​One Year with Thick Mint Co.

Words by: CL

Exactly a year ago, I was suffering from the mundanity of a college student life. For four years, all I had to do was go to class, write hundreds of essays whose meaning would only last until their due dates, fume over artificial stress and eat dinner. In the mornings, I would paddle out on icy cold point breaks or go on long runs, sometimes putting in nearly 45 miles a week just because I had the time. At nights, I would spend my time breaking into classrooms and spilling out essays I already knew the endings of. It was a blissful ignorance of the blankness that awaited me when I left. When I finally graduated, I cried and morned the loss of my easy, carefree, checklist of a life. 

Comfortable in my mundanity and too nervous to fend for myself, I enrolled in a masters program for Graphic Design and lasted about two weeks before choosing the anxiety inducing task of creating my own checklist than to have another institution make one for me. In short, I had to stop getting comfortable or else I would never create something meaningful. And that's how we ended up here: one full year of creating, building and growing a tiny t-shirt company whose ending remains a mystery. 

Here's some top moments:

Last October, we had our first show in Downtown LA and it rained all morning. We drove 5 and a half hours from our Oakland home, stayed in someone's backyard in Palos Verdes with approximately 30 shirts and 10 hoodies in tow. We set up shop the next morning amongst a sea of artists and small businesses. I realized quickly that I was no salesman but luckily my friend had brought in her tiny chihuahua puppy to do the work for us. At that first show, I noticed the power of art, the feeling of someone picking up a shirt and letting the designs soak into their souls. Small comments, looks and smiles that may even be meaningless to the speaker have a profound effect on its creator. Selling a shirt, whether they buy it or not, is like being a little girl with a crush on a boy and they look your way for one second and suddenly you can no longer breathe. It's suspenseful but fulfilling nonetheless and it is that exact subtle, split-second feeling that established the meaning of Thick Mint Co. Perhaps I just keep chasing it. 

Last December, we had our second show on the grounds of Fort Mason, San Francisco. Talk about chaos. It was the week before Christmas and my naive little soul became ignorant to the fact that this is when people actually buy things. At this show I felt like I was at a fish market, selling to the highest bidder and throwing the fish straight into their arms. My tent was more crowded at times than I knew how to deal with, my selling tactics were absolute trash, I didn't know how to talk to people but nevertheless, my shirts were still selling. It was at this show where I made the decision to never sell myself to sell my work, but to let the work sell itself. And by the end of the day, we were nearly sold out, my feet were tired and it was finally time to go home. 

That was the last show I'd do in California that year. In March, I moved out to Kailua Kona, partially to chase the sun, partially to get away from the competitive tech-driven attitudes of the people that make up my generation. In California, I never left like I was doing enough, that the competition was too high but also that I was wasting my time trying to get on their level. It was ultimately doubt that pushed me out of California but to my surprise, I've found a true home. 

In March, I did my first show on Ali'i Drive. A sea of college students on spring break rushed in and out of my tent. Tourists of all kinds, mostly from California I'm guessing, came in looking for souvenirs. I felt a little bit like a fraud selling so-called souvenirs when had just moved out of California myself but I learned to embrace the prospects of the middle-aged American tourist. They like bright colors and they like to know exactly what each design is about. And if they're on the older end, they don't like things with words. Luckily for them, Thick Mint Co. is essentially a speechless business both in its designs and salesmanship.

I kept up the Ali'i Drive shows throughout the summer, once a month. In May, someone came up with the lavishing idea of applying for the Made in Hawaii Festival on Oahu. 50,000 people, 3 days, one convention center. To my surprise, I got in and soon that was all I was doing-- making inventory for seemingly my biggest show yet. To cut it short, the show was actually a huge disappointment. It brought me back to my California shows where the stakes were just a little to high for what we were really made of. And while I did get some great exposure and met some wonderful people, the logistics, energy and money spent over the course of three days allotted to far more than what we could handle enjoyably. Simply put, I learned that a show like this was designed for bigger businesses with an already largely established out reach. Perhaps we'll have another go in Thick Mint Co's far future. 

This fall, we had three shows in September and all of them brought back the joy that I had found in our very first show. At the Nalu Night Market with South Kona HiCO, young people flocked into our tent when they realized we had designed the newest HiCo shirts (see journal LOOK 0903). The show was at night, which was different for us and the atmosphere was light and easy. I actually missed half the show because I was coaching a kids soccer game in town but rushed over after our gnarly win to sit in our little tent, eat free ice cream and let the day fade away. At the end of September, we did the Kona Town Night Market which brought together the chaos of my Christmas show with the energy of my first Ali'i show. The blasting music vibrated through my chest for hours as nearly everyone in Kona sprinkled through. I saw people from soccer, people from the gym, friends from various places all came to this one event. It showed the true Kona community at its best--families, friends, strangers, artists-- all together in one place to send off the summer and welcome the fall season. My checklist had grown and not only had I begun to complete it, I was getting so much more out of it than some sloppily written sentences and a good grade.

Over the past year I have relearned the joy of people, of strangers and those of present and past. I learned the power of art and the little things that make my heart lift and sink. I learned of chaos and of quiet. I learned that going big is not always the best. I learned of community and tiny steps. And while my checklist is ever-growing, it has no end. I no longer get letter grades but smiles and good conversation. I get to rise and fall with the sun, let saltwater bake my skin and bleach my hair. And while we are allowed to miss the mundanity of our former lives, the ones we choose to create in the present are the ones that will become a past to hold onto.


​Happy one year, Thick Mint Co.