People are often surprised when they learn I started my career on Wall Street. They assume I’ve always been in tech, or fashion, or product - something more creative. But no, I began in finance, as an equity research associate then senior analyst, and it was the first job I've ever had before HyperRing.
I was good at it. And in some ways, I loved it. It’s a world that rewards performance, and I’m someone who likes to perform. You learn fast, think fast, move fast. And there’s something oddly satisfying about watching deals close and using your analytical powers to predict where stock prices will go.
But at some point, that satisfaction flattened. Not dramatically, but quietly. The way things do when you’re succeeding on the outside but something internal starts asking different questions. What are you actually building? Who does it help? And what does it feel like to live inside the thing you’ve created?
Those weren’t questions I could answer from my Bloomberg terminal. And eventually, I left.
The decision wasn’t impulsive. I didn’t throw my badge on a desk and walk out dramatically. It happened slowly, over time - through weekends spent sketching, through books on product design, through notes on my phone with fragments of ideas I couldn’t shake. The seed of HyperRing came from a simple feeling: I wanted something that made modern life feel lighter. Not louder. Not faster. Just… easier, in a way that didn’t require me to hold more.
I’d been wearing rings for years. Jewelry was always part of my aesthetic. And I kept wondering - why couldn’t something I already wore do more for me? That’s when I started working on the earliest prototypes for what would become HyperRing. A piece of tech jewelry that lets you pay with your hand - no wallet, no phone, no friction. And more importantly: no need to remember anything. It’s already with you.
A lot of people assume HyperRing was born from a tech insight. It wasn’t. It was born from a human one. Modern life is overloaded. Too many tabs open - literally and mentally. We carry phones, cards, keys, IDs, backups for the backups. And we do it automatically, because we’re used to thinking it’s the only way to be prepared. But what if readiness didn’t require weight? What if one small, beautiful object could do more and let you carry less?
That’s the real premise behind HyperRing. It’s not just a ring. It’s a different way to move through the world. One where you can leave the house without a bag. One where you don’t panic when your phone dies. One where your hands are free, and your mind is too.
Sometimes I get asked if I miss the structure of Wall Street. The answer is: sometimes. But I don’t miss what it asked me to ignore. In this chapter, I get to build something that feels like an extension of my values. Something I’d actually wear. Something that speaks to design, and presence, and intentionality - not just scale.
HyperRing isn’t just a product. It’s the result of asking a better question: What do I want to bring into the world, and how can I make it lighter? That’s the version of success I care about now.