I woke up this morning expecting to be on a flight to New York — the pulse of fashion, inspiration, and fabrics waiting for my next collection. Instead, I was home sick, staring at a suitcase by the door, feeling the weight of disappointment resting on my chest.
And I’ll be honest… it discouraged me.
There’s a certain heaviness that comes with being a designer and an artist. A dreamer. A creator. Especially when the money is funny, the timing is off, and the world feels like it’s moving without you.
There are days when I ask myself,
“Am I supposed to turn around and go another way?”
Because this dream — this lifelong dream — hasn’t been easy. I’ve been building it for years, learning, refining, pouring myself into every stitch, every idea, every bag. I know I’m good at what I do. I know design is my gift. But sometimes it feels like the world just hasn’t seen me yet.
And today, sick in bed instead of walking through New York showrooms, that doubt whispered louder.
It brought back memories.
I spent over 40 years in construction — and at the top of my game. Large general contractors told me I was their first call because I was great at what I did. They said it proudly, confidently… until they didn’t need me anymore.
When the diversity, equity, and inclusion programs no longer benefited them, it was as if I had never mattered.
Being an African American business owner means you must be better — sharper — stronger — faster — just to be considered “enough.”
We were more than enough.
We were excellent.
But when the points disappeared, so did the phone calls.
That hurt.
And somewhere along the way, I realized that people will turn their backs on you quicker than you think — especially when there’s nothing in it for them.
So where are the real people?
The ones who do better and know better?
The ones who don’t align themselves with the world’s selfishness?
Those questions led me here.
From construction to creation.
From corporate to custom.
From steel beams to fine leather.
It didn’t happen overnight.
I was laid off from my corporate career, and one month later my father had a stroke. I had to step in to help my mother care for him. Everything that once felt certain fell apart all at once.
All I had left was hope.
And in that space — broken, uncertain, and raw — God whispered something to my spirit:
“Create.”
So I did.
One bag.
One design.
One idea.
One stitch.
And what started as survival turned into purpose.
That purpose became Angelique Collections — my heart and hands brought to life.
Today wasn’t the day I boarded a plane.
But it was the day I remembered my why.
This isn’t just fashion.
This isn’t just art.
This isn’t just business.
This is faith in motion.
And maybe somebody reading this right now will see my talent. Maybe they’ll see the work. Maybe they’ll hear the heart behind it.
But even if they don’t, I’ll keep creating.
Because purpose doesn’t need permission.
And dreams don’t expire because of disappointment.
My story isn’t finished.
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