No One Is Coming to Save You
NFA PR
No one is coming to save you. Not the investor, not the mentor, not the perfect moment.
If the thing you’re building survives, it’s because you refused to quit.
What I Wish Someone Told Me Before I Became a Founder
No one is coming to save you.
Not the investor.
Not the mentor.
Not the perfect opportunity.
Not the moment when everything finally feels “ready”.
If the thing you’re building survives, it’s because you refused to quit.
I learned this the hard way.
Early on, I was waiting on promised investment that never landed. Rent was overdue. Bills were piling up. I kept telling myself, any day now, someone will come through. And then one day it hit me: the only person keeping this brand alive was me.
That was the moment I stopped waiting and started building like no one was coming.
Because they’re not.
This Was Never a Clean or Safe Path
My path was never neat or protected — it was survival.
I grew up in chaos and left home at 14. I clawed my way through 25 years in advertising, becoming an award-winning Creative Director and working with some of the biggest brands in the world. On paper, it looked successful. Behind the scenes, my life was anything but.
When my marriage collapsed, I found myself homeless with a newborn baby. I moved 17 times in her first year. Most people would have broken. I sold everything I owned, freelanced during the day to keep the lights on, and started sketching designs at the kitchen table while my baby slept.
That’s how No Fixed Abode was born.
Not out of privilege.
Out of rebellion, grit, and survival.
The brand grew out of the punk and metal music scene because musicians understood it instantly — they lived that same defiance. It wasn’t fashion for fashion’s sake. It was identity. It was belonging. It was survival turned into something wearable.
Recently, I was interviewed by Authority Magazine and asked to share the five things I wish someone had told me before I became a CEO. This is the unfiltered version.
1. No One Is Coming to Save You
I used to think someone would eventually swoop in — an investor, a mentor, a magic opportunity.
They didn’t.
What did arrive was reality: overdue rent, unpaid bills, exhaustion, and the realisation that if I didn’t build the structure, nothing would move. I was the engine. The vision. The person answering emails at 2 a.m. The one carrying the risk.
The moment I accepted that no one was coming was the moment everything changed. I stopped waiting. I started building with urgency, responsibility, and ownership.
That shift is brutal — but it’s also where power begins.
2. Authenticity Is Your Greatest Asset
I spent years thinking I had to play the game — polish the brand, sound more corporate, fit into a mould that was never made for me.
Every time I tried, it fell flat.
The magic only happened when I leaned fully into honesty, rebellion, and being unapologetically myself. One of my early Soho launches was pure chaos: masked b-boys wearing NFA lion gear, dancing in the streets, jumping off things, getting kicked out of shops. It was disruptive, messy, maybe even a mistake — but people remembered it.
Because people don’t connect with perfection.
They connect with truth.
Your difference isn’t a liability. It’s the whole point.
3. Sacrifice Is Part of the Deal
I wish someone had told me how much I’d have to give up.
Sleep. Money. Comfort. Relationships. A sense of safety.
I worked freelance jobs by day, built the brand by night, and sold possessions just to fund fabric. I moved house over and over with a newborn because I refused to quit. It wasn’t glamorous. It was brutal.
But that sacrifice became the fire in my story. It gave weight to every win. It’s why I don’t take success lightly — I know exactly what it cost.
If you’re not willing to sacrifice, you’re not building — you’re dabbling.
4. Build the Movement, Not Just the Product
At first, I thought selling jackets was the goal.
It isn’t.
People don’t buy fabric — they buy belonging.
One night changed everything. I had reached out cold to music PRs — polite, direct, no begging — and to my shock, someone replied. Kas Mercer from Mercenary Publicity invited me to a Papa Roach gig. I brought one last handmade Union Jack bomber jacket with me and thought, fuck it, maybe Jacoby will like this.
He didn’t just like it. He put it straight on and said, “I feel really good in this.”
That night, Papa Roach opened their UK tour with “Firestarter” by The Prodigy in tribute to Keith Flint. And there was Jacoby Shaddix, under the lights, wearing my jacket, in front of thousands.
That wasn’t fashion.
That was music, rebellion, identity, and survival colliding.
That’s when I understood: build the movement, and the product will follow.
5. Resilience Is the Real Currency
I’ve been rejected, copied, sued, underestimated, laughed at.
I’ve had £0 in my account with debt collectors knocking at my door — and still pressed “send” on an email pitch to a major music PR. That one email changed everything.
The difference between people who make it and people who don’t isn’t talent or luck.
It’s resilience.
Resilience is the muscle you build every time you refuse to quit when it would be easier to disappear.
Pain Is Your Power
If I could spread one idea into the world, it would be this: turn your pain into power.
Everyone carries scars — from loss, rejection, hardship, trauma. You can bury them, or you can use them as fuel. I know this because I’ve lived it.
I went from homelessness with a newborn to building a fashion brand worn by global musicians. That didn’t happen in spite of my pain — it happened because I chose to use it.
Pain gave me grit.
Pain gave me resilience.
Pain gave me a story that connects.
If more people stopped hiding their scars and started using them to build, create, and lead, the ripple effect would be massive.
That’s the movement I’m building.
That’s why No Fixed Abode exists.
And that’s why I started the Raised on Rebellion podcast — to tell the truth, loudly.
f you’re building something and it feels impossibly hard — good.
That usually means it matters.
Explore the world of No Fixed Abode
or listen to Raised on Rebellion wherever you get your podcasts.
You can read the original Authority Magazine feature here:
Link to Authority Magazine article
If you’re building something and it feels impossibly hard — good.
That usually means it matters.
No one is coming to save you.
And that’s exactly why you’re stronger than you think.