea was, your beading reflected your surroundings. So for me it’s been really interesting because, like I mentioned before, I didn’t grow up with access to that passed-down knowledge. I don’t have any family patterns to reference—at least that I’m aware of—so I’m in this process of creating my own beading identity. Do you know what the future of Kihew and Rose looks like? What’s next for you in a business sense? That’s definitely the big question right now! Kihew and Rose is different than a traditional jewellery company in the sense that it’s all handmade and it’s very much an art—not to say that other jewellery isn’t art—but a lot of time goes into these pieces. I think I’m most well known for my smaller, more wearable, everyday earrings, but I’m also interested in reclaiming traditional practices like making moccasins or shawls. I’ve been thinking about starting to focus on larger pieces and acquiring traditional hides and other workable materials that are sourced in a good way. I would love to see the business grow from here, but I’m not really sure what that looks like yet, which is exciting! I think it could grow beyond what I even imagine, but as a smaller business owner I’m at the point where I’m still currently doing everything. It’s hard to meet the demands right now, to be honest. Do you ever take commissions? So much of your online shop is sold out...  Oh yes for sure. That’s actually how I started—by doing commissions and requests. It got to be too much to manage and so I started being more strategic, like doing a collection at a time, releasing it, and seeing how it went. But I do love taking special occasion requests. I’ve created earrings and jewellery for three or four weddings and a couple of graduation ceremonies, and I find it to be a lot of fun. You know, as long as the project is the right fit and I have the time and capacity, then I will consider it.  How do you feel about non-Indigenous people engaging in beadwork or wearing your designs? I think sometimes people ask themselves, am I being appropriative if I’m wearing something that looks traditionally Indigenous when I’m not Indigenous myself? I think it’s actually really important for non-Indigenous people to support Indigenous artists and business owners. I get that question a lot from people, like, is this cultural appropriation? It’s not. Unless you are a non-Indigenous person making Native-inspired work. If you’re buying from someone who is an authentic Indigenous person, then we’re happy to see you wearing our work. At markets, I had to learn quickly that I’m not just a vendor, but also an educator in the sense that I need to let people know it’s okay to buy my beadwork. It’s like, that’s why I’m here! That’s what I want you to do! We’re reckoning with some big social justice issues right now—I’m speaking particularly of Black Lives Matter and racialized police violence. Given how police brutality disproportionately affects Indigenous people in Canada (just as it does Black people and other people of colour), I’m wondering how you feel about the way people in Canada are reacting to all the current news? There’s a lot of talk right now, but do you feel supported as an Indigenous person?  It’s tough because I wouldn’t necessarily say that I feel supported as a First Nations woman. Every day, something new happens and, as an Indigenous person, it’s a lot to take in because I really feel for the Black Lives Matter movement—there are a lot of similarities in terms of what both our communities experience with police violence. But from what I’ve witnessed and what I’ve seen on social media, it seems that Canadians have been more supportive of this movement because it’s at an arm’s length. Canadians are still reluctant to take ownership and take action against injustices that are happening against Indigenous people in Canada. They can acknowledge that racialized violence is happening somewhere else but not that it’s happening here. You mentioned that more people are starting to talk about all this, but it doesn’t feel like a whole lot has changed. I don’t see much shifting yet. There needs to be more awareness of what’s happening here in our own country.  What do you hope non-Indigenous people—people who consider themselves allies—are doing right now to take action against these injustices? Are there particular things that would be meaningful to you personally? I think it’s really about taking the initiative to educate yourself. There are so many resources already available for people to access, one of them being the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. They publish calls to action and they’ve also interviewed survivors of residential schools. One of the things I always used to hear our elders say is, we’ve already shared our stories. The stories are there, so you need to read them now. It’s about taking the time to really learn about Indigenous people who have been here since time immemorial.  Thank you for sharing that. It’s always tricky because, as a white person, I know it’s not great to keep asking Indigenous people, you know, “what can I do to help?” because that’s like saying “help me help you!”. I think for non-Indigenous people like myself, it’s really important to find ways to help that feel good in a personal sense. So for me, that looks like reading up on history, buying Indigenous art, bringing food to my Indigenous friends to show I support them—things like that.  Yeah, I think those are all really great things you mention. It's also important to have tough conversations with your own friends and family members, and to speak up when racist or inappropriate comments are made about Indigenous people. As an Indigenous person, we're not only subjected to stereotypes in the media but in our daily interactions, and to have to explain that again and again to people is just exhausting. At some point, there needs to be a shift. It can’t just be about us retelling these stories when we’ve told them time and time again. There does need to be initiative and uptake from other people from different backgrounds.  I agree, and thank you so much for taking the time to share your own story today. Are there any Indigenous artists who have inspired you or acted like mentors throughout your journey? One person that has been very influential in my beading journey is Heather Dickson, of Dickson Designs. She is an artist from the Yukon and is Tlingit from the Carcross Tagish First Nation and Nuxalk Nation from Bella Coola, BC. She creates beautiful and intricate beadwork and is well renowned for her beaded Granny Hanky Headbands. Her beadwork is serious goals! Since I started my business she has provided so much encouragement and given me so much advice when it comes to her knowledge of running a business.  That’s amazing! Is there anything else you’d like to add or that you want people to know about? Because I didn’t start beading until I was a bit older, I just want to let people know that beadwork is something you can start at any time. Just because you may not have learned something when you were younger or didn’t have access to these cultural understandings—it doesn’t mean you can’t learn. Reciprocity is a big part of what I do. Because I have been gifted with this knowledge, I want to be able to share it with other First Nations people as well. It’s really important for me to be able to pass on the knowledge I have to the next generation. I love that you say this because I feel like so many artists treat their art like this very exclusive, private thing—as in, “this is my idea and I own it”. It’s a super individualistic and status-driven way of thinking about art, and I like that your work doesn’t play into that. Your beading feels deeply engaged in community.  Beading really is a communal activity! It was something that Indigenous women did together so there is a lot of storytelling and sharing that occurs when you’re in these beading circles. To be able to create that experience for other people—it’s such a privilege to do that. Finding a way to learn how to bead was very difficult—I had to take a class instead of learn from family—and I don’t want it to be that hard for other people. Especially if you’re a First Nations person, beading shouldn’t be that inaccessible. I always think back to my Kokom, my late grandma. She was still alive when I first started beading and so she would watch me. She would stand over my shoulder and ask me, you know, “how do you choose the colours?”. She always used to tell me stories about how she wanted to learn to bead as a kid but wasn’t able to. It really breaks my heart that she had to go through what she did. Those moments watching you must have made her really proud. I think it’s important to acknowledge my Kokom’s role in all of this. Even though she didn’t know how to bead, I like to think that we could have beaded together.  Well just looking at the designs, you can tell there’s so much love and care put into them. I really do try. I try to put good energy into it and to make it with good intentions.

As part of our participation in #ShareTheMicNow, we’re sharing our platform with one of our most admired brand partners.  Interview by Mica Lemiski Eman Idil Bare is a Regina-born journalist, fashion designer, yoga teacher, and law student. She’s worked in national news rooms across Canada, shown collections at New York Fashion Week, and most recently, she’s launching a PR (Public Relations) Agency that will focus on protecting and growing small, ethically-run businesses. It may seem like a lot (and it is) but each of Eman’s endeavors plays into her life-long desire to tell stories. She wants to spread knowledge and amplify new perspectives, all with the goal of protecting the lives—and promoting the livelihoods—of people who have been, and continue to be, negatively impacted by systemic norms. Recently, Hillberk & Berk chatted with Eman about why a multifaceted career is central to her happiness, what good allyship means to her, and how Black Lives Matter is tipping us toward a revolution.  Pictured: Eman's designs debuting at New York Fashion Week, worn by all Black models. Hillberg & Berk: Looking at how multifaceted your career is, I feel like you’re living proof that you can be an expert in more than one thing. You don’t have to choose a single path to be successful. Eman Idil Bare: A lot of people think you can only do one thing! We’re all multifaceted but we don’t give ourselves permission or time to explore other things. When I worked as a journalist at Global National, people would say I was really lucky because, at the time, it was near-impossible to get a full-time job with benefits after finishing journalism school. I’ve worked really hard for everything—I don’t think luck has much to do with it—but yeah, I got this job that I was supposed to love. But it took up my entire life. I wasn’t happy. For me, happiness and wholeness come from connecting to myself. And I feel disconnected from myself when I’m only doing one job and exercising only one part of myself.  It must have taken a lot of strength, though, to defy that very mainstream, very pervasive expectation that you can only be one thing. It sucks because sometimes even my own parents don’t understand me or what I do. I constantly feel misunderstood. But I have a choice: to not like my life, or to feel misunderstood. When I put it that way, it’s an easy choice. Even with a lot of my really close friends, I have a hard time explaining why, for example, I’m suddenly applying to a Master’s in Fashion. But I don’t actually need to explain myself to anyone. No one knows you as well as you know yourself, and as long as you remind yourself of that, it makes feeling lonely or disconnected from other people a lot easier. I think women, especially Black women, are taught that we are selfish when we put our own needs first. But I think it’s selfish to ignore your needs. The people around you deserve you at your best, and your best comes from giving to yourself and then giving to others. What drew you to this new career in PR? I love journalism and storytelling but I’ve realized you don’t need to be in a newsroom to tell a story. I love small businesses, and I don’t want to work for big corporations that are run on unethical values. What I want to do is find brands that I emotionally connect with and help build their story in the same capacity as I would with journalism, where the whole point is to make people care.  I read in a previous interview that your diverse skill is in part a product of necessity. Can you explain what you meant by that? Growing up as one of the few Black girls in Regina, no one knew how to cut my hair—I actually had to teach my hairdresser how to cut it. No one knew how to do my makeup, either, and I could never find clothes that fit. I remember cutting things up from my mom’s closet—not even sewing, just literally cutting and tearing—and wearing them to school the next day. I also started making my own foundation, learning to mix the right amount of bronzer into foundation that was way too light or grey for me. It was never perfect, but it sort of worked, and I tried to make it seem intentional, like, “yeah, my whole face is supposed to be sparkly, that’s just the foundation I chose!” People shouldn’t have to do things like that. But when who you are is not the norm, you can advocate and talk about how unfair it is all you want but, unfortunately, people just won’t do anything about it unless it impacts them personally. I decided I didn’t want to spend my whole life advocating for myself—because I have other goals!—so it just became “shut up and get it done.” Who have your biggest inspirations been along the way? Nahla Ayad has been my constant inspiration. She’s a foreign correspondent for CBC and is probably one of the best journalists in the world. We have really similar stories—she’s from Winnipeg, I’m from Regina, we’re both the daughters of immigrants, and our dads both own small corner stores. When I started working at CBC, I got in touch with her and found out about a letter she wrote to the CBC maybe 10 years ago. It was about the lack of diversity in the newsroom. I was like, “wow, flipping Nahla Ayad has had to deal with the same stuff I’ve had to deal with.”  By “the same stuff,” what do you mean specifically? The conversation on diversity in newsrooms follows a repeated pattern. They say there isn’t enough Black talent, and so they actively recruit more Black journalists. But when they get these journalists, they say they’re not performing at a high enough level, which is insulting, but also they never look at the why. The why is that we’re not given equal support. If you look at how much money and resources news teams get within a company, and then look at who is on what team, I guarantee you’ll see a correlation between race and who’s being invested in.  I’ve been reading Thick (by Tressie McMillan Cottom) and she says that, coming of age as a Black woman academic, one of the thoughts playing on loop in her head was always “work twice as hard, work twice as hard.” As in, she needed to work twice as hard to be given the same opportunities as her white peers. Have you felt that way, too? Yes, but I refuse to work twice as hard now. Flat out, I’m saying no. The co-founder of my PR company—Ashley—is white, 41, and basically my mentor. But she keeps telling me to stop calling her my “mentor” because we are equal shareholders and there shouldn’t be a power imbalance. She’s the definition of what an ally should be. She uses her privilege in ways that benefit me. With her, I don’t have to work twice as hard.  Are there other ways you might define good allyship? I’ve often felt crazy when talking about racism. We’ve been socialized to normalize the white lived experience and to think racism doesn’t exist, and that police will only hurt you if you’re a bad person. And so if your experience doesn’t line up with that, you kind of gaslight yourself whenever you experience racism. There’s a lot of conversation—and I’m hoping this goes away soon—about people exaggerating racism or making “everything about race,” but the amount of stuff that I’ve gone through that is clearly racism versus the amount that I talk about it? There’s no comparison. I would spend my entire life discussing racism if I actually addressed it every single time it happened. But Ashley, my cofounder, carries some of that weight for me. She pushes people out of the way for me when I need her to, and she reminds me that I don’t have to pretend racist things don’t happen to fit in. That’s what a good ally does: they normalize your experience because it’s equally important. And when did it first become apparent to you that your race might make you vulnerable to experiences your white peers just wouldn’t have to deal with? I was always somewhat aware of racial issues, but my parents did a very good job of shielding me from it. My brothers and I weren’t allowed to drive late at night or go to the mall by ourselves until we were in grade 12. My parents knew it didn’t matter if we were good kids at the mall—people would still accuse us of shoplifting. But I really started to notice racial issues in journalism school. In my last year, I was writing a piece for Global National and working forty to sixty hours a week, all while going to school full-time. I was chronically exhausted. While I was working on the story for Global, CBC offered me a full-time job and my best friend in journalism school asked me, “do you think they only offered you a job because you’re a minority?” I was like, “you saw me acting delirious because I hadn’t slept in two days! Did you forget all that?” But she chose not to see that. I outworked her and I was a better journalist, but to her it was like, “there’s no way you’re better than me, it must be this one thing.”  We touched on this earlier, but you made a point about wanting to abolish the idea of the white lived experience as the norm. This might be a huge question, but how can we unlearn whiteness as the norm? I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and it’s not only abolishing whiteness as the norm, but abolishing anything as the norm. It’s giving people permission to be themselves entirely. For example, how outraged would we be if we didn’t have access to clean drinking water, basic resources, and had to spend $20 on milk and only $2 on pop. That’s the reality for a lot of Indigenous people, but the reason this issue is not at the forefront of every single election, as it should be, is because that’s not a normalized experience. Their experience seems so strange to us and so we reject it, thinking, “well there must be mismanagement on their end.” We need to be equally outraged at everyone’s injustices. And that’s what I mean about abolishing whiteness as the norm. Because it’s not just whiteness. It’s also able-bodiedness, straightness, having middle-upper class income—all of it.     I want to tackle this current moment and what’s going on with police violence, Black Lives Matter, and the public response to it all. How are you personally doing? How are you feeling? I’m weirdly optimistic because I’ve never in my life seen this many people talking about Black Lives Matter in a non “All Lives Matter” kind of way. But I’m frustrated because a lot of people are still choosing not to care, and choosing to believe police brutality isn’t a real thing. Police brutality is the sixth leading cause of death for Black men in the United States, whereas the sixth leading cause of death for white men in the United States is Alzheimer's Disease. I’m also tired. My law school’s response to all this has been totally inadequate. All they did was send us a reading list. I don’t understand why a response from a law school would be to send a reading list when we’re the oldest law school in New York and the leading public interest school in the country. This is the biggest civil rights movement of our time and they’re doing nothing. I’m also frustrated that I’m not in a newsroom right now because journalists aren’t doing a good job. They’re focusing so much on things that aren’t relevant. You look at Canadian media and it’s like, “Does Systemic Racism in Toronto Exist? Let’s Talk to the Chief of Police.” That doesn’t make any sense! The Chief of Police is not going to say, “yes, we’re openly racist!” It’s just bad journalism.  I know there’s also a lot of frustration surrounding the fact that the Black community has been speaking out against racism for such a long time, and yet they’re only being heard now. Why now, in 2020, is racial injustice finally getting the attention it needs? I think because we have to pay attention now. I mean, first of all, people are bored. We’ve had nothing but pandemic coverage for two months. People are at home, and people are unemployed. I’m a huge history nerd, and this is how every revolution has started in the world—with a very high unemployment number, no hope of job prospects, and unhappy people. I’m hopeful in the sense that this situation is too big to ignore and it’s going to really be something. It feels like a reckoning. There are executive directors and editors-in-chief of massive magazines being called out and stepping down. That doesn’t happen very often. It didn’t even happen when #MeToo went viral in 2017. It does feel really big. It’s also trendy, now, for people to proclaim support for Black Lives Matter. I know the word “trendy” sounds diminutive given what a huge cultural movement this is but...  But that’s what it is. It’s socially unacceptable to not have something posted, but I don’t want empty words. This has been in the works for so long and Black people in particular have been reading about this for so long. We already know what we want. I have an obsession with music and copyright law, and Sony is doing this thing where they’re giving $100 million to up-and-coming Black artists. But in my mind, I’m like, you guys owe so much money to Black people you cheated in contracts and it’s way more than $100 million. Just give them back the rights to their music! My law thesis is about how the framework of copyright law has historically disadvantaged Black artists, so I know an abnormal amount about this. How about more locally, in Saskatchewan? What specific ways can people help the Black community there? We have specific Regina issues that we need to be talking about. Why in 2020 can I still not go and find a hairdresser who can cut my hair in the city? But you look at the beauty school and they’re still not teaching how to cut Black hair. And why can’t I go to London Drugs and find foundation that matches my skin? These are our issues, and this is where local people can put pressure on companies to do better. If you’re a teacher, think about what the curriculum is like. What are students learning about Black history? Because if it’s just in relation to slavery, that’s a problem.  I grew up in B.C. and, for sure, the Black stories we focused on in school were almost exclusively slave narratives. I know that history is crucial to learn, but isn’t there space for Black joy and other aspects of Black culture? Yeah, like why not read books by Du Bois? Even when we talk about slavery and the foundations of slavery in Western Aftica, we rarely talk about the Black experience outside of slavery. We didn’t steal slaves. We stole mothers and fathers and doctors and lawyers and community leaders and actual people with whole stories. In Hollywood, the most representation you get of Black people is in relation to slavery or the Jim Crow laws, and with that comes so much violence against Black people, to the point where that violence is normalized. To always equate the Black experience with oppression is not right. Sometimes, it’s hard to know what the most effective actions are to take in your own community, activism-wise. Do you have any tips for how people can practice activism in their communities in a way that surpasses what is “trendy?" Yes. Write a list of every way your lived experience is normalized—as a white person, a straight person, or whatever it is. Then, look for the counter experience for marginalized people in your community. That will be a good starting point.   Wow I really like that. I haven’t heard that approach before. I just made it up! I’m doing a webinar on what people can do that’s meaningful. It all comes back to feeling connected. For some people, posting on social media just isn’t for them and that’s totally fine. To my core, I’ll always be a journalist and so sharing information is really important to me. But for other people, having closed-door conversations with family or a boss can be really effective. There are so many ways to do this. I don’t like the pressure that’s put on people to do things the same way because that’s not going to make change.   I also hear that you’re writing a book!  Yeah, it’s the book I wish I’d had when I was finishing high school. It’s for women 18 to 23-ish, who are just picking out what they’re going to do in college or who are starting their first job. I had so many experiences working for the CBC where I thought, am I just bad at this? Am I not good? And then I left and realized I actually am really good. But if I’d had someone in that moment telling me that my experience wasn’t individual, that it was collective, I would have handled things differently.    Are you working with a publisher or an agent on the book? I was offered a book deal with an agent, but if you look at the gap between how much Black authors are paid and how much everyone else is paid, I figure I’ll just do it alone. I run a PR company so I can do my own PR. I’ve written for every major magazine, so I’m just going to self publish on Amazon. I’ll make more money that way, which I can then reinvest in other opportunities.   Do you have any advice for young women of colour? Or for any girls who feel like the cards are stacked against them? My advice is don’t ask for permission. We spend so long wanting other people to give us permission to be ourselves and tell us our experience is normal, but make your experience the norm. An example from my life is that, as a kid, I’d still go to school during my religious holidays, but I’ve since made an active decision to refuse to go to school on my holidays. I have this right and I’m exercising it. I’ve actually become a lot more demanding, but all I’m demanding is what other people get without asking.    Asking for what the majority of people take for granted doesn't seem like a lot to ask for... It’s not. But when you’re conditioned to feel like it is a lot, that’s part of making your experience not the norm. With my law school, for example, I sent my deans an email saying that the reading list they sent to students wasn’t an adequate response to what’s going on right now. My dean responded by asking for me to come up with an action plan for them. I thought, wait, am I getting refunded for my tuition? Because, essentially, I’m providing educational materials. It’s the same situation as teaching my hairdresser to cut my hair. I’m expected to do all this additional work to make my experience normal. But at this point in my life, I’m just asking for money for it. If I’m doing the work, I’m getting paid—or else I’m not doing it.