When Brianne Mees started Tender Loving Empire in 2007, she spent most days behind a small retail counter, learning in real time what it meant to keep a store open. The location was modest, and the systems were improvised. The work required showing up six days a week and staying present with every customer who walked through the door. There was no long-term growth plan taped to the wall, no roadmap for scale, and no clear sense of what the business might become.
Nearly two decades later, Tender Loving Empire operates seven retail locations, including high-volume stores inside the Portland and Seattle airports. The company employs more than 60 people, runs a record label, and has put over $20 million directly into the hands of artists, makers, and small businesses. The scale has changed, but the daily posture toward people and community has stayed consistent.
That continuity is not accidental. It reflects how Mees thinks about leadership, about responsibility, and about what it means to grow without losing the reason you started in the first place.
A helping profession disguised as retail
Mees didn’t come into retail through a traditional business path. Before founding Tender Loving Empire, she earned a degree in psychology and worked in social work. At the time, she assumed that work would define her career.
“I just hadn’t lived enough life yet,” she says. “Social work is really important, really challenging work, and I burned out. It didn’t quite fit where I was at that point.”
What did fit was the instinct underneath it: the impulse to support people, to notice potential, and to help someone believe in the thing they were creating.
“When we first started Tender Loving Empire, it really started in my mind as a helping profession,” Mees says. “I loved the idea of being people’s cheerleader. Everyone needs someone who can say, ‘I see you. You’re talented. What you’re doing matters.’”
That instinct became the foundation of the business. Tender Loving Empire was created to support artists, musicians, and makers who were already doing meaningful work but lacked a place to show it. This was before platforms like Etsy or Bandcamp were widely accessible. Many creatives were working in isolation, producing beautiful things that never left their homes.
“We kept asking ourselves why everyone we knew wasn’t famous,” Mees says. “They were so talented, and their work was just hidden away. There needed to be a place where people could see it and connect with it.”
So Mees and her husband built one. They did it without a business degree, without outside capital, and without a detailed understanding of how retail companies were supposed to operate.
“We just kind of opened our first shop and figured it out,” she says. “There wasn’t a lot of overthinking. We were surrounded by creativity, and we wanted to share it.”
Learning by doing, then deciding to commit
The early years were difficult in ways that are familiar to many founders. The first location struggled with foot traffic. Revenue hovered around $50,000 annually. Mees worked the counter nine hours a day, six days a week. At one point, the business took on custom silk-screening work just to cover expenses.
Three years in, the founders faced a choice that forced clarity. “We realized this could stay a hobby that we did for a few years, or we could actually make it sustainable,” Mees says. “If we wanted to truly support our community, we had to commit to learning how to run a business.”
That decision led to a move into a stronger retail location on Northwest 10th Avenue in Portland. For the first time, the store felt like a real presence in the city. Foot traffic increased, and sales followed. The next step came quickly and with some nerves attached.
They hired their first employee. “I’ll never forget it,” Mees says. “We had a 400-square-foot store, and we did our interviews at a bar over a beer.” It was informal and imperfect, but it was also the moment Mees knew she couldn’t build the business alone.
“There’s no way we could be where we are today without the people who’ve brought their talent, time, and vision into this company,” she says. Letting go of doing everything herself became one of the earliest leadership lessons, and it set the tone for how Tender Loving Empire would grow.
People first, by design
As the company expanded, Mees’ background in psychology became an asset rather than an anomaly. She paid close attention to how people experienced work, how they connected to the mission, and how leadership decisions affected culture.
“We’re a very people-first company,” she says. “That aligns naturally with my background.”
The hiring process focused less on resumes and more on shared values. Tender Loving Empire looked for people who cared deeply about creativity, community, and kindness. “The common thread is alignment with the mission,” Mees says. “We’re selling art and rock and roll at the end of the day. If someone’s passionate about that, it shows.”
That approach mattered as the company grew to more than 60 employees with diverse personalities and backgrounds. The work not only required structure and systems, but it also required preserving the human texture that defined the brand.
“You can imagine the type of people who want to work at a company called Tender Loving Empire,” Mees says. “They tend to be kind, thoughtful people.”
Becoming a guide to the city
One of the more visible shifts in the company’s evolution came as Tender Loving Empire moved into highly touristed neighborhoods in Portland. Mees noticed a pattern: “We started realizing we were really good at being Portland tour guides. People would come in, and we’d get excited about showing them all these incredible makers, artists, and musicians.”
That role became central to the brand. Tender Loving Empire wasn’t just selling products. It was translating a city’s creative identity for visitors and locals alike. And that insight opened the door to an unexpected opportunity: when Portland International Airport began looking for small businesses that represented an authentic local experience, Tender Loving Empire fit naturally. The same approach carried into Seattle later on.
“If you’d asked us in 2007 whether we’d ever be in an airport, we probably would’ve laughed,” Mees says. “But it makes sense. The airport locations perform well, and they allow us to support artists in a much bigger way.”
The success of those stores gave the company more leverage to fulfill its mission. Bigger venues meant bigger checks for creators.
Resilience under pressure
Tender Loving Empire was founded just before the Great Recession. For Mees, that experience shaped the company’s relationship with uncertainty. “That was just the air we breathed,” she says. “We didn’t know anything else.”
The early constraints taught the team how to be scrappy, creative, and disciplined. Those lessons resurfaced years later during the pandemic. When lockdowns hit, Mees made one of the hardest decisions of her career. The company furloughed most of its staff, retaining only the nine-person leadership team.
“That was the hardest day of my career,” she says. “One part of our mission is to support and enrich our employees, and in that moment, I couldn’t do that the way I wanted to.”
Mees stepped into the operational gaps herself. For five months, she was the sole employee at the Bridgeport Village store, opening and closing the location daily. The leadership team absorbed responsibilities far outside their usual roles.
“We had to think long-term,” Mees says. “This wasn’t forever. It was about getting to the other side so we could continue fulfilling the mission.” But the company did more than survive. Since the pandemic, Tender Loving Empire has added two airport locations and increased annual revenue by roughly $3 million.
Putting money back into the creative economy
One metric matters deeply to Mees and her team. Tender Loving Empire tracks the total amount paid to artists and makers through the business. That number now exceeds $20 million. “We update it quarterly, and the whole team celebrates it,” Mees says. “That’s why we exist.”
The impact extends beyond individual transactions. Vendor relationships often create ripple effects throughout the community. Some partners employ previously incarcerated women. Others donate a portion of sales to charitable causes. Many grow their businesses in ways that allow them to hire employees or leave unrelated day jobs. “When you support your community with your dollars, it multiplies,” Mees says.
The buying process itself has evolved. What once relied on instinct now combines data, historical performance, and a dedicated buying team that scours fairs, submissions, and online platforms. “We still care deeply about the people behind the products,” Mees says. “That part hasn’t changed.”
Regenerative retail as a leadership choice
Mees describes Tender Loving Empire’s approach as regenerative retail. The idea centers on entering communities with the intention of strengthening them economically and creatively.
“Big box retailers often extract value from communities,” she says. “The dollars leave. Our goal is for value to circulate.” That philosophy shapes decisions about suppliers, partnerships, and future locations. It also challenges conventional growth logic.
“For other leaders, the first step is looking at where your resources go,” Mees says. “Who are you paying? Who benefits from your success?”
Letting the community invest back
That same logic led Tender Loving Empire to raise capital through WeFunder, allowing customers and supporters to become investors. “It feels right for us to be community-owned,” Mees says. “Our customers are the reason we’ve been able to put $20 million back into the creative economy. We’re just the vehicle.”
The company is raising $1.2 million through a convertible note structure, with a valuation cap aligned to projected growth. Investors can choose to convert to equity or receive their capital back with interest. “This route feels more equitable,” Mees says. “It aligns with our values.”
Technology, creativity, and responsibility
As someone deeply connected to the artistic community, Mees holds a nuanced view of AI. She sees its efficiency benefits in business contexts and the legitimate concerns among creators. However, she says that “the mass ingestion of creative work without compensation is the real issue.” She adds, “That could be solved, but we’re not seeing it yet.”
Mees acknowledges that many artists already use AI tools as part of their workflows. The challenge lies in aligning innovation with respect for intellectual property and livelihood. “Everyone has to make decisions that align with their values,” she says.
Advice from 18 years in
Looking back to 2007, Mees recognizes how much she has changed. “I dealt with imposter syndrome for a long time,” she says. “I didn’t trust my instincts as much as I could have.” But over time, she learned when to listen and when to hold firm to the original vision. “I’d tell myself to trust that vision more,” she says. “And to know when input is helpful and when your own idea is right.”
Today, Mees feels confident about the road ahead. The leadership team is in place. The systems are built. Expansion feels manageable rather than overwhelming. “We know how to open stores now,” she says. “We’re prepared for the next phase.”
Why it still matters
On difficult days, Mees returns to the same grounding reminders: a walk, a visit to a store, the quarterly update of that $20 million figure. “It represents people quitting their day jobs, sending kids to college, continuing to make art,” she says. “That’s why we do this.”
For Mees, leadership has never been about building something impressive for its own sake. Instead, it’s been about creating a structure that allows creativity, dignity, and community to grow together. And after 18 years, that responsibility still feels worth carrying.
Brandon Laws is a workplace culture and leadership enthusiast, host of the Transform Your Workplace podcast, and VP of Marketing and Product at Xenium HR.