Day: August 30, 2025

• I stopped buying newly made clothes two years ago and built an entirely secondhand closet.
• I gained back confidence and creative freedom because I no longer pay attention to ads.
• I made like-minded friends from all walks of life who inspire me to stay curious and imaginative.

I haven’t bought any newly made clothes in two years, and instead of feeling restricted, I’ve never felt happier.

This did not start with some noble ideal of reducing textile waste or helping the environment, and I’m by no means a minimalist.

Two years ago, I was fresh out of grad school with no disposable income to speak of, and I simply could not keep up with the rising cost of everything, from jeans that could barely survive one wash to dresses made entirely of polyester that cost hundreds.

On my quest to find an alternative to paying more for clothes that are declining in quality, I discovered a thrift store a couple of blocks from where I live. I told my partner, who looked at me in disbelief, that this was how I could opt out of some key components of our consumerist lives and save some money. We started a bet between us over whether I could find most of my essentials there, especially clothing.

Two years later, it is safe to say that I won that bet.

Aside from saving money and helping keep clothes out of the landfill, I have been freed from the influence of advertisements that formerly consumed my attention, and found a community that loves to create and share.

Advertisements no longer work on me

Knowing that I won’t be buying anything newly made, I stopped giving attention to ads and endless videos of people’s latest hauls, which used to clog my Explore Page on Instagram.

Without an influence constantly telling me what the trend is, I not only have free rein to channel my creative energy toward curating a collection I would still happily wear a decade from now, but I’m also freed from comparison.

I logically know that clothes don’t look the same on normal people as they do in ads, but I usually can’t get their image out of my head. As a result, my shopping experience is often spoiled by self-judgment and disappointment when I gravitate toward things that look great on someone else, but not on myself.

When shopping secondhand, there are no ads, no one to tell you what a shirt is meant to be paired with, and there is a wide array of styles to browse, spanning decades. I got the chance to discover what brings me joy to wear, like my $25 Yugoslavia sweater with tiny knitted 3D tulips on it, and learned to disregard trends like the “sneakerina” and the clean girl aesthetic that even British Vogue says “simply won’t die.”

Also, if you have ever cringed at what you wore as a teenager, you know that fashion is often about trial and error. There is no lower stake in trying out a new style than an $8 skirt that you can donate back if it turns out to be a mistake.

I found a creative community

As an adult, no longer in school, I used to find it hard to make new friends, but that changed when my consumption habits changed.

From the neighbourhood barista I bonded with over old film cameras and a stained glass lamp, to the private chef I befriended while playing dress up with thrift store shoes together, I got to encounter people from different walks of life who share the same curious and imaginative energy.

We now find each other thrifted birthday gifts, and have group chats to discuss our latest finds and to share the outfits we are proud to have put together for under $30.

The community built upon passing on pre-owned items makes for an educational and welcoming shopping experience. They care deeply about the stories and lives behind what they have, and there is often no pressure to buy.

I frequently browse through vintage markets without any expectation that I would take anything home. A vendor recently explained to me how she made an amazing denim patchwork jacket I instantly fell in love with. Instead of pushing me to make a purchase, she encouraged me to pick up sewing.

Another brought her collection of Art Deco-era jewelry to the market just to showcase it. I got to marvel at a necklace with a beetle at the center, adorned with Czech beads and vaseline glass that glows in the dark.

And as for what I won out of the bet with my partner? He needs to come shopping with me and help carry my finds. It only took two weeks before he started thrifting for himself without me.

• Maya Rogers is the CEO of Tetris, the company her father founded.
• The financial success of Tetris allowed her parents to move from Japan to Hawaii.
• Having a multicultural family helped grow the global brand, she says.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Maya Rogers, CEO of Tetris. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When people learn that I’m the CEO of Tetris, they often say something like, “Oh, I used to play that game.” It’s true that Tetris has been around for 42 years, but it’s still relevant — not only for my family, but for the world.

My dad, Henk Rogers, secured the rights for Tetris back in the 1980s. We were living in Japan at the time, on the second floor of my maternal grandparents’ house. After my dad invented one of Japan’s first role-playing video games, we were able to move to an apartment down the road. My parents were often in the office — I remember coming home from second grade and babysitting my infant brother so my mom could go to work.

After my parents brought Tetris to the world, they had more money, which allowed our family to move to Hawaii when I was 11. My parents had met in Hawaii during college and always dreamed of their three kids receiving an American education there.

My parents never emphasized wealth

Despite the global prevalence of Tetris, we were never superrich. My parents still struggled a lot. I was never brought up to equate success with wealth. My parents taught me that wealth is within — it’s about how you live your life. I try to instill that in my own kids, who are 4 and 6.

Even today, the company isn’t about money for me. It’s about the way that Tetris can bring people together around the world. It’s a game that’s easy to play, but hard to master. That has universal appeal.

My dad’s health scare led me to take over

Growing up, I never had concrete plans to join the family business. With a stereotypical Asian mother, I felt pressure to work for high-profile companies, and worked for Honda and Sony.

Then, about 15 years ago, my dad had a heart attack and nearly died. I was in my mid-30s and living in Los Angeles, but I realized I wanted to learn from my dad before it was too late. I asked him if I could move back home to Hawaii and join the business.

Working with my father was unique. I stopped calling him Dad when we worked together, because he was just Henk in the business setting. Today, he’s been retired for 14 years, but I still don’t call him Dad.

Henk and I never had a big conversation about me taking over the business. We’ve always been good at communicating without too many words. One day, I said to him, “I think I can do this.” That was the extent of the conversation. A year later, he retired.

Being a third-culture kid helped me as a CEO

My family is very multicultural. Henk is Dutch-Indonesian and my mom is Japanese. In elementary school, I was the only child who was mixed race, and the only one without a Japanese name.

Henk’s background helped him run the business and work closely with Alexey Pajitnov, the Russian developer who invented the game. Pajitnov developed Tetris in the Soviet Union, and the government initially held the rights to the game. Henk travelled to the Soviet Union to obtain the rights to distribute the game, and later, in 1996, he and Alexey started The Tetris Company, which I now run.

My global roots are still an asset to me as a CEO. Traveling and talking to people is one of my favorite parts of the job. The more I talk to people, the more I realize that we’re all the same, despite different cultural backgrounds. Having a diverse family and running a global company has shown me that we’re all human.

My company and family have very strong ties to Hawaii

Tetris is still based in Hawaii. That’s not convenient — all of our partner companies are outside the state. Yet it’s where we want to be. I’m a perfect example of the Hawaiian concept of kamaʻāina: a sense of being tied to the land. I left my island, and then I came home.

I want other young Hawaiian entrepreneurs to have that same opportunity. In 2012, I founded Blue Startups, a partnership between Tetris, the state, and other investors. The incubator supports entrepreneurs on the islands. My hope is that it will impact Hawaiian children and our state’s future.

My own children see me as a strong female leader. My daughter tells everyone her mom runs Tetris, and she has aspirations of being a professional Tetris player (as well as a rockstar). I was lucky to see my parents build something great. Watching that impacted what I did with my life. I hope to expose my kids to as much as possible, so they can be who they truly are.

• Lizzie Reed of Goldman Sachs and Alisa Wood of KKR hold top roles at two powerful Wall Street firms.
• Both say their early training — in competitive sports and performing arts — helped shape their careers.
• Reed draws on lessons from the soccer field; Wood from her training as a professional ballerina.

Lizzie Reed learned to lead on a soccer field. Alisa Wood learned to endure on a ballet stage. Today, those early lessons remain central to how these two top finance executives navigate their careers on Wall Street.

Reed leads Goldman Sachs’ US equity syndicate, the team that has priced more than half of global IPOs in recent years. Wood is a partner at private-equity giant KKR, where she serves as co-chief executive officer of KKR Private Equity Conglomerate, overseeing one of flagship businesses for the $686 billion asset manager.

In a recent conversation with Business Insider, both shared how the lessons they learned from sports and performing have helped them navigate high-pressure careers in finance.

Before studying political science at Columbia University, Wood trained as a professional ballerina, where she learned to overcome the sting of rejection.

As a ballerina, “you were told no a hundred times,” she recalled, adding: “You were told that you were never going to be good enough and you had to get better and you had to work harder.”

She added: “Each one of those times where someone said no — it was almost a challenge. The harder it was, the better it was going to be in the end.”

Wood carried that mentality with her when she set her sights on Wall Street. She sent a blind CV and a pitch book to KKR. Though initially rejected by co-founder Henry Kravis, another partner at the firm invited her in for a meeting, opening the door to her illustrious KKR career.

Ballet also taught Wood that success depends on strong preparation and mastery of your craft. “By the time you get on the stage, you should never think about it,” she said. By that point, “it was muscle memory.”

“I thought I was going to go into government and help change the world,” she said. But the reality of looming student loans pushed her toward investment banking instead, where the salary potential seemed more lucrative. Resilience, she explained, carried her through each pivot.

The power of resilience in a grueling field

Reed’s lessons in resilience came on a soccer pitch at Notre Dame.

“I always knew I wanted to be a leader,” she said. “When I played soccer in college — I would miss a shot, I’d miss a pass, I would get the ball stolen from me. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t learn from it, pivot from it and kind of grow through it.”

That willingness to recover quickly, rather than dwell on mistakes, became the foundation of her career. “You have to kind of be resilient through it,” Reed said.

During an internship at Goldman in 2006, she wrote that her goal was to become a managing director — then crossed out the title and decided to aim higher, writing in the word “partner.” She reached that goal in 2022, entering the echelon of the bank’s most senior leaders outside the C-suite.

Nearly two decades in, resilience remains critical for Reed. “I don’t think it hurts less,” Reed explained. “I think the recovery time is faster.”

If she could give her younger self advice, Reed said she would try to enjoy the moment more. “I probably would think in the very beginning of your career to think less — probably just to be very present.”

She continued: “You’re there for a reason. You worked hard to earn your place.”