Spence Confidential
On the exhaustion of belief and the slow work of making something real.
There was a time when “meeting the founder” felt romantic: the idea that the person behind a brand could make it more human, more alive.
I don’t know about you, but I think I have founder fatigue.
Hardly a groundbreaking admission. Our culture has become obsessed with the “me, me, me.” The age of the ‘founder-as-brand’ promised authenticity — See? There are real people here! It was a rebellion against faceless corporations, an invitation to connect with the human behind the idea.
And eventually it became another genre of performance — perhaps especially for women, where the ‘female founder’ became both a badge and a meme: the played-out protagonist of the first wave of disruptor brands.
Somewhere along the way, “meeting the founder” stopped feeling revolutionary and became another part of the formula — or worse, the motivation to start a brand at all: a path to visibility, but not vision.
If you ask people close to me, they’ll tell you Spence sometimes feels more like an illness than a business. Though I’d be a little curious, I’d rather not calculate the hours spent assembling concept or investor decks. It’s enough to say: this brand has taken over my life, in the best and hardest ways.
It’s hard to say exactly how long I had been thinking about it. I remember doodling ideas for how I would redesign my middle school’s tennis team uniforms. I handled the ‘merch’ for the UW Club Tennis Team. But, the real spark came in 2018, when a friend and I were having a conversation about cool sport-specific brands pushing culture forward in a way that incumbents could not. He said, “You’ve played tennis your whole life. You should start a tennis brand.”
From that moment, it was Spence.
I’ve told this story more times than I can count — to investors, to friends, to myself on long runs. My grandfather gave me my first racquet. My dad made sure I became a sports fan. I grew up embedded in the golden era of mall retail. Some days, it feels obvious that this was all I was ever meant to do.
I knew it would be hard. I didn’t know it would be this hard.
I’ve watched other founders raise money for worse ideas (my opinion), seen tone-deaf creatives praised for their brilliance, and felt the quiet madness that comes with believing in something (so much) that doesn’t yet have proof.
To anyone dreaming of starting something: you absolutely can.
Just don’t expect to feel like a winner too soon.
I’ve held off on writing anything remotely ‘BTS’, partly because Spence — though personal — feels like something that should stand on its own. I don’t believe that consumers need to know the founder to connect to a brand. And partly because I imagined feeling some semblance of ‘success’ before I’d earned the right to say anything.
What even is success? We turned our site on seven months ago, have had some incredible organic press and continue to receive genuine enthusiasm from players who found us on their own.
Maybe I’m praying for the viral moment, the big investor… but maybe that’s not the path.
To me, we’ve barely scratched the surface.
Right now, it feels like we’re always trying to spin straw into gold. We’re short on resources, but not on passion, not on ideas. There’s a little satisfaction in knowing the bigger fish are watching. On the best days, Spence itself feels like a playground, and that’s part of what makes this addictive.
I started Spence because I love this sport and this industry and working with real people. It’s easy to say none of us needs more stuff, but as long as things exist, they might as well be made with care by those who truly give a damn. In uncertain times, there’s a kind of power in the tangible. Maybe it’s superficial, but I’ve always believed clothing can hold a memory — where you were, what you felt.
And the game of tennis has given me so much: a competitive spirit, a sense of belonging, and more good memories than I can count.
At its heart, Spence is a celebration of what’s real: movement, sweat, connection, and of course, love.
Maybe that’s the paradox of it all — I’m a founder tired of “founder culture,” but I still believe it’s worth fighting for the real thing.
xx Amanda
Keep going. Keep fighting. We're behind you.
Keep going. It will come.