In this interview, she talks about what influenced her early on, how GOB took shape, and why certain traditions continue to hold value. She also reflects on how people think about self-care, how technology fits into wellness routines, and what she’s observed from urban clients over time.
The conversation moves through memory, design, emotional habits, and the kinds of questions people are starting to ask when it comes to feeling better.
Q: You’ve worn many hats... creative, strategist, founder. But before all that, what shaped your view of care and beauty growing up?
A: I grew up between my grandmother’s kitchen, where she mashed turmeric and honey into salves, and my mother’s sleek skincare bottles. One taught me that beauty was ritual, the other that it was science. That tension, that conversation between tradition and innovation, became my compass. Beauty wasn’t just about appearance; it was about attention — the kind that makes you feel both rooted and limitless.
Q: When you look back, was there a moment when you realized creativity wasn’t just for expression... but also for healing?
A: There was a winter when I painted the same abstract landscape 37 times. Not to sell it, not to post it, just to quiet the static in my head. That’s when I realized: creativity isn’t just about making things for the world. Sometimes it’s about remaking yourself. At GOB, we design experiences to hold that duality: the brushstroke as therapy, the scent blend as a sigh.
Q: How did your personal experiences guide the creation of GOB, especially the decision to merge art, rituals, and modern treatments?
A: I once sat in a Kyoto tearoom where the master said, ‘The hands remember what the mind forgets.’ GOB exists because we’re all hungry for that muscle memory of meaning. Modern treatments work, but without ritual, they’re just transactions. Our bodies don’t crave ‘quick fixes’, they crave ceremony. That’s why our LED masks glow like moonlight, why our sound baths use frequencies from both astrophysics and ancient hymns.
Q: We hear a lot about “self-care,” but it's often reduced to products or routines. How do you define meaningful self-care in today’s world?
A: Self-care today is like a ‘check engine’ light — we ignore it until the system crashes. Real self-care isn’t a scented candle; it’s the courage to ask, ‘What do I need to feel alive today?’ Sometimes it’s a 20-minute VR meditation, sometimes it’s screaming into a pillow. At GOB, we replace ‘should’ with ‘could,’ guilt with curiosity.
Q: GOB is located in the heart of Manhattan. Was the city's fast pace something you wanted to challenge or complement?
A: Manhattan runs on ‘hustle,’ but hustle is just fear in a power suit. We’re not here to slow the city down, we’re here to counterweight it. Like a tree growing sideways out of a skyscraper: roots in stillness, leaves in the storm. Our space is a permission slip to pause without apology.
Q: For someone unfamiliar with global healing traditions, how would you describe what happens inside GOB, and why it matters?
A: Imagine if a scientist, a poet, and a shaman designed a spa. It’s not about ‘escaping’ your life—it’s about reclaiming it. You might leave with lighter skin and a lighter heart. That’s the alchemy we chase: where biochemistry meets belonging.
Q: Some of your practices, like tea ceremonies or guided meditations, seem ancient. Why do you think they resonate so much right now, in 2025?
A: We’re drowning in data but starved for depth. A tea ceremony isn’t ‘slow’, it’s an act of rebellion against the cult of multitasking. These practices survive because they answer questions we’re too busy to ask: What if enough is enough? What if waiting is part of the wisdom?
Q: With so much happening online, from shopping to therapy, how important is it for people to have a physical space where they feel seen and present?
A: Screens give us connection without contact — it’s like living on vitamin pills instead of meals. At GOB, the warmth of a hand on your shoulder during acupuncture, the clink of a copper bowl… these are the textures that remind us: You are here. You are real.
Q: Do you find that people today are more open to slower, reflective rituals, even if they grew up on apps, speed, and instant results?
A: They’re the first generation to name digital fatigue. Yes, they grew up on ‘swipe left,’ but they’re also the ones reviving vinyl records and journaling. It’s not nostalgia, it’s metabolism. They understand that speed without soul is just spinning wheels.
Q: Some wellness centers chase the next gadget or trend. What’s your approach when deciding whether to include a new treatment or idea at GOB?
A: We ask: Does this make people feel more human? If it’s just a gadget, pass. But if it’s a cold plunge pool lined with 14th-century Persian tile patterns? That’s human, terror, awe, and transformation in one freezing, glorious moment.
Q: Are there any tools, like AI chatbots or digital assessments, that you've experimented with to help people start their wellness journey at GOB?
A: We use AI like a matchmaker — it suggests journal prompts based on your sleep data, or pairs you with a sound bath frequency. But it’s the human who notices you wince at the word ‘resilience’ and asks, ‘What does that word carry for you?’ Tech opens the door; empathy walks you through it.
Q: What’s your take on how tech can either deepen or dilute someone’s emotional well-being? Can both things happen at once?
A: A meditation app can teach you to breathe. But no algorithm can sit with you in silence after you whisper, ‘I’m so tired.’ That’s the paradox: tech scales solutions, but healing happens in the unscalable moments. Our rule? Use bots for logistics, humans for litanies.
Q: Some people feel “burnt out” without knowing exactly why. How does your approach help uncover what’s really going on beneath that surface fatigue?
A: Fatigue is often grief in disguise, for lost time, for versions of ourselves we abandoned. We don’t just hand you adaptogens; we design mirrors. Maybe it’s a scent that unearths a childhood memory, or a facialist who says, ‘Your jaw is holding a scream.’ Real healing starts when you recognize yourself.
Q: You’re working at the intersection of beauty, emotion, and culture. How do you stay grounded while trying to innovate across so many areas?
A: I keep a vial of my grandmother’s rosewater next to our lab’s peptide formulations. That’s my anchor: Don’t create anything that wouldn’t make both the mystic and the microbiologist nod. Innovation without reverence is just noise.
Q: These days, people often turn to AI chatbots for advice or emotional support. Do you think digital tools can ever truly replicate the kind of healing that happens in a space like GOB?
A: Chatbots can reflect your pain, but can they hold it? Can an algorithm weep with you when you finally admit, ‘I don’t want to be strong anymore’? GOB’s magic isn’t in the herbs or the LEDs, it’s in the witnessing. And that, for now, is a human miracle.
