The Long Game
Some moments in building a company feel cinematic. And some moments are quiet whispers. Right now, there are two vials in the mail, sliding through the postal system somewhere between a production facility in New York and my front door. They’re the product of months of conversations, decisions, and more spreadsheets than I ever thought I’d touch. I don’t know exactly when they’ll arrive, and I’m checking the tracking obsessively, like a kid waiting for a secret package. When they do land, there won’t be a dramatic, filmed unboxing. I’ll probably just rip open the box, hold them up to the light for a long minute, and breathe, letting it sink in.
That’s where FlyBoy is right now. Somewhere in transit.
I wanted to write this because so much founder content falls into two buckets: the shiny highlight reel, or the kind of vulnerability that’s really just another form of self-promotion. I’m not interested in either. So here’s the real version. Imagine we are chit-chatting with aperitivo-hour vibes and low candlelight, discussing where I actually am in the process.
Honestly? It’s slow. Not stuck, not off track...just slow, the way anything worth building tends to be. The branding is done, and I love it. Investors are on board. We have a production partner in Ley Line Labs. The formulation company is headed by two beverage geeks from New York, with whom I clicked immediately and understood what FlyBoy is about from the start. They care about unique botanical profiles as much as (probably way more than) I do. The foundation is solid. But the big stuff, like manufacturing, production, and real marketing, is all still ahead. The parts that excite me most, the gatherings and the sense of belonging, where the drink fades into the background, and the people matter more—that’s all still to come.
And some days, I lose the plot. I get buried in the endless to-do list and forget why I started in the first place.
The drink is not the forefront. It almost fades into the background, more like a facilitator. The gathering of people and joy-filled moments have always been the point.
This week I talked with Danielle Calabrese of It’s All Happening Co., who’s been one of the most grounding voices in this whole process. I admitted something I hadn’t said out loud: I’ve been considering bringing in a co-founder. Not because I doubt my vision—I really don’t—but because doing this alone is heavy. I’ve seen what happens when a team loses alignment, or when there are too many cooks in the kitchen. I know going solo is right for FlyBoy, at least for now. But still... It’s a lot.
Danielle didn’t try to sway me either way; she just pointed out that naming the fear was already my answer. I didn’t need a co-founder, just a better support system. People who’ve done this before and will actually get in the weeds with you. She’s helped me model out the cost of goods, minimum orders, the kind of math I used to feel uneducated in and overwhelmed by. Turns out you don’t have to hire your gaps. Sometimes you just ask for help from people who’ve already been down this road.
Another thing I’m noticing: I’m grateful for the people in this space who operate so differently from me. I talked with a founder whose brain works almost the opposite of mine: she’s all numbers and analysis, while I lead with strategy and design. We’re both building consumer packaged goods, but see the world totally differently. That conversation was a good reminder: getting something off the ground takes every kind of brain. The difference between a product that just sits in a warehouse and one that builds a real following? It’s never just one skill set. It’s all of them, shared over time by people willing to pitch in.
I’m not actually alone in this. Even on the days it feels that way.
Building the foundation is the hardest part. But if you do it slowly, deliberately, trusting yourself through the hard stuff instead of giving away control out of panic, you get to own what you built.There’s an event coming up in LA. A wine brand I love, Good Boy Wine, is throwing a big party, and they asked me to be the non-alc option. The FlyBoy × Good Boy pairing was obvious. But I had to tell them I won’t have cans ready in time. That stung. I’m still mad about it, low-key. I keep picturing the room in LA, imagining the feeling of someone picking up a FlyBoy and sipping from the can because it feels right for that moment. That’s what I’m building toward. I know there will be other rooms and other events. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t let that one get to me for a minute. I keep reminding myself that it’s better to go slow and get it right than to rush the process.
When the vials finally show up, I’ll open them at dinner and serve them in the moody environment I’ve always imagined: warm candlelight, probably jazz or R&B crooning in the background, a table full of people who won’t take it too seriously. That’s exactly how it should be. I want laughter, honest (maybe a little unflattering) opinions, and someone inevitably asking for seconds. The first real FlyBoy tasting should feel less like a focus group and more like a Tuesday night that just got good. That moment is almost here. And every slow, unglamorous, spreadsheet-filled day between now and then is exactly what will make it matter.
Thanks for being here for the long game.
Wheels Up!
Margo, Founder of FlyBoy Aperitif