7km into this morning's pre-work run, and there it was again.
That thought that's been stuck on repeat for months: Why can't I spot "one of us" on the trail?
You know that feeling when you pass another runner and there's just... nothing? No subtle nod of recognition. No "oh, she gets it" moment. Just two people in identical gear from brands that speak to no one in particular.
5:30am alarm. Corporate life waiting. You're scrolling through the same endless feeds of athletic wear that could literally be for any woman, anywhere, anytime. Meanwhile, I'm spending my day job watching brands build obsessive fanbases by actually knowing their people. But when I search "running gear for queer women"?
Crickets.
My day job taught me something crucial: The most loyal customers aren't the ones you convince to buy from you. They're the ones who feel like you built the brand specifically for them. And yet here is, a whole community of passionate runners, invisible to an industry.
11km in, it clicked.
This isn't just personal frustration. This is a massive blind spot.
I can't unsee this gap. And honestly? I'm curious if you feel it too.
Do you ever wonder: Would I recognise another queer woman runner if I passed her? Would she recognise me? Are we all out here in stealth mode because there's literally no way to signal "hey, we're the same people"?
Because I think there's something beautiful missing. That little spark of connection when someone's gear just tells you they're part of your world.
So here's what I'm thinking: Let's start with conversations. I want to understand this gap better before I try to fix it. But if you've ever felt like the athletic wear world was built for everyone except us?
You're exactly who I want to hear from.
Where's our nod of recognition?
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