Barb Chan

Barb Chan is the founder of Koolooks

BULLIES, LISTEN UP: BARB CHAN HAS HAD ENOUGH. AND SHE HAS THOUSANDS OF WOMEN AROUND THE GLOBE BACKING HER UP WITH ALL OF THEIR DIFFERENT CULTURES AND INDIVIDUALISM.

“Stick with your own kind.”

The words branded me with shame.

I had done it. I exposed my secret crush on a boy, and the humiliation that followed was scathing. The bully was an athletic, pug-nosed girl with pigtails. She was my tormentor, the reason why I dreaded sixth grade. She would always say, “What’s wrong with your face,” pull her eyelids up at the corners to make them appear slanted, and flatten her nose with her finger. It was mortifying.

I was the only Asian girl, the smallest, skinniest, most flat chested girl in my class. The bully reminded me every day that I didn’t belong. But that day, for just one moment, I forgot that I wasn’t one of them. I let my guard down.

The girls were huddled together, giggling and whispering about boys that they were crushing on. As they were babbling, I got swept up in the moment. Before my self-sabotage filter could kick in, the words bubbled out of my mouth.

“I have a crush on…Tom!” And like the sting of a whip, the bully’s words were swift and punitive, “Stick with your own kind.”

Aliens were not allowed in the popular white girls’ club. Aliens were not pretty enough, or good enough to be on their planet at all. I was an alien.

In those days, the nuns didn’t play. If you misbehaved, you would be roughly pulled aside, or slapped hard on the face. One day, my mom got fed up and told the nuns about the bully. I guess they really let her have it, because she toned it down. But I was still never invited to her birthday parties, or included in games at recess. When she showed up at my birthday parties, I felt honored, but my mother would give her the evil eye. My mother was no shrinking violet, she had that Asian dragon-lady mom temper that no one wanted to mess with. It wasn’t until years later, that I learned my fierce mom was also bullied at work. Her nurse colleague called Asian people “Chinks”, and a foul-tempered doctor once called her a “Stupid Chinaman”. Growing up in Idaho, 84 miles south of a white supremacist community in the 1960s, was pretty rough on a Chinese-American family.

Junior High was where hierarchies were born. There were desirables, invisibles, and everyone else in between. The invisibles were those who skulked down the hall, hoping not to be noticed, or slammed up against lockers and given painful wedgies. I had two real friends in junior high, and I was an invisible. My survival manual included not getting noticed by rednecks and getting called the “C” word. I found my solace in reading books, drawing, writing short stories, and excelling in school. I hand-illustrated all my written reports to get extra credit. Yeah, I was the quintessential Asian nerd.

Despite how I tried to be inconspicuous, there was a mean girl I’ll refer to as Bully2. She glared at me every time I walked by, narrowing her eyes as if I were the most despicable creature. She wore thick, black, smudgy eyeliner that made her look ghoulish, and she had long stringy hair. She hung out at the school gate everyday, cherry-picking her next victims. One evening, she cornered me at the local movie theater and started screaming, “Chink” and “Ching Chong Chinaman,” and “ Go back to your own country,” even though we were born in the same hospital in the same town. I buried my face in my hands and cried as my pretty blonde friend stood by helplessly.

One of the most defining moments of my life came when I saw Bully2 mistreating my friend, “S”. S was mercilessly bullied for her acne. They called her “Pizza Face,” and “Pepperoni Face.” I honestly don’t know how she survived puberty. During PE class, Bully2 picked up S’s sneakers and threw them in the trash. When I saw her do that, something in me snapped. I got so angry, I yelled, “Stop it! Stop picking on my friend!”

Well, that did it, I was as good as dead. But that was the turning point in my life when I went from victim to fighter.

A week later, Bully2 found me in the locker room and beat the crap out of me. But for the first time in my life, I fought back. I kicked and swung as hard as I could, mostly swinging at the air, but it felt good that the little hurt girl  wasn’t going to take it anymore. I have my friend’s sneakers to thank for that pivotal moment.

I was 12 years old when my father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. He was a professor of mining and metallurgy at the University of Idaho. Life became increasingly difficult as the tremors worsened, and he could barely drive us to school. One day, one of my dad’s colleagues said to my mom, “Look at him, he can barely speak. Why is he here?”

Weeks later, the new Dean circulated a bulletin announcing my dad’s retirement. It totally blindsided him. He went home with his head hanging and went to bed. The shame of a forced retirement caused such anguish to my parents. It was the end of a dream for my mom, who grew up the “invisible” girl child in China. She became a caregiver in her thirties, and worked night shifts to help put four kids through college. In my junior year, mom urged me to transfer from The University of Idaho to the University of Arizona, where I got my degree in graphic design. Soon after, she packed up two station wagons and moved the remainder of our family to California. We never returned to Idaho.

The impact of my dad’s illness hit me years later when I realized how much it changed the course of our lives. He was the heartbeat of our family. My hero. But after he got sick, it was my mom who became our superhero.

“ Life twists, but one thing I do know, strong women are forged when they are most expected to crumble. ”

My twenties and thirties were a blur of adventures and self discovery. I felt like a caged bird who had been set free. If Facebook had existed, you would have seen me flying “the friendly skies” as a flight attendant, riding camels in Cairo, discovering secret tunnels under the Louvre, featured in TWA commercials, cast in a little musical called South Pacific, owning my own modeling agency, and traveling the world with the models.

I discovered a passion for empowering young women, especially those who needed a little extra support and encouragement. We were an international modeling agency based in St. Louis. I scouted, developed, and promoted local models for commercial and editorial bookings and placements in New York, Chicago, Miami, Japan, Spain, Milan, South Africa, and many other markets. It was an industry that monetized young girls and their hip sizes. But the lack of opportunities for models of color in the 90s was daunting. As an agent, I had to navigate which girls could work in which markets. Some markets were not open to models of color at all. It felt so unfair, but it was a reality I had been accustomed to.

A wonderful therapist once told me that the pain, self deprecation, shame, and insecurities that I harbored all of my life were okay to feel. We are allowed to feel our pain, our disappointments, our hurts. It all belongs to us, and it is a part of our journey. We acknowledge that it’s there, and stop apologizing.

In my youth, I wanted to be anyone, but myself. The journey to self love started when I learned to love the part of myself that hurt the most. During one of our sessions, I was asked if I loved my younger self. To my heartbreak and dismay, I was unable to say “yes.” It took a lot of effort and tears for me to get there. If you are reading this, sisters, please tell your younger self, “I love you, little…(your name)”

I love you, little Barb.

I sold HR services for a while—a huge jump from my former profession. I called on C-level executives and sold a complex and expensive suite of services. It was a tough sell. But the best part of my job was working with entrepreneurs and founders and hearing their stories. I admired how they solved problems, created jobs, and empowered people through social, financial, and technical innovation. They were making a difference in the world.

It was always within me, the passion, creativity, and optimism to take risks. When I left the corporate world, it was a relief. I didn’t miss the forced-fun cocktail parties, the happy hours where no one stopped at two drinks, or the occasional unwelcome grope that many women like me endured. I didn’t miss the ‘good ole boys’ club, or the VP of Sales telling us to “stand on a desk, throw a rope over the beam and hang ourselves” if we didn’t make our numbers. Life is too short to live someone else’s dream.

2016 was the year that hate speech, bullying, racism, and discrimination became toxic on social media. The lack of respect for women was blatant and demoralizing. Even Instagram ifluencers were framing objectification as empowerment, which led to young women developing eating disorders, body dysmorphia, depression, and anxiety. 2016 was also the year that the first curated women’s mobile application that empowered women was launched. It was a voting and encouragement app where women uploaded two images and got votes and feedback from the community. Features were built into the app to drive diversity, inclusion, belonging, kindness, and culture. It was the first app of its kind to ban bullies and people who were not there in the right spirit. Thousands of women globally came together to celebrate fashion, beauty, style, creativity, culture, individualism, and their stories. We were a magnet initially for the Instagram crowd, but became so much more about women having a safe space where they could feel loved and accepted for who they are. Koolooks was born from the pain of racism, bullying, hatred, and misogyny, and it bloomed into a movement of sisterhood and belonging. Sometimes the most beautiful blessings come from the deepest pain. In creating Koolooks, I found my own sense of purpose and humanity.

When people ask me about Koolooks, my 30-second elevator pitch goes out the window. I can’t stop gushing about the world’s most wonderful community of women. Influencers with kohl-lined eyes in bejeweled saris, advocating for homeless dogs, Muslim sisters, veiled in hijabs, going for their masters degrees, Ukrainian girls proud and defiant, waving their blue and gold in the face of tyranny, Ghanaian designers illuminating our fashion feed in bold, brilliant plumage, Swedish schoolgirls modeling their prom dresses, kindergarten teachers, artists, doctors, lawyers, architects, vegans, mothers, sisters, friends. Women. Sharing. The common denominator: kindness.

Studies show that being kind to ourselves and others boosts happiness, and happiness improves health. The very essence of Koolooks is to lead with kindness and compassion, and make the world a better place, one vote, one encouraging comment, one person at a time.

So how does a technology-led platform achieve this goal? The magic lies in having an elegant software solution, a passionate, selfless team, a kind and loving community, and influencers that execute on the vision of our culture. Our community has become a lifeline for many, and a safe, genuine space where women feel deep, meaningful connections.

Small businesses are the hardest-hit sectors during the pandemic, so in order to ensure our survival, I pivoted our business model in 2020. Our infrastructure can now be customized and implemented for any enterprise company to help meet their community goals. One of the best companies in America is currently engaged with Koolooks to implement our software solution for their women’s empowerment department. With all of these amazing opportunities on our horizon, I am thrilled about the opportunities created for the amazing women and influencers on my team. These women, who originally joined our community looking for affirmation, belonging, and kindness, are now leaders and influencers that foster love and hope in other women. We truly believe that in uplifting and helping others, we uplift and help ourselves. Kudos to all women who rise above hatred and oppression to help pave the way for future generations. Let’s do this, Sisters. We rock!

Go to your mobile device right now and download Koolooks and join the movement.