How Martha Stewart Saved My Week

A few weeks ago, I decided I needed a break from mainstream news for the sake of my blood pressure and my sanity. So, I turned to my usual escape hatch: podcasts.

Some are lighthearted, some are deep dives from over-caffeinated intellectuals, and some are just opinionated people doing what they do best… having opinions.

But earlier this week, one of my go-to’s hit me right between the ears: Prof G Markets. It’s Scott Galloway’s show, which is part business briefing, part existential therapy for anyone trying to survive capitalism with a shred of optimism intact.

This week’s episode? A gut punch.

The topic: layoffs, AI, and all the usual anxieties that have a recurring calendar invite in my head. Scott’s cohost, Ed - a Gen Z Brit with an Ivy League pedigree and the kind of soothing voice that makes bad news sound like a bedtime story - said something that made me go, “Oh my gosh, duh.” And for reasons I can’t entirely explain, I kind of want to be friends with him… maybe it’s the accent, maybe it’s that calm delivery while the world burns.

He reminded listeners that some of the most successful people we know have gone through massive reinventions. Then he dropped a name: Martha Stewart.

It was the reminder I didn’t know I needed.

Remember last year when the Martha Stewart documentary had everyone in a chokehold? The empire. The scandal. The comeback. The unapologetic “I’ll make my own tablescape, thanks” energy of it all.

What I’d forgotten, though, was how she started. Martha wasn’t always the queen of perfectly fluffed peonies and copper pots - she began as a stockbroker. On Wall Street. In heels. During the disco era.

And then, somewhere along the way, she pivoted. Catering gigs. Cookbooks. A full-blown lifestyle brand. One day she’s trading stocks, the next she’s teaching us how to baste a turkey and our self-esteem.

And now, at 84, she’s still at it. Re-releasing her first-ever book. Going viral with a generation that barely remembers life before TikTok.

If you ever need proof that reinvention is real, watch her roast Justin Bieber. No one’s ever looked more composed while reminding the world she once made a prison shank out of a pintail comb and a pack of gum (a joke).

But here’s the thing — I’m not trying to be Martha Stewart (though I’d kill for her kitchen). What Ed and her story reminded me of this week is that reinvention doesn’t have an age limit or a one-time pass. Martha isn’t reinventing herself because she has to. She’s doing it because she can.

Because staying curious - and yes, relevant - is its own kind of wealth.

Was Martha unintentionally teaching me - teaching us - something all along?

Is this it: the part of life where you stop chasing “new” and start choosing it instead?

Something about that podcast episode lodged itself in my head.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my own version of reinvention; this in-between space where you’re rebuilding and trying to remember what you even want the end result to look like.

Since June, I’ve started this newsletter (hi! 👋🏼), reconnected with people who remind me of who I was when I was still all ambition and optimism, and started to let go of what I’ve outgrown.

Reinvention isn’t a lightning bolt. It’s a slow burn. It’s the little acts of courage that add up - hitting “publish,” reaching out, trying again.

Most days, it doesn’t feel like transformation. It feels like controlled chaos with a side of self-reflection. But then there are moments (like listening to that podcast) where I realize maybe the chaos is the transformation.

And speaking of transformation… New York City just elected a new mayor.

Now, I don’t want to get overly poetic here (though that’s probably too late), but I can’t help feeling like the city and I are on parallel paths… both a little bruised, both quietly hopeful.

Mayor Mamdani campaigned on affordability, a topic that hits close to home for, well, everyone who’s ever done mental math in a bodega. And while it’s true that New York can feel punishingly expensive, it’s also true that no other city offers quite the same energy exchange.

You pay a toll to live here, not just in dollars, but in patience, endurance, and humility. But the return? Inspiration. Connection. A sense that you’re living in the world, not just beside it.

And all this talk from billionaires and CEOs about leaving for tax-friendly states? Please. Let them. I call bullshit. All bark, no bite. They’re not going to miss the chance to be part of what’s coming next: the reinvention, the renaissance.

You can’t replicate this city in Florida, or Texas, or Tennessee. Young people will still come here chasing the dream; immigrants will still arrive chasing the promise. They’re the future workforce, the heartbeat that keeps this place alive.

If anything, New York proves that reinvention doesn’t mean fleeing the hard stuff. It means staying, rebuilding, and finding your rhythm again.

We’re broke, but thriving. Which, honestly, might be the most New York thing possible.

And if we ever needed a reminder of who we are, we can always turn to our oracle of urban wisdom: Carrie Bradshaw.

When Big told her he was tired of old New York and he planned a move to Napa, she didn’t miss a beat:

Exactly.

Because New York doesn’t quit. It reinvents.

Case in point: JP Morgan just opened its new building. A literal crown jewel on the skyline. On Halloween night, while trick-or-treating with two other families (one of the parents a managing director at the firm), she gushed about how incredible it felt to finally work inside it. The amenities, the views, the energy. 

Not exactly the words of someone planning an exodus.

And then there’s what’s happening right in my own neighborhood. At the end of my block, where the street meets the Hudson. There it is: Sunset Pier 94 Studios. Nearly complete. Set to open this year. A new creative hub rising where old dreams used to dock.

We’re going to make magic here. Reinvention, baby!

Midweek, a friend texted me a photo of someone we both know; a harmless bit of gossip until my attention drifted to the man’s hand.

A class ring (the ultimate ick!)

And suddenly, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It’s not that I have a vendetta against jewelry, but a class ring? It’s such a bold commitment to the past. A shiny little relic that says, “My best days happened before WiFi.”

Wearing a class ring as an adult feels like you’re announcing, “I peaked during pep rallies.”

Now, I realize this is petty and probably unfair. Maybe he’s sentimental. Maybe he’s proud. But in a week spent thinking about reinvention, it just struck me: some people hang on to old versions of themselves like they’re limited editions.

Meanwhile, the rest of us are trying to build version 3.0, bugs and all.

Side note: if anyone wants a startup idea, disrupt the class ring industry. Make sleek, understated versions that nod to your past without looking like you just won the Super Bowl of regret.

Is this it? The point where nostalgia becomes the enemy of progress?

So here we are: me and New York, both mid-renovation.

Neither of us knows what the final blueprint looks like. The scaffolding’s still up, the paint’s still wet, and every day brings a new punch list of things to fix.

But maybe that’s the point. Reinvention isn’t a reveal; it’s a process. It’s about tearing out the walls you built to impress other people and rebuilding the ones that actually fit you now. It’s firing your old general contractor and electing a new one.

And if that’s what this moment is - the messy middle, the loud construction, the uncertainty - then I’m oddly okay with it.

Because underneath all the noise, I can hear something new taking shape.

The weekly section where I will call out a fraction: something that felt like progress this week (like a fraction forward) and a fiction: something that turned out to be a distraction or illusion. 

🎯 Fraction: This week’s “reinvention icon” award goes to a furloughed federal employee who turned his layoff into a literal lunch rush - opening a hot dog stand on the National Mall. He’s now serving up mustard, relish, and a masterclass in adaptability. If Martha taught us reinvention has no age limit, this guy just proved it has no dress code either.

🎭 Fiction: The US government - for trying to make us believe they care sometimes. I understand the health care fight. But learning that children are going hungry in America because the government isn’t prepared to feed them is beyond infuriating.

I work too damn hard and pay too many damn taxes to see this happening. You don’t get to take breakfast or dinner away from kids and call it fiscal responsibility.

A quick round-up of clips, headlines or stories, and cultural crumbs that made me pause and ask… is this it?

🐻 Bearista Mania Brewed Again
Starbucks’s new Bearista cold cup has fans in a full-on holiday frenzy because nothing says “seasonal reinvention” like spending $30 to hydrate out of a plastic bear. Somewhere, capitalism’s sipping a Peppermint Mocha and laughing.

🏃‍♀️ Two Minutes to Legend
Kenya’s Hellen Obiri shattered the NYC Marathon record by nearly two minutes - redefining what’s possible on these streets we all claim are “too crowded to run.” The city’s skyline isn’t the only thing getting rebuilt.

💸 Cash Is Cringe
The phrase “cash is king” just got dethroned. Cash App’s new teen savings program proves Gen Z would rather earn interest than carry bills. Reinvention, thy name is allowance.

🍿 Popcorn, but Make It Reinvented
Novak Djokovic has invested in a corn-free popcorn startup, because of course he did. Nothing says “snack reinvention” like removing the one thing popcorn is made of.

Here’s to the builders, the dreamers, the late bloomers, and the people quietly reworking their blueprints. Reinvention isn’t just for icons or influencers… it’s for anyone willing to bet on themselves again.

If this week’s essay resonated, send it to three people who could use a nudge to start their own reboot. The world’s better when we all decide to build what’s next.

See you next Friday!

Chris

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