For the majority of my life, I envisioned a career in the arts. The specifics were irrelevant; my primary goal was to create art and earn a living from it. I existed in a vague uncertainty, possessing a general idea of my desired career path but lacking a concrete plan to achieve it. During my senior year of high school, I worked part-time at a retail consignment store. My role was primarily that of a stylist, assisting customers on the sales floor and helping them select items. I enjoyed this job and began to consider a career in retail, as it seemed to blend the arts with merchandising—the perfect combination of my passions. However, an encounter with a customer who used a wheelchair impacted me more than I could have ever thought. She requested my assistance in selecting an outfit for a night out, and I happily obliged. Over the course of an hour, I helped her try on various tops and bottoms. Yet, because she was in a wheelchair, many of the clothes did not fit her as they would an able-bodied person. She shared with me the challenges that disabled consumers face in the retail industry, particularly when clothing is designed with only certain body types in mind. This conversation broadened my perspective. As an 18-year-old who enjoyed dressing up and trying on different outfits, I had not fully appreciated how fortunate I was to have a body that could wear these clothes comfortably. I realized that many brands cater exclusively to able-bodied individuals. These reflections lingered as I contemplated my future career: What impact will I make on the industry, and how will that uplift those around me? Will I continue to design for the average person and exclude those with disabilities? I recognized that everyone deserves to wear clothes that make them feel beautiful, regardless of their physical abilities. The question was, how could I contribute? In the unsure time of adolescence, the world seems far too intimidating to make a notable difference. However, I silently carried the thoughts with me, hoping I would find an answer to my dilemma. Everything snapped into place when I began attending university. I observed my school's inclusivity efforts and even had the opportunity to participate in various guest lectures. One such lecture featured Zappos Adaptive, a brand that has pioneered the creation of adaptive shoes for individuals with disabilities and sensory issues—shoes that accommodate everyone, anytime. These experiences dispelled my worries and lit a fire within me. Though ambitious, I aspire to use my education to enhance the e-commerce landscape for disabled consumers. Even if it meant I could make one person happier, such as the customer in the wheelchair, I would be content. With this scholarship, I aim to inspire change in both my peers and the fashion industry. I hope we can collectively march towards a future of inclusivity together, and inspire a new generation of designers with accessibility and diversity at the forefront.

When I was a child, there was a single Geico ad on television that I simply refused to skip. Officially known as its “trust fall” campaign in 2009, the ad had five-year-old me begging my mother to sign up for that insurance program. In those 30 seconds, I was sold—hook, line, and sinker. I was fully engrossed in the subtle humor and presentation of the ad, so much so that it inspired me to create my own commercial, my chance to pitch myself to my imaginary viewers. My childhood was filled with making at-home productions with my sister and drawing on almost every surface I could get my grubby hands on. I’ve always had a passion for creativity and was captivated by the powers of storytelling. When presented with a word problem in math class, I would expand upon the idea and bring about more questions. Instead of accepting being told, “That’s the way things are,” I would approach the question with a new, imaginative perspective. This natural urge to explore and create extended to almost every instance of my everyday life. I found that the ability to make impressions on others through artistic visuals alone was simply amazing. I loved every bit of it and found myself glued to my Crayola set of watercolors any chance I had. Whether painting, making music, or delving into literature, creativity has been my constant companion and deepest source of inspiration ever since I was small. It fuels my ambition to make meaningful contributions to the world and bridge the gap between business and art institutions. Sales and marketing might seem peculiar for someone like me who spent the first ten years of her life swearing she would be a Parisian artist. But for me, it's not just about switching careers—it's about blending my ambition, passion, and drive to bring creativity onto new and impactful roads. I believe that there is an element of the human soul that goes into marketing campaigns, and in the era of autonomous intelligence, that soul must be preserved. My love for the arts has taught me the value of good communication and making genuine connections. In sales and marketing, I see a chance to turn the essence of creative works into stories that resonate with diverse audiences. It's not just about selling—it's about creating experiences that inspire, educate, and leave a lasting impression. Just like that Geico campaign all those years ago, in my career, I want to do much more than simply advertise a product. I want those on the receiving end to feel personally addressed and given real reasons to invest. In the realm of business, where each person is reduced to a dollar sign and a number, I want them to be seen for who they are—a person, through and through. Diving into a business career is not just a decision I made on a whim. It's an opportunity to grow and diversify my resume, but it's also a testament to how creativity, mixed with ambition and drive, can transform the media we consume. It's about embracing a new canvas—one that blends passion with imagination and analytics. I see a chance to reshape how businesses connect with their audiences, how stories get told, and how creativity builds real bonds in our digital age. Until then, I will continue to create and think outside of the box.

When I was 10 years old, I would sit at night locked in my dark room, with only the distant light of the moon illuminating my screen. That moon, of course, was none other than the world's favorite scout turned princess — Sailor Moon. Throughout adolescence, I remember adoring the characters on my screen. I was envious of the girls who were merely six years older than me, all of whom had brightly colored hair and some unique power. I desperately wanted to be like these characters, who all had some kind of captivating adventure that pulled them from the normal mundanities of life. As a child living through her parents' divorce, these fantastical quests were all I could focus on. By living in a fantasy, I could project onto these characters and escape my own confusing reality. Sailor Moon was first introduced to me by my older sister, Riley. She too had always been a fan of anime, although she approached it with the typical gatekeeping attitude many older sisters did. Instead of having me watch her favorite shows — because that would automatically make them less cool — she chose to sit me down in front of my mother's iPad and turn on a torrented version of the first episode, "A Moon Star is Born"! From then on, I was hooked. Usagi was everything I was and everything I couldn't be. While I related to her inability to get out of bed and struggles in academics, there was no way I could become a magical girl. That didn't stop me, however. Whenever I got the chance, I would sit down and watch the 1995 version of Sailor Moon. From her adventures of meeting the other Sailor Scouts, battling against Queen Beryl, and finding love with Tuxedo Mask, it felt as if I was right there with her for every event — cheering her on and rooting for my favorite hero. Although Usagi could never join me in the real world, I liked to pretend she could. I would daydream about meeting her and going on adventures with her and the Sailor Scouts. It became a comfort for me, allowing me to retreat back into my fantasies whenever things got tough. However, Sailor Moon did teach me one thing: it didn't matter that I was a girl or what outfits I wore; what mattered were my intentions and spreading good around me. However, as it does, time continues on. I grew up and continued to watch the various attempts to reboot the Sailor Moon series — which will never beat out the original, by the way. This show was and has always been a great comfort for me. During some of the most unsure times of my life, the Sailor Scouts were unchanging. I remember the first night I arrived in my college dormitory; I sat alone on my bed whilst parties ensued around me. Feeling isolated and overwhelmed, I sat there, silence drilling itself into my skull. While I asked myself a million questions — like who I was going to become, what I was going to do with my life, and what I was going to study — I had unconsciously pulled out my laptop. My fingers had typed in the familiar words in the search bar, and before I knew it, Usagi was on my screen, the first episode illuminating the dark room around me. I knew then that it was going to be okay, and I had nothing to worry about. Sailor Moon is, and will always be, both captivating and nostalgic.