It's the summer of 2023, and Maira and I are sitting in a dark bar with sticky tables, sipping on the last of the night's drinks. We've just lost our jobs, and it's not clear if we're wallowing or... Celebrating?

‍

70% of startups fail within five years, which is why it came as a surprise when the nine-year-old Series B femtech company we worked for suddenly went under. We'd dedicated our lives to this company; long days turned into long nights, deadlines trumped personal time, and we were all a little worse for wear by the end. But it was for a good cause–to improve access to birth control for women across the country.

‍

When it was over, I felt selfish for feeling free. But my 20s were now behind me, and I'd spent them in service to someone else's vision that hadn't panned out.

‍

So I sat there in that dark bar, my elbow resting on our sticky table, and reveled in my newfound freedom. Sitting across from me was one of the most impressive women I'd ever met. The world felt full of possibility.

‍

"If you could start your own business, what would you do?" I asked her.

‍

She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, thinking. "We never got to launch sex toys," she said.

‍

I raised my eyebrows. "You'd start a sex toy business?" We'd been low-key campaigning for months to launch sex toys as a new product line at our previous company before its collapse, but personal pleasure is edgy and always seemed to fall behind other "self care" styled products like face masks and skin creams (which, arguably, are more for others than for yourself, in a world fixated on feminine "beauty").

‍

"It's edgy, it's fun. And after working in healthcare... How hard could it be?"

‍

She was right–working in the American healthcare system had been like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces; just when you think you're getting somewhere, you realize the end result is out of your hands.

‍

But sex toys. What would it be like to sell sex toys? I love the idea instantly, if only out of a compulsive need to embrace whatever feels counterculture.

‍

"Well, what's stopping us?" I ask, leaning another elbow on the table.

‍

"Nothing," Maira replies with a smirk.

‍

We stare at each other for a beat, each wracking our boozy brains for reasons to dismiss the idea, and coming up empty.

‍

I can see the realization dawn in Maira's eyes–here's the next chapter.

‍

"Let's set up a meeting," she says.

‍

After that, I know we're celebrating.