My Appearance on Shark Tank

I received a Shark Tank audition invitation exactly two weeks before my wedding to Kendall. We were simultaneously house-hunting, I was working full-time at Google Cloud, and Surf Skull was still a scrappy side project. Most sane people would have said no. But I've never been great at saying no to things that terrify me.

I adopted my usual philosophy: don't think about the mountain, just take the next step. There was no guarantee it would air. The company could tank if the pitch went badly. But the opportunity was too rare to pass up.

Here's something nobody tells you about Shark Tank: the interview process is significantly more intense than interviewing at Google. And I would know — I've done both.

Producers warned us at every stage about the odds of rejection. Round after round of vetting, background checks, product validation, and screen tests. They need to know your story is real, your numbers add up, and that you won't freeze on camera. It's months of uncertainty compressed into an already chaotic life.

Surf Skull was born from a real problem. Head injuries are among the most common yet ignored risks in surfing. Existing helmets were bulky, uncomfortable, and carried a social stigma that kept surfers from wearing them. So I set out to design something different: the world's first low-profile surf helmet that people would actually want to wear.

The core innovation is patent-pending Reeflex slip-layer technology — borrowed from cycling and adapted for the ocean. Traditional helmets absorb linear impact, but in surfing, forces are often rotational. A wave slams you sideways, your head glances off reef, or a board catches you at an angle. The slip layer is a low-friction membrane between the outer shell and inner liner that allows the helmet to rotate slightly on impact, dramatically reducing rotational forces on the brain.

I worked with material scientists to develop custom non-newtonian impact foam and a version of the slip layer that could withstand saltwater exposure without degrading. The result: a helmet that looks like a bucket hat but protects like serious safety gear.

As a product designer by trade, the digital experience was just as important as the physical product. I designed and built thesurfskull.com from scratch, creating a brand identity that felt playful and irreverent — the opposite of the clinical, fear-based messaging you see from most safety companies.

The visual language uses vibrant neon accents, scattered sticker graphics, and an informal tone. The tagline "Protect your noggin" says it all. I wanted surfers to feel like they were buying into a culture, not just a piece of safety equipment. Every detail of the e-commerce experience — from product photography to the unboxing — was carefully designed to remove friction and build trust.

Paul and I filmed our pitch during the summer. Walking onto that set is surreal — it's smaller than it looks on TV, and the Sharks are right there, five feet away, staring you down. We told our story, demoed the product, and laid out the numbers.

We secured an offer from Daniel Lubetzky, founder of KIND Snacks. His team was "hardly sharky at all" — professional, thorough, and genuinely interested in the mission. The due diligence process was rigorous but fair, and the deal closed successfully.

When the episode aired, we saw roughly a 10x increase in sales overnight. Which sounds amazing until you realize you now have to actually fulfill all those orders while still working a full-time job.

In September, needing funds for mold creation and production, Kendall and I launched a Kickstarter campaign. In retrospect, an SBA loan would have been easier — but the community support we received kept us going when we were completely overwhelmed. Meanwhile, we bought a fixer-upper house and renovated it ourselves.

I learned to 3D print, 3D model, do accounting, file patents, source manufacturers, speak basic Mandarin for factory communication, and rewire a bathroom. The line between product designer, founder, and general contractor blurred completely.

Three things I took away from this experience:

1. Break it down. When everything is on fire, you can't think about the whole mountain. Focus on the next single step. Then the next one. Then the next one.

2. Learn or find someone who knows. I had no business filing patents or sourcing manufacturers in Shenzhen. But skills are learnable, and collaborators are findable. You don't need permission to figure things out.

3. Embrace productive chaos. The chaos that comes with growth is a privilege. Yes, you'll disappoint people. Yes, you'll miss deadlines. That's the cost of building something real. The alternative — playing it safe — is worse.

When people ask if it was worth it, I say: "Who knows." But would I do it again? Probably. I'm a terrible judge of what's good for me.