GÜD Essence CEO Jasmine Johnson has been building a Black woman-led cannabis company in Florida since 2016. In an exclusive interview with High Times, she breaks down what equity in this market actually looks like in practice, and what it has cost her to find out.

“I’ve been involved in this process since 2016,” says Jasmine Johnson.

She says it the way people say things they have had to make peace with. Not bitterly. Not defeated. Just clearly, the way you state a fact that has become so familiar it no longer surprises you.

Johnson is the CEO of GÜD Essence, a Black woman-led cannabis company and one of the few in Florida positioned to operate as a licensed MMTC. A Miami native, she launched her first business at 18, co-founded Crescendo Jazz & Blues Lounge, a South Florida cultural institution that hosted more than 300 events, and has managed over $200 million in assets across cannabis, real estate and hospitality. She holds degrees from Florida A&M University and Florida International University and has built research partnerships with universities alongside her dispensary infrastructure.

None of that made Florida’s system easier.

Nearly a decade in, she has one operational dispensary in Clearwater, more locations in development, a cultivation and processing campus under construction and a purchase agreement tied to a notice of intent to award a license, with certain components still pending regulatory approval. Along the way: a 750-page application, a $150,000 filing fee, a two-year wait and no award. A key partner who withdrew just before an ownership change submission. Court rulings that kept extending already extended timelines.

“The average entrepreneur cannot sustain a decade-long timeline based on uncertainty,” she tells High Times.

The Gap Between the Story and the System

Florida talks about equity in cannabis the way most regulated markets talk about equity: at the licensing stage, in the language of opportunity and access, in the framing of a door being opened.

Johnson has been through that door. She knows what’s on the other side.

“Equity is often marketed at the licensing stage,” she says, “but the real challenge begins after. There’s a narrative around ‘opportunity,’ but in reality, the market favors operators with deep capital reserves, political relationships and existing infrastructure. Without those, equity becomes more symbolic than functional.”

That gap between the marketing and the mechanics is where GÜD Essence has had to operate. No institutional backing. No political shortcuts. Instead, Johnson leveraged roughly $10.3 million in equity from her family’s real estate portfolio, structured retail leases to shift buildout costs to landlords and built with a discipline that leaves no room for the kind of inefficiency better-funded operators absorb without thinking about it.

“Where others can absorb inefficiencies,” she says, “we’ve had to build with precision. Every dollar, every decision, every timeline matters.”

What It Actually Takes

Florida’s MMTC licensing process requires full vertical integration from the start: cultivation, processing and retail all at once, before a single dollar comes in. Timelines shift without warning. Approvals come slowly. Capital drains steadily.

“You’re investing millions before you generate a single dollar,” she says, “with no guarantee of when approvals will come.”

The system, she argues, underestimates what entry actually costs and what survival actually demands. Minority entrepreneurs typically enter without institutional backing, and the structure doesn’t account for that gap.

“It’s not just about getting a license,” she says. “It’s about having the resources to survive long enough to use it.”

She is direct about the low points. Multiple moments when the rational calculus pointed toward stopping. A filing that went nowhere. A partner who walked. Rulings that kept the finish line moving.

“What keeps me going is the long-term vision and responsibility to build something that creates access and opportunity beyond just my company,” she says. “That purpose outweighs the short-term challenges.”

What Florida Gets Wrong

If Florida were serious about diverse ownership, Johnson has a list.

Reduce the barriers to entry. Create pathways for phased growth instead of requiring full vertical integration upfront. Fix the timelines. Improve regulatory efficiency. Rethink the structural assumptions that make the whole system hostile to independent operators without institutional capital.

“The system underestimates the true cost of entry and survival,” she says.

She also points past the state level entirely. Florida’s current framework is too narrow in its focus on select cannabinoids and too slow to incorporate research. GÜD Essence is developing products targeting chronic pain, diabetes and other serious health conditions. The market she is building toward is more clinical and more ambitious than what Florida’s system currently accommodates.

“Florida has an opportunity to modernize its framework,” she says. “We are especially committed to developing products that support conditions like chronic pain, diabetes and other serious health challenges.”

Still Building

GÜD Essence today has one operational dispensary in Clearwater, with locations in development in Orlando, Jacksonville and Titusville. The cultivation and processing campus is moving forward. Johnson is still in it, still building, still working toward a version of this market that looks less like the one she entered in 2016.

What people outside Florida most misunderstand, she says, is simple: the capital required, the time required and the commitment required are not what anyone advertises when they talk about cannabis equity.

“This is not a market where you can move quickly or test concepts,” she says. “It requires full commitment upfront, with significant risk and delayed return.”

Nearly a decade in, Jasmine Johnson is still here. Still building. Still waiting for Florida to catch up to the story it keeps telling about itself.

<p>The post She Paid $150,000 for a Florida Cannabis License and Got Nothing. Then She Found Another Way In. first appeared on High Times.</p>

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The security guard glances at our IDs, then at us, then back at our IDs.

I am 67. Diana is 64. We are not the typical pair walking into a cannabis dispensary on a weekday afternoon. We come carrying a folding table, boxes of product, and the determination of women who are not done building.

Diana is my recent friend and now my business partner. We are not here to browse. We are here to sell.

We set up near the glass display cases, unfolding the table and arranging our product across its surface. Diana smooths the corners of the tablecloth without thinking. We scan shelves for placement rather than reading strain names. Most of the faces behind the counter are younger. Many are men. They carry an easy, unhurried energy that pairs surprisingly well with our more deliberate, still lively pace.

The young men we meet are kind and gracious, but their presence reminds us how seldom we see ourselves mirrored here. You might expect an industry built around a female plant, what we like to call the Ladies’ Lettuce, to look different. To skew more female.

It doesn’t.

Still, we began noticing something else.

A woman behind the counter asked a few extra questions about what we were selling. A manager who listened closely when we mentioned tar reduction. A flicker of recognition when we shared our ages.

And once we noticed them, we began to see the shape of something larger.

An Idea Sparked 

Less than two years earlier, Diana and I were sitting across from each other at a neighborhood coffeehouse, the only two volunteers who showed up to write letters for a political candidate in 2024. We were strangers then, addressing envelopes in careful block print. Halfway through our shift, we discovered we lived just six blocks apart.

When 4:20 rolled around, and we both casually suggested stepping outside for a toke, we realized we shared more than political persuasion. We shared a passion for the plant, relief for our aches and pains, a sense of humor, and the uneasy awareness that life in our sixties was not winding down. It was shifting.

We began spending nearly every day together, usually over a morning sesh. It was during one of those sessions that the idea for TarTubes was conceived.

Diana, ever pragmatic, was already using disposable cigarette filters to reduce her tar intake. I found myself wondering why there wasn’t a wellness option for me, something designed to fit the narrow end of the cone-tipped pre-roll joints I preferred to smoke.

We started improvising. Tissue first. Then cardboard. When those hacks proved promising, we designed a small adapter that finally made the pairing seamless.

That small invention did more than filter tar. It pulled us into dispensaries.

A Generation That Wasn’t Invited

Women our age did not grow up walking into bright dispensaries with digital menus and loyalty programs. For us, weed usually came through whoever knew someone. We found ourselves in unfamiliar dorm rooms and questionable apartments because someone’s roommate knew someone who “had a guy.” An added price was hanging around to smoke him up.

Weed was something we schemed to get in high school and college, something passed between friends in parked cars and cramped apartments. Later, we folded it quietly into our adult lives as we built careers, raised families, and cared for everyone else.

It was not marketed to us. It was not curated for us. It was not framed as wellness. We learned discretion early.

By the time legalization reshaped the landscape, the industry was already forming its identity. Marketing leaned young—imagery centered on men or hyper-sexualized young women. The tone emphasized recreation at a time when many of us were seeking relief.

The result is not hostility. It is absence.

Older women are rarely imagined in cannabis marketing. Rarely pictured. Rarely assumed to be innovators. And yet we have decades of lived experience with this plant.

We were not invited into the early rooms where this industry took shape. 

But here we were, setting up our table.

Finding the Women Inside the Industry

When we entered the “industry” in a more formal sense, the women we met were not waiting to be invited. They were already making space. 

A Lesson in Risk

The first woman to make space for us was Carol, the matriarch of Wonderland Cannabis. We walked in expecting to deliver a pitch. Instead, we found ourselves in conversation.

Carol listened carefully as we described how our idea began during a morning smoke session and how we had turned that ritual into a simple invention. She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t gush.

When we finished, she asked a question no one else had asked so plainly: Why take this kind of risk at this stage of your lives?

For a moment, we paused. Until then, we had been moving on momentum, focused on solving a problem rather than calculating the risk.

Carol didn’t offer applause. She offered perspective.

The Women Who Open Doors

Karen, one of our closest friends and an early adopter of TarTubes, helped get us into our first dispensary: The Verb Is Herb. At 61 and a mighty 5’2″, she works security at the door—greeting customers with an easy smile and the Grateful Dead streaming from her phone. Warm, but unmistakably in charge.

Behind the scenes, Karen was quietly advocating for us. She slipped our early prototypes to colleagues and talked us up to the people who mattered.

By the time our company soft-launched at the New England Flower Expo, the groundwork had already been laid. When The Verb became the first local dispensary to carry our invention, it didn’t feel accidental.

It felt like the quiet work of someone who understands how doors really open.

Trust Is the Real Currency

On my first solo sales call, I stood awkwardly off to the side of a dispensary floor, waiting for the manager to finish with a customer. Across the room, a vaguely familiar woman caught my eye—leather boots, faded jeans, a black tee beneath a fringed Grateful Dead vest.

It clicked. Staci Smith.

We had met years earlier at a Dead & Co. show, where she handed me one of her Strangers Stopping Strangers stickers—still stuck to the back of my phone. She noticed it immediately and laughed.

After 25 years in wine and spirits sales, Staci entered cannabis in 2019, before wholesale even existed locally. Beneath the fringe and tie-dye is a seasoned sales professional who understands margins, inventory, and the long game of relationship-building.

Through Staci, doors opened we didn’t even know existed. Not because she pushed 

Cannabis Meets Science

Exploring cannabis communities online, we came across Mia Garlock, whose relationship with the plant deepened after a devastating accident left her searching for relief beyond conventional care.

What began as coping became study. What began as relief became a relationship.

Today, through her online work, Mia teaches the neurobiology behind cannabis use—how the plant interacts with the body, not just mood. She often points out that both women’s health and cannabis remain under-researched, leaving a wide gap between lived experience and scientific understanding.

Through Mia, we began to see that what our generation learned through instinct and discretion could also be articulated through science. Where we learned quietly, Mia learned fluently.

She wasn’t waiting to be invited into authority. She was building it.

Building a Network

We met Addison Morris, founder of the Women’s Cannabis Chamber of Commerce, through LinkedIn. I expected a brief exchange. Instead, she had Diana and me on Zoom the very next day.

A septuagenarian with the energy of a startup founder, Addison speaks about cannabis not as counterculture but as infrastructure—moving easily between feminism, leadership, ownership, and policy.

Within weeks, she invited us onto her interview series, ClipNotes, where she amplifies women’s voices across social platforms. She didn’t position us as curiosities. She positioned us as contributors.

What had once felt like isolated encounters began to look more like a network. Women weren’t just finding their way into cannabis. They were building it.

Making Cannabis Navigable

Addison introduced us to Liz Quinn—a breast cancer survivor whose relationship with cannabis is deeply lived and shaped by treatment, recovery, and the long negotiation with a body that has endured trauma.

While much of the industry markets potency and novelty, Liz speaks to seniors in a different language. She understands hesitation, the uncertainty of walking into a dispensary for the first time, and the fear of getting it wrong.

Through her work with older adults, Liz focuses on clarity and care—translating jargon, explaining dosage in plain language, and encouraging people to listen to their bodies.

She also founded LizLightsUp and welcomed us to W.E.C.A.N., the Women Empowered Cannabis Advocates Network. This community connects women of all ages and backgrounds to share knowledge and support one another.

Through Liz, we began to see something clearly: older women weren’t just entering the cannabis space. They were helping make it navigable for everyone who followed.

Feminine Energy and the Ladies’ Lettuce

We had been calling her the Ladies’ Lettuce from the beginning, half playfully, half reverently. What we did not realize was how much the women around us were already embodying that same energy.

What we began to see was not just age. It was a way of moving through the space.

Mia rooted cannabis in the body. Liz translated it into reassurance. Carol made us pause and measure risk. None of them separated the plant from lived experience.

Relationship-based power.

Karen worked the door. Staci built trust over decades. Addison connected women across states and screens. Influence did not come from volume. It came from familiarity and follow-through.

Care.

Not softness. Not sentimentality. Care as discipline. Care as attention. Care to make sure the next woman does not enter alone.

This is the feminine energy we recognize around the Ladies’ Lettuce.

The next time we walk into a dispensary with our folding table and boxes of product, the security guard still checks our IDs. The faces behind the counter are still mostly younger.

But we no longer look for a mirror.

We look for connections.

We find it in conversation. In questions asked carefully. In women and men who care about access, safety, education, and getting it right.

We are not late to this industry.

We are arriving as we are, with decades of embodiment, relationship, and care already intact.

This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.

<p>The post Not Late, Just Arriving: Women Over 60 Are Finding Their Place in Cannabis first appeared on High Times.</p>

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When renowned US film director Paul Thomas Anderson and production designer Florencia Martin visited the Sisters of the Valley farm in California’s Central Valley, they were stunned. They were scouting locations and finding inspiration for their new film, and that work, the lush greenery, those open landscapes, those distant mountains… all that timeless mystique remained etched into their retinas.

“The connection was very organic,” Sister Karina readily acknowledges, amid the renewed attention surrounding One Battle After Another, the Leonardo DiCaprio-starring film that just won six Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Director. Sister Karina was formerly with the Sisters of the Valley and is now with Sisters of New York, a separate organization with no affiliation or direct relation to Sisters of the Valley.

So who are the Sisters of the Valley? Essentially, an international community of women (and allies) united by a common purpose: to defend women’s sovereignty, honor spirituality, and protect the cannabis plant as sacred medicine. They say it’s not a traditional religious order, but an independent spiritual movement with its own lineage that, they claim, “predates conventional religious structures.”

PTA was already familiar with the work of the Sisters of the Valley and respected the cultural impact surrounding their movement. However, both Anderson and the Sisters of the Valley knew that the farm wasn’t suitable for filming such a production, but they continued the conversation and stayed in contact. There was “something” that drew him to the Sisters… Finally, they were invited to participate in the filming, to bring their ritual elements, and to be part of the ensemble that appears in the scenes filmed at La Purísima Mission State Historic Park in Santa Barbara County.

“It’s a historic site with colonial architecture and expansive grounds, which allowed us to create a larger-scale film set without losing that earthy and spiritual feeling that characterizes our spaces. Although they are different places, they share a similar energy,” explains Sister Karina, who at the time was involved in strategic communication, creative direction, brand expansion, and cultural vision around the Sisters of the Valley.

“From the very beginning, there was a dialogue of admiration and respect for our work and for a living culture that has been developing for ten years since our founding. And that is now reflected, albeit fictionally, on the big screen,” Sister Karina proudly states regarding her contribution to the film. In fact, the presence of the “Sisters of the Brave Beaver,” who are part of the film’s plot, is directly inspired by the Sisters of the Valley. “We were physically on set, acting and becoming part of the living environment that surrounds the story.”

In that sense, the art and production team was extremely careful and meticulous in constructing the space. “Many details and scenes that didn’t make the final cut aren’t directly visible on screen, but they feel palpable in the world built with such detail, so much so that we feel like we’re in such a familiar environment. The way the elements were arranged helped the place evoke the same energy we experience on our farm, only amplified for the screen,” Sister Karina acknowledges.

In One Battle After Another, a fable in which a fallen revolutionary lives in a state of paranoia and must confront his nemesis while searching for his missing daughter, cannabis emerges not only as a visual element, but stands as a living presence. Here, rebellious nature and activism begin to break down barriers. It is there, then, that the Sisters of the Valley truly feel at home. “What we appreciate most is how Paul Thomas Anderson weaves the presence of cannabis into the story organically. Not as a gimmick, but with the same reverence with which we relate to it, as part of a living ecosystem and community,” the activist emphasizes.

Of course, for the Sisters of the Valley, spirituality and the plant are deeply intertwined. Their use of it (including ointments, drops, and capsules) is “an offering of connection, healing, and grounding.” They firmly assert: “It is a sacred plant that has accompanied humanity for centuries as a tool for connection, healing, and expanding consciousness.”

Every step, from seed to harvest, is infused with their prayers, chants, and healing intentions. The reverence with which they cultivate and prepare their medicine is not a symbolic gesture: it is a deep and real commitment that they take very seriously. “Our spiritual practice is not an aesthetic or a trend: it is the heart of our community. Every ceremony, every planting, every harvest, and every preparation of our medicine is guided by the natural lunar cycles and by a deep respect for Mother Earth.”

For all these reasons, seeing themselves portrayed in Anderson’s feature became “a profoundly important experience.” Sister Karina notes that Anderson placed them in the spotlight “with great love and grace,” especially in the scene where Colonel Lockjaw, played by Oscar winner Sean Penn, arrives at the Chupa Cabra Mountains searching for Willa, DiCaprio’s daughter, and while questioning a worker, the man tells him that behind those mountains there is a “group of nuns who grow weed.” Don’t worry, it’s not a spoiler, just a hint. :contentReference[oaicite:1]{index=1}

“We couldn’t have been in better hands. This nod in the film feels almost like a symbolic reward for having survived ten years in an environment that is constantly changing and that, many times, has tried to wipe us out. For us, it is an honor that our existence has inspired a cinematic universe that opens up conversations. Seeing it reflected in some way in a work of this caliber was a very significant moment.”

Regarding their relationship with PTA — now the Oscar-winning director of One Battle After Another, alongside a superb filmography that includes Boogie Nights, Magnolia and Licorice Pizza — the Sisters of the Valley are deeply grateful and hope their bond continues to flourish. “For us, this gesture means much more than an on-screen appearance: it’s a symbolic recognition of a history of resistance, autonomy, and faith in what we do,” says Sister Karina. :contentReference[oaicite:2]{index=2}

Meanwhile, this is the activists’ first appearance in a Hollywood-caliber film. They had participated in several documentaries, including Breaking Habits, directed by British filmmaker Rob Ryan, which portrays the genesis of their movement through the story of Sister Kate, its founder, and the path that led her to create it.

Now, they hope to capitalize on all the momentum generated by One Battle After Another, since their visibility “is” their activism. “We’re not your typical nuns. Boom! We’re not worried about media attention, since it’s a tool we use specifically to defend and amplify the voice of the plant, reminding everyone of the sacred connection we share as living beings.”

And, amidst all the lights, ads, and media attention, they hope the audience leaves the theater entertained and, in doing so, that this whole experience becomes a gateway for more people to learn about their work and, specifically, the reason for their existence. “We want people to understand that this fight isn’t just for the plant, but for a shift in consciousness. We want it to be known that our voice is collective, ancestral, and profoundly human,” Sister Karina concludes.

<p>The post How Weed Nuns Helped Shape Paul Thomas Anderson’s Oscar-Winning DiCaprio Epic first appeared on High Times.</p>

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Before New Constellations started turning heads with dreamy synth-pop and soft-focus heat, Harlee Case was already building a different kind of scene in Portland: femme, weird, welcoming, and very, very stoned.

“Females first. In cannabis there are plenty of heady bros doing things, we wanted to create a space for women and one where they felt safe to fully express themselves,” says Harlee Case, the co-founder and former Cosmic Creative director of Portland’s now-defunct but still fondly remembered Ladies of Paradise and its Lady Jays pre-roll line, now one half of New Constellations, the band carrying some of that same color, softness and emotional charge into music.

That line gets right to it.

Before cannabis marketers learned how to fake intimacy, before every brand with a pastel palette started pretending it had built “community,” there were people in weed culture actually doing the work. In Portland, for a stretch, Harlee Case and the Ladies of Paradise crew were among them. They were not selling sterile empowerment copy. They were making actual spaces. Rooms where women felt safe. Parties that felt like portals. Shoots that looked like weed had finally been handed over to girls who liked fashion, fantasy, wigs, glitter, color, softness and smoke in equal measure.

What they built did not come from trend forecasting. It came from a hole in the culture.

“The evolution of Ladies of Paradise mirrored the needs and desires of women in the industry,” Case says. “When we first began, legalization and the recreational market was new and while there were a ton of women behind the scenes working, the narrative was still very masculine and mostly ‘heady’ culture. Ladies of Paradise carved a space in the industry for women who didn’t subscribe to the stereotypical vibe that there was back then.”

That mattered. It still does.

Because for all the talk about cannabis becoming mainstream, the early legal era was full of stale visual language and tired assumptions about who weed was for and how it was supposed to look. A lot of “culture” was still coded male. A lot of cool was still filtered through glass art machismo, grow-room seriousness, and a kind of studied roughness that left plenty of people out.

Also read: What Do Stoner Girls Carry in Their Purse? We’re Here, We’re Hot, We’re High AF

Ladies of Paradise walked in wearing platform boots and said: no thanks.

“Through being our authentic, fashion-forward, wild selves, we gave women permission to do the same and normalized cannabis for the girlie pops,” Case says.

That sentence may sound playful. It’s also a mission statement.

Originally, Ladies of Paradise was supposed to something else. Then real life intervened, which is often where the good stuff starts.

“Originally, Ladies of Paradise was going to be a blog and in meeting our girl Leighana, we decided to host a launch party for the blog, it was at that moment it clicked that this is needed.”

The thing they made was never just a product line. It was a visual language. A social code. A permission slip. And like most real scenes, it sharpened itself through nights out before it ever turned into a business model.

“Our Cowboys vs. Aliens party unintentionally became the blueprint,” Case says. “Crazy and fun themes with weed aplenty and free to all guests, these theme parties became the catalyst that continued to push Ladies of Paradise forward and into the limelight which led us to more photoshoots and eventually into branding, marketing, event planning, and various other creative endeavors for cannabis companies and accessory brands.”

That blueprint did not begin and end with aesthetics. The looks were part of it, sure. So were the wigs, the colors, the gowns on farms, the feeling that cannabis no longer had to be framed through the same stale masculine lens. But what made it real was the part that could not be mood-boarded.

At the center of the whole thing were a few rules.

“Females first.”

“Genuine connection and making people feel seen.”

“Fun. Have fun, wear a wig, don’t take life too seriously.”

That’s Harlee’s own shorthand for what mattered most when Ladies of Paradise was in full swing. Not optimization. Not audience segmentation. Not over-polished lifestyle aspiration. Safety. Visibility. Play.

And when it came to measuring whether an event actually worked, the metric was not some fake notion of “engagement.”

“Feedback and messages from the community,” she says. “Connection was key for us. Making people feel seen and building an actual community, not just throwing an event to make money, but genuinely wanting to uplift women in the industry at a time when they needed that support.”

That distinction hits harder now because weed has spent the last few years getting very good at faking sincerity. Plenty of brands know how to borrow the look of femme culture. Far fewer know how to build the conditions that make people feel held inside it.

Case has a clean read on the difference.

Her green flags for genuinely femme-forward culture are direct and unsentimental: “Transparent action: not just saying ‘we support…’ but taking action on the beliefs stated and being transparent about those actions.” Also, “Connection with the leaders: Direct connection with those hosting the event or holding the space?” And maybe the biggest one: “The people in the space. Is the space actually a safe and sacred container when you attend.”

The red flags are just as sharp: “Over hyped marketing and tokenism that has no substance or action behind their statements.” “Caring about aesthetics only but not working with organizations or activists within the femme space.” And one line that could probably be applied to half the market: “Lux packaging and shitty actual products.”

There it is. Whole TED Talk, six words.

The point here is not that Harlee once worked in cannabis and now makes music. That would be too small, too neat, too LinkedIn. The more interesting story is that she learned how culture actually works in weed, then carried those lessons somewhere else.

With New Constellations, that same emotional and visual instinct shows up again, only now in song form. In the band’s pastel universe. In the soft electric glow of its imagery. In the warmth of its fan connection. In the refusal to build at a distance.

“I think I got to flex my visionary muscles,” Case says. “Having larger-than-life dreams and learning to assemble strong teams around me that I knew could aid me at getting there. I’ve always chosen to hire friends who had talent over professionals who had experience. It’s always made each leg of the journey that much more fun and worthwhile because I’ve always worked with my best friends and learned alongside them as we accomplished goals.”

That is not only sentimental. It is structural.

A lot of the same people from the LOP orbit are still there, now helping power New Constellations behind the scenes. Case lays it out plainly.

“Behind LOP was truly a group of best friends giving their absolute all to make a business they loved work,” she says. “Through it all I’m most proud of the work we did with each other on ourselves and our relationships to each other in really really challenging situations. We built a life long relationship to each other. I still live with one of the LOP girls, Alisha, and Keke and Leighana are on the NC team. Keke Browne is basically the creative director of the visual part of the band and Leighana has been tour managing, book keeping, and a ton of admin for us. Lucky for Jade she’s off being a mom in Costa Rica but still flies in for shows and will always be one of our biggest supporters. At heart we will always be LOP girls.”

That may be the truest quote in the whole interview.

Because beneath all the color and softness and feminine magic, the real engine was work. Admin. Logistics. Bookkeeping. Team trust. Fair pay. Showing up. Keeping the lights on.

“Keeping the lights on. Constantly pivoting with the market to stay compliant. Hustling for new clients and making sure we were doing everything legal and compliant by that specific state and their laws. There was so much behind the scenes always.”

So yes, the aesthetic mattered. The glitter mattered. The costumes mattered. The dream mattered. But none of it floated. It was built by women grinding, improvising, paying collaborators first, and trying to preserve joy without becoming a parody of it.

“We would always pay collaborators, creators, and influencers first, before ourselves, every time,” Case says. “This meant not getting paid personally sometimes but this was crucial to us.”

That ethic still echoes in New Constellations, a project that seems to understand something a lot of musicians and weed brands alike forget: if people feel the room was built for them, they come back. If they feel seen, they tell their friends. If they trust your taste, they trust your next move.

Case says the band is gearing up for a first album, North American touring, Europe, bigger rooms, bigger live production, more moving parts. But the core ambition is still emotional.

“We like our fans to leave with hope,” she says. “We don’t want to tell them where to spend that hope but just encourage them to have it and do what they please with it.”

That feels like the right ending, and maybe the right thesis too.

Harlee Case helped build a corner of cannabis culture where women could arrive loud, weird, feminine, high, safe and fully themselves. Now she’s doing something similar through music. Same instinct. Same architecture. Different medium.

First, she helped weed get prettier. More open. More alive.

Now she’s teaching music how to feel like that too.

<p>The post Before Weed Learned To Fake Female Empowerment, Harlee Case Made It Real. Now She’s Giving It A Soundtrack. first appeared on High Times.</p>

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The founder of Culinary & Cannabis didn’t wait for the industry to make room for her. She built her own.

For decades, cannabis was a weapon. A pretext for prejudice, a set of handcuffs dressed up as public safety, a battering ram through the front doors of Black and Brown homes.

The communities that got hit hardest by that weapon are the same ones the legal industry now courts with marketing budgets and influencer campaigns, while the damage done and the dollars chased exist in the same breath, with almost no reckoning in between.

Most people who understood what that weapon did stayed the hell away from anything connected to it, but Tamara Anderson walked straight toward it—RN badge and pastry knife in hand—and decided to turn the whole damn thing inside out.

Before she was running luxury cannabis wellness events across Southern California. Before shipping DIY topical kits to pandemic-locked strangers who needed something to do with their hands besides washing them in fear. Before commanding rooms at Grammy Week with CBD massages and trauma-informed healing conversations—

She was watching people get sick.

Not from cannabis. Sick from the medicine that was supposed to help them.

Eleven years on the administrative and financial side of healthcare before nursing school, watching insurance adjusters decide who got cared for and who deserved to rust on the wrong side of a deductible. Anderson watched, up close, what long-term pharmaceutical “treatments” actually did to a human body.

In some cases, that was liver damage or addiction, even changes in personality. The slow, grinding cost of being managed rather than healed.

“From the very start of my nursing career,” Anderson says, “it has been my mission to change the way we approach healthcare.”

She tried to change it from inside the system first. But she quickly realized, somewhere between the machinery and the bureaucracy, the human element got swallowed up whole. 

It always does. Systems aren’t built accidentally.

So Anderson did what you do when someone decides you’re not worthy of a seat at their table.

She built her own table. And made it beautiful enough that people cross state lines for a seat.

Luxury as a Political Act

Culinary & Cannabis isn’t a dispensary or a weed brand. It isn’t even an app, and everything is an app these days. Life is an app. Anderson calls Culinary & Cannabis an “all-sensory interactive cannabis event production company,” which, while accurate, doesn’t fully capture what it feels like to walk into one of her spaces.

“Like being inside a flower while it’s growing,” is how she puts it. “It’s one of the most relaxing environments you’ll ever experience… filled with options to explore.”

Every station is doing something different. Eucalyptus and cedar. Sound bowls humming through the floor. Someone receiving a CBD massage for the first time. Someone else asking a question they have never trusted a doctor with. You arrive guarded, skeptical, scared, or just curious. But when you’re done, you leave lighter.

Anderson engineered every inch of it.

“Clinical spaces can feel cold or intimidating, which shuts people down,” she says. “When you stage an event with luxury and beauty, it becomes a hug to the community. It creates a sense of safety where people feel comfortable asking the deep questions.”

Anderson carves out rooms where trauma-informed healing conversations for communities of color happen in the same breath as sound baths and bodywork, and people carrying centuries of generational weight could finally set some of it down.

We all deserve to breathe.

At a recent Grammy Week CannaSpa, more than 300 guests found that room to breathe—evidence of just how hungry people are for spaces built with care.

The Industry Was Never Progressive

Cannabis luxury spaces aren’t built for Black people by default. Hell, cannabis spaces, period, weren’t built for Black people. They were built on the prosecution of Black people. The War on Drugs used cannabis asone of the central tools of Black community destruction for fifty years.

Fifty years of documented policy, documented arrests, documented destruction. The receipts are everywhere.

The “legal industry” that followed moved ridiculously fast to extract record profits and painfully slow to address the damage it was built on.

Anderson knows all of this. It’s etched into her bones. And she builds against it in every detail.

When she launched Culinary & Cannabis, she didn’t show her face publicly until about a month before the first major event, because she knew what it would cost her if they saw her coming.

If they clocked her first.

“I didn’t want the industry’s internal biases to stop brands, chefs, or consumers from walking through the door.”

Read that again. 

A Black woman had to obscure her presence to give her own event a fair shot at success in an industry that markets itself as progressive. The sophistication required to navigate that without bitterness—to build when the industry is rooting for you to fail, to create something beautiful despite reality checking you at every turn—is a kind of emotional intelligence most people never have to develop.

Most people would have walked away bitter as hell. Anderson built a spa.

“As a woman of color, I know that in every room I enter, I have to bring a level of excellence that is undeniable just to be considered. That’s not just a challenge; for me, it’s a daily practice.”

No Blaming the Oven

Anderson came up as a pastry chef.

Baking is pure science. There is no “eyeballing it.” The chemistry either works or it doesn’t, and if it doesn’t, the soufflé doesn’t rise. Cannabis infusion demands the same precision—specific measurements, controlled temperatures, exact dosing—and Anderson applies the same obsessive rigor to both. 

There’s no blaming the oven.

It gives her credibility in a space still lousy with people who treat cannabis cooking like a vibe.

It also shapes the way she teaches. When you’ve spent years understanding that the difference between a perfect result and a failed one is knowing the why behind every step—why the butter needs to be cold, why the temperature matters, why you can’t rush the process—you stop accepting “just try it and see what happens” as a teaching philosophy. 

Anderson doesn’t hand people cannabis and wish them luck. She builds the context first. The science. The history. The ritual. Then the experience.

Her target audience is the “canna-curious”, the person who hasn’t touched this plant, or hasn’t touched it since a bad experience in someone’s garage or basement twenty years ago. She calls Culinary & Cannabis “the re-entry event.” And the skin she wants people to shed when they walk out is the stoner stigma.

Lose the fear of losing control.

“I want them to replace those old assumptions with a personal relationship with the plant.”

The clinical world, the insurance world, the pharmaceutical world—none of them traffic in personal relationships. They traffic in protocols. Anderson’s model is the opposite. Completely, deliberately, the opposite. 

She meets people where they are, inside spaces that feel like smoke-wrapped gifts rather than sterile waiting rooms.

The Guest List Was Never Made for Her

On Black entrepreneurship in cannabis, she doesn’t mince words.

“My honest assessment is that we are still largely on the outskirts of the mainstream industry.”

Equity programs? A few are genuine. Most are press releases dressed up as penance. The gap between what those programs promise and what they deliver is where people like Anderson land. Into necessity. The only place where something real gets built.

Every equity program that substitutes a press photo for actual access should have to answer for that gap. Anderson didn’t wait around for any of them to figure it out.

What she built is, by her own design, intentionally inclusive—POC-centered, everyone welcome.

The hug you get when you walk through those doors was never something workshopped in a conference room by someone in a bad suit with an even worse toupee. It just exists, the way warmth exists in a room someone actually gave a damn about building.

The Woman the Industry Has to Reckon With

The nurse. The pastry chef. The educator who shipped supplies to strangers’ doorsteps during a pandemic because people needed to be doing more than just surviving. The event producer who built luxury healing spaces in an industry that has spent decades either ignoring or exploiting the communities she serves and platforms.

The recent CannaSpa Wellness Lounge also marked a personal milestone: it was Anderson’s first major event following her own battle with cancer, a chapter that sharpened her commitment to intentional self-care and community-centered healing.

All of it in service of the same mission she’s carried since before nursing school: change the way we approach care, and who gets it. Change what it feels like to receive it.

Culinary & Cannabis is growing fast—expanding into North America, the UK, Australia, Asia. People everywhere are tired of clinical apathy, tired of being managed by a system that was never designed to actually make them well, tired of existing inside machines that were architected, from the jump, to exclude them.

Tamara Anderson builds for those people.

The space exists. The door is open. The flower is growing. It’s up to us to feed it.

<p>The post Tamara Anderson Is Not Here to Ask Permission first appeared on High Times.</p>

The post Tamara Anderson Is Not Here to Ask Permission appeared first on Paradise Found.

Cannabis has been moving through that underground-to-icon pipeline for decades. So when Patricia Field’s universe collides with a hemp-derived THC beverage on the eve of New York Fashion Week, it doesn’t feel provocative. It feels right on time.

This is, after all, the same creative force behind Sex and the City and The Devil Wears Prada. A stylist who turned fashion into narrative, rebellion into glamour, and excess into language long before any of it was considered respectable.

Highly Anticipated, the limited-edition capsule created with Black Market and four designers from Patricia Field’s orbit, doesn’t treat weed as a novelty or a trend. It treats it as part of the creative bloodstream that has always run through art, nightlife, and fashion. The difference now is visibility.

At the center of the project is a federally legal, hemp-derived Delta-9 THC beverage brand that rejects the idea of cannabis as either vice or gimmick. Built by a team with deep roots in cannabis culture, the brand blends bold design with carefully selected wellness-forward ingredients, positioning itself as a deliberate alternative to alcohol rather than a replacement for it.

Instead of claiming the spotlight, Black Market and the Patricia Field ARTFashion Gallery operate as facilitators, using the product not as a branding exercise, but as a canvas. Each designer was given space, resources, and autonomy to reinterpret the bottle through their own language, materials, and creative processes.

In an industry where collaborations often extract value from creatives without truly supporting them, Highly Anticipated flips the script. It’s not about borrowing edge or aesthetics, but about amplifying independent voices that already exist at the intersection of fashion, culture, and subversion, and letting them be seen on their own terms.

High (on) Fashion

Let’s get one thing straight: this isn’t weed merch.

There are no lazy motifs or wink-wink pot jokes stitched into a hoodie. Instead, each designer was invited to do exactly what they already do best, interpreted through the lens of Black Market—and the experience of being under the influence.

“Each of these artists already came to the table with their own unique process and aesthetic. For example, Free Maison’s predominant materiality is metal, while Wonderpuss Octopus has a signature three-dimensional painting technique that emulates organic lifeforms. Chelle Bee is all sparkle with hand-applied rhinestones, and SSIK is known for her unique use of silicone,” Field explains.

Rather than imposing a look, the brief aimed to be experiential. The artists were encouraged to sample the product and let that guide their process. What emerged reflects both the cannabis experience and each designer’s individual identity.

Here, weed appears as a symbol embedded into material language, not a joke or a shortcut.

Who’s Participating

Free Maison, founded by Jesse Aviv and Tay Dun, reworks ancient chainmail techniques through contemporary ciphering, using anodized aluminum to create lightweight, sculptural garments meant to be worn and collected.

Wonderpuss Octopus, the practice of artist PJ Linden, transforms found objects into meticulously painted, three-dimensional works that blur sculpture, fashion, and organic form—an approach long championed by Patricia Field.

Brooklyn-based Chelle Bee infuses maximalist glamour into the capsule, transforming everyday garments through dense crystal embellishment that treats excess as structure rather than ornament.

SSIK Designs, led by FIT-trained designer Kristina Kiss, channels downtown New York nightlife into experimental silhouettes defined by silicone treatments, garment manipulation, and a DIY ethos born from wearing what didn’t yet exist.

Together, the designers form a capsule that reads less like a collection and more like a shared frequency.

This Isn’t Resistance. It’s Creative Freedom.

Despite arriving amid renewed legislative pressure on hemp-derived THC, Michael Robinson, manager of Patricia Field’s boutique and creative operations, is careful not to frame Highly Anticipated as protest fashion. Creatives, after all, are not strangers to using altered states as gateways to inspiration, and cannabis has quietly occupied that space for centuries.

“Now that cannabis use is legal and destigmatized, they can really let loose and enjoy themselves on whatever that journey looks like for them.”

There’s something quietly radical about that. Not rebellion for rebellion’s sake, but the freedom to create without shame.

Heidi Minx, Chief Marketing Officer of Black Market, acknowledged the broader cultural and regulatory tensions surrounding the project. “The Draconian legislative actions at the end of last year definitely caused a lot of tension, headaches and sleepless nights. But I will allude to the adage that silence is akin to complicity.  Artists have visually expressed dissent against over-control for time-eternal.”

So, if weed suddenly feels fashionable, Robinson argues that it’s not because it became trendy. It’s because the barriers finally cracked.

“Cannabis has been ‘in’ for a long time—but now, finally, people have easy access to it and the freedom to enjoy it because the legal roadblocks have been eased.”

Support for cannabis, he notes, isn’t driven purely by its former taboo status, but by a sense that its prohibition was unfair. After all, in The Land Of The Free, people don’t like unnecessary bans on relatively innocuous things, or restrictions that feel pointlessly punitive.

Before You Buy, Check the Supply

At the same time, there’s a wellness, eco-friendly component at play. Younger generations are increasingly turning away from alcohol and embracing cannabis as a more natural alternative. Those same values—care, sustainability, and accountability—are increasingly shaping fashion itself.

“We work with up-and-coming artists and designers who handmake one-of-a-kind creations using upcycled garments and materials. We also have an extensive vintage department. This shop is a really guilt-free way to enjoy fabulous fashion,” Field says.

Robinson frames it through a familiar fashion reference: “I think Miranda Priestly’s The Devil Wears Prada character summed it up perfectly when she chided Emily for her dismissal of cerulean blue.”

In fashion, nothing exists in a vacuum. The cerulean sweater was never just blue, and hemp is never just a trend. Everything we wear is connected to an invisible supply chain that begins long before the storefront. Farmers need stability. Stores need consistent rules. People need to know their jobs are secure.

Elevating Designers, Without Extraction

One of the most subversive details of Highly Anticipated has nothing to do with THC.

“The Patricia Field boutique is a female-owned, small business that supports emerging creative talent, so that’s where the proceeds will go. You won’t find any executives or shareholders lining their pockets off our partnerships. Our main goal is to highlight these talented individuals and bring awareness to their work,” Robinson states.

In an industry where collaborations often prioritize corporate profitability while creatives receive little recognition, this model stands apart. It’s patronage, not performance.

Asked what Highly Anticipated looks like in practice during Fashion Week, Robinson frames it as a natural extension of Field’s long-standing relationship with artists and subculture: “We’re two separate brands from two separate industries, but like-minded in so many ways that partnering just felt natural and effortless.”

The launch is not conceived as a traditional event. Visitors will be able to meet the artists, acquire their work, and view the customized Black Market bottles as standalone art objects. Participation, not spectacle, is the point.

The collaboration extends beyond garments and into the glass. Black Market will be serving a curated menu of “Hightails”, THC-infused cocktails inspired by each of the designers in the capsule. Each recipe translates materiality, texture, and aesthetic obsession into liquid form: layers, shine, metal, drip, and volume reimagined through color, flavor, and structure. A fully immersive sensory experience.

“We’ve partnered with Black Market on our last two in-store events (Fashion Week & our anniversary) and our clientele really enjoyed it. Fashion people love a party, they love to get high, and they love beautifully designed things. What’s there to hesitate about?”, Robinson states.

‘More Power to You’

For Patricia Field herself, cannabis was never a statement.

“I’d enjoy a joint from time to time, but it was more for relaxation and social enjoyment with friends. I’ve always been a champion of self-expression, experimentation, and creativity, first and foremost —so if you use cannabis in your pursuit of these ideals, more power to you!”

Which, honestly, might be the most Patricia Field answer of all.

<p>The post The Devil’s Lettuce Wears Prada: Stylist Patricia Field Is Bringing THC to Fashion Week first appeared on High Times.</p>

The post The Devil’s Lettuce Wears Prada: Stylist Patricia Field Is Bringing THC to Fashion Week appeared first on Paradise Found.

I’ve spent years watching cannabis content evolve, and most of it follows the same rhythm. Fast edits. Trending sounds. Quick hits. Then I came across Cough Creative, and something felt different before I could even explain why. The pacing was calm. The visuals felt familiar. It didn’t rush you. It invited you in.

Ally Train isn’t just making cannabis content. She’s building atmosphere. Drawing inspiration from old nature documentaries, her work blends humor, comfort, and intention in a space that often prioritizes speed over substance. Behind the aesthetic is discipline, lived experience, and a deep understanding of how storytelling can create connection.

I sat down with Ally to talk about creativity, censorship, discipline, and what it really means to build something original in an industry full of noise.

Ally Train of Cough Creative’s style is instantly recognizable. When someone lands on a Cough Creative video, what do you hope they feel before they even realize why they’re watching?

Ally Train: Comfort. I purposefully modeled my videos after old nature documentaries in order to bring a sense of familiarity to my viewers. I want them to immediately recognize the pace of my content, even if the subject matter is a new and comedic take on it.

Every creator has an origin story. What was the moment when you realized cannabis wasn’t just part of your life, but part of your art?
Ally Train: I’ve dealt with chronic illnesses my whole life, the most prominent of which is ankylosing spondylitis, an inflammatory autoimmune disease that causes immense pain in my joints as well as migraines. I was officially diagnosed and prescribed medication at age 15. The medication helped tremendously, but it didn’t fully end my migraines. I started smoking casually with friends around the age of 16 and realized that not only was I having a great time, but my head was also no longer throbbing. That’s when it really started to click for me, and I began researching the benefits of cannabis. My fire was ignited, and now I use cannabis for my migraines, nausea, anxiety, you name it.

Your edits, pacing, and visuals are on a different wavelength than most cannabis influencers. What’s the creative philosophy running behind your content that people don’t see?
Ally Train: I didn’t want to keep up with trends anymore. I wanted to be the trend. The idea behind my content is this: yes, I am making videos about smoking weed on the internet, but why can’t those videos be good? Why can’t they be dramatically funny? Why can’t they be incredibly detailed? Some of my videos are obviously filler episodes, and some are goofy and fun to make, but there are many that I spend a lot of time on and take tremendous pride in. I think that’s what makes the difference.

Cannabis creators often get shadowbanned, demonetized, and limited. What’s the most frustrating platform battle you’ve had, and how did you adapt?
Ally Train: In June of 2023, my account had just hit 20k followers. It happened pretty quickly after reaching 10k, and I was celebrating the milestone with friends and my now fiancée on a trip to Vermont. This was when I was still playing it fast and loose with my content, so I should have seen it coming. I had taken about 3g of shrooms and about 400mg of RSO when my parents called to tell me they had just bought a puppy. Right after that, Ariana from @IndicaWife called and said, “Do not panic, I need to let you know that your account is gone.” Then the shrooms and RSO hit, and my world crumbled. After months of appealing to Meta, I finally got my account back, and I’ve been much more low-key about what I do online since then. I use phrases like “getting some fresh air,” “increasing my appetite,” and “indulging,” and I never show myself lighting up on camera. I let the smoke or vapor allude to the action instead.

What’s something you refuse to compromise in your content, no matter what the algorithm or brands want?
Ally Train: I don’t drink alcohol, so you won’t ever see me selling it. If you think you see me drinking alcohol, I can promise you it’s juice or a sparkling drink in a pretty glass. I’m a sucker for a pretty glass. The same goes for nicotine. I’ve been approached by nicotine and tobacco brands, but I have no interest in marketing anything nicotine or tobacco-based.

You’ve built a loyal community. What do you think your audience understands about you that casual viewers miss completely?
Ally Train: At a glance, people think this is all that I am, which is understandable because it’s what I’m presenting. But it’s kind of insane to assume that just because someone makes videos about smoking weed, they must only spend their life smoking weed. I am a multifaceted person, and my followers understand that. This page is themed, and I’m only going to post within that theme.

In an industry overflowing with copycats, how do you protect your originality and avoid getting pulled into the sameness of social media trends?
Ally Train: It’s hard to get stuck in trends when I already have my own format. What am I going to do, work a TikTok dance into my videos? I’ll occasionally do a trending recipe, but I have the freedom to pick and choose what I use from the zeitgeist. Sometimes I get writer’s block and revisit things I’ve done in the past, but I always add a twist. No two videos are identical.

What’s a misconception about cannabis creators that you wish you could erase forever?
Ally Train: That we’re lazy or stoned to the bone 24/7. Recording and editing is one thing, but running a page is also running a business. I’m not just posting. I’m keeping the books, pitching brands, building websites, and designing merch. I’m doing all of it.

If you could design the perfect ecosystem for cannabis creativity, what would it look like?
Ally Train: That question is so loaded you would need three editions of High Times to print my answer, so I’ll keep it short. We could build the most perfect platform in the world, but none of it matters unless companies are willing to pay creators their worth for contracted content creation.

What’s the next evolution of Cough Creative?
Ally Train: I’m working on merch and hopefully a website where people can get to know me better. I also have a few bigger projects coming soon that I can’t talk about yet, but people should keep their eyes open.

People talk about your creativity, but rarely about the discipline behind it. What keeps you consistent?
Ally Train: It’s less a habit and more a deadline. I post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and that keeps me working throughout the week.

When you scroll through cannabis content today, what feels missing?
Ally Train: The issue isn’t what people want to make, it’s what platforms allow. I miss the aesthetic reels where people set up rigs in beautiful places and took rips to vibey music. Seeing fewer of those videos feels like a symptom of the algorithm cracking down. It felt like we were smoking together as friends.

Your visuals feel emotional rather than transactional. What themes do you return to again and again?
Ally Train: Joy, camaraderie, and comfort. Everyone is exhausted. People are working hard, the news feels heavy, and connection is missing. If I can offer that through my videos, I’m happy to do so.

What risk almost didn’t happen but ended up defining your brand?
Ally Train: Switching to documentary style filming. I had been thinking about it for months, but it was far more involved than my usual content. Before that, I was just using trending audio. Once I took the plunge, I fell in love with the process and haven’t looked back.

If someone were discovering cannabis for the first time, what advice would you want them to hear?
Ally Train: Start slowly. Nothing is embarrassing about coughing, being a lightweight, or needing to lie down. Nothing is embarrassing about getting too high. Keep water nearby, grab your favorite snacks, inhale fresh air after you hit, and don’t hold it in. Put on some chill music and let fresh air hit your face. Isn’t it wonderful that you exist in this moment?

Photos courtesy of Ally Train.

This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.

<p>The post Finding Calm in Cannabis Content: A Conversation With Ally Train of Cough Creative first appeared on High Times.</p>

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“Grief is a gift. Right now, it may feel like a curse. It burns every fiber of your being, leaving you feeling lost, alone, and untethered,” says Jessimae Peluso, remembering the period when she lost both of her parents. She does not say it for effect. She says it because she earned it. She says it the way people speak when there is no filter left to protect them.

Peluso is known for stand-up comedy, MTV’s Girl Code, a long relationship with humor and weed, and the kind of irreverent timing that makes even the mundane absurd. But somewhere between growing an audience and after her parents got sick and eventually passed, she found herself holding something heavier than jokes. She found grief.

Most people run from pain, but Jessimae turned toward it with a microphone.

After her parents passed, something strange happened: people online began messaging her about their own losses. She did not ask for that responsibility, nor did she brand herself as a guide for emotional collapse. She was just openly grieving, and her audience recognized something familiar.

In her words, the response clarified the work that needed to be done: “After losing both of my parents, I was struck by how many fans reached out to share that my grief also touched them. I had always included my parents in my stand-up and on my podcast, so when they got sick and eventually passed, my audience felt like they knew them and felt connected to the loss.”

That is where Dying Laughing was born. Not in a meeting or as a pitch, but in the simple fact that loss had made her transparent and her audience felt safe enough to respond.

Jessimae says she did not jump into the concept right away. “It actually took me over a year to rebrand my podcast into something grief and mental health focused,” she explains. She wanted to be intentional. She jokes about being a Virgo, but the truth behind it is focus, avoiding the show to become trauma porn. The goal was to build something that could hold the weight.

“I’m a Virgo, so perfectionism is the cross I bear. I wanted to make sure it had real depth. I dug into grief literature and explored different healing modalities, partly for my own journey and partly to shape the show.”

She was already talking about her family in comedy, so, when her parents died, the audience did not disappear; they leaned in. They wanted to know what comes after the punchline. The answer was the part no one wrote for her.

Grief shows up without a script. Jessimae says humor did not trivialize her experience: it kept her alive in it and made space for breath. “My purpose is to sprinkle joy onto a heavy subject, to show that we can laugh with our grief, not just suffer through it. Suffering is a choice. Healing is a journey.”

The podcast is not “funny takes on death” or novelty sadness. It is a collection of the emotional leftovers no one knows where to store, filtered through someone who understands that comedy is not the opposite of pain. Comedy is how pain metabolizes.

And yes, cannabis sits close to that process.

Jessimae has always had a connection with weed, but she says it did not start in high school, or as a rebellious stoner origin myth. That part of her identity emerged later. “The truth is I actually only started partaking in the jazz cabbage in the last decade or so, having never even smoked in high school.”

The way she describes weed is not as a crutch or hype, but as a companion. “Once I only enjoyed cannabis as a solution to boredom, and that quickly evolved into a portal for healing for me.”

Years ago, Jessimae used to host a live show on Instagram called Weedsday. She smoked, told stories, interacted with fans. It was a loose, intimate hangout, and her family would sometimes appear on camera. Later, when her father became sick, the tone changed. Even though the space was still playful and chaotic and full of personality, something deeper was happening. “Once I lost my father, I used the show as a way to raise awareness and charity for an Alzheimer’s foundation.”

Cannabis stopped being recreational and became relational, allowing her to stay present through the kind of day most people try to escape.

“Cannabis was a medicine that helped me show up deep for myself while I was losing my father. It slowed me down, and gave me some space to feel the feels.”

Her take on weed and grief is not the cliché of stoner enlightenment. It is quieter. More grounded. “I wouldn’t say cannabis opens the door to grief, it walks you through it.”

And then she says something you do not hear often. That grief is not something to fix. “Grief is universal, but it wears a custom suit for everyone.” That sentence is a reminder that no two losses are the same, but we still try to navigate them as if there is a map.

Jessimae talks about the community forming around her work. People write to her, send voice notes, DM her. Not to ask for jokes, but to share something that hurts. “I find it really humbling to be a person many people have turned to for solace, reprieve and relief from their own despair.”

Although the show isn’t therapy, it has become a gathering point: “Through the sharing of my own losses, I am building a community. How beautiful is that? My loss has given me more than I could have asked for. A universally shared experience and one giant grief gang.”

There is an episode where Sarah Barthel of Phantogram talks about her sister’s suicide. There is another where John Stamos speaks about signs from the other side. Jessimae listens. She does not actively try to solve anything. “By talking so much with people about loss, it really proves and highlights that everyone’s grief is so personal. This universal experience is a deeply individualized one.”

Then she shares something that could only come from her: “I think loss can create magic. I know it does. After my mom passed, I saw her in Italy. I called my sister immediately and said, Mom didn’t die, she’s just on vacation in Sorrento.”

It is impossible to tell if she is serious or joking, and that’s the point. Sometimes the pain hits so hard you need a laugh just to breathe. Sometimes the laugh hits so honestly it becomes a kind of prayer. Jessimae lives in that tension.

She also believes in absurdity as survival. “Absurd humor became a survival mechanism.” She tells a story about her father, deep into dementia, getting confused and aggressively hitting on her sister.

“It was truly heartbreaking for me to see. Because I’m the hot sister.” Pain. Then punchline. Not to erase the ache. To hold it.

She does not pretend weed solves grief, but she knows that cannabis shaped her ability to sit inside the hard parts. “It allowed me to just be. To just be sad. To just be angry, and depressed.” She describes the plant as a bridge. Not out of grief. Into it.

“We all know laughter is one of the best medicines. But when paired with a little bit of the jazz cabbage, it can be a super healer.”

It is easy to imagine Dying Laughing filling a room soon. Jessimae sees it too. “Definitely live events and grief seminars are in the future.” Not comedy clubs. Not self-help conferences. Something new.

“There are endless possibilities, but I do know that I am brewing up a unique grief experience that focuses on the blessings and joy that come from and are on the other side of loss.”

In her mind, grief is not a hole, a bottomless pit. It’s a gateway.

“Grief is a doorway to personal freedom if you can have access to the right tools. I want to make that accessible to a wider audience. That’s my calling in life.”

When asked what she would tell someone in the High Times community who is grieving right now, she does not offer a shortcut. She brings truth. “Grief is a gift.”

She knows it may feel cruel, like the world is ending. She has been in that landscape and she knows the terrain. “There is life and love waiting for you. And that’s a gift.”

No slogan. No takeaway. Just the real thing: a woman who lost both parents. A comedian who refuses to pretend pain is punchline-ready. A stoner who used weed not to escape reality, but to feel it.

Grief did not break her. It stripped her.

And what remained was human.

Photos courtesy of Jessimae Peluso.

<p>The post Jessimae Peluso Didn’t Use Weed to Numb Grief — She Used It to Face It first appeared on High Times.</p>

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For a lot of people, cannabis content starts as a joke, a trend, a way to chase numbers. For Stephanie Trenkamp, it started as survival. She was a mom in her garage, lighting up after bedtime, trying to hold it together while figuring out how to help support her family without disappearing from her kids’ lives.

Online, she tried everything. Beauty. Lifestyle. Whatever the algorithm seemed to want that week. None of it felt honest. Behind the scenes, she was using cannabis every day, yet the internet version of herself looked like everyone else’s feed. The disconnect turned into burnout, then into a decision: stop performing and show people who she really is.

When she finally posted a video of herself smoking in the lake, the response was instant. The comments came from moms, parents, people who had been hiding the same ritual for years. They were not asking for perfect content; they were asking to feel less alone. Out of that moment came @thegardentok, a platform, a podcast and a growing community of what she calls high-functioning gardeners who use cannabis to stay present, not checked out.

Since then, Trenkamp has ridden the full rollercoaster of being a cannabis creator online: viral spikes, suspended accounts, stores shut down, and platforms changing the rules overnight. Through it all, she keeps posting, keeps talking, keeps reminding people that cannabis users can be good parents, good partners, good leaders.

I sat down with Stephanie to talk about the moment she said “screw it,” how she balances marriage and motherhood with a public cannabis routine, and why making people feel seen will always matter more than going viral.

Your aesthetic and vibe online are instantly recognizable. How intentional is your brand identity, and how much of it is simply who you are at your core?

Honestly, my entire brand started as me just being me. I didn’t sit down one day and say let me create an aesthetic. I was literally a mom in my garage, lighting up after bedtime, trying to figure out my life. The vibe people see now, the bold, the humor, the smoke, the spiritual delusion, the GO ALL IN ONE YOU energy, that is who I have always been at my core. The intentional part came later. I used to hate social media. I never saw the point of it until I became a mom and suddenly needed an outlet, a place where I could still be myself while trying to build something that did not pull me away from my kids. Posting started as a way to feel less alone, like maybe there were other people out there who understood me. And then it clicked. I can literally monetize my entire life just by showing up as who I already am. Once I realized that, everything changed. I did not create a brand. I leaned into the version of me I had been hiding from this whole time.

You’ve built a calming, grounded presence in a fast-moving space. Where do you think that energy originally comes from?

My energy comes from finally getting to a place where I genuinely do not care what anyone thinks. That confidence reads as calm to people, but it is really just freedom. Cannabis was the first thing that ever helped me tune out the noise and tune into myself. It quieted the pressure, the opinions, the expectations, especially coming from a family full of law enforcement, where cannabis was never seen as normal. For me, it became the thing that helped me feel secure in who I am instead of trying to fit into a version of myself that never felt real. So that grounded vibe people pick up on really comes from being bold enough to be exactly who I am. I am willing to be polarizing. I am willing to be honest. I am willing to show up fully myself. Cannabis helped me get comfortable in my own skin and now my energy reflects that. I am unapologetically myself and people feel that.

What was your life like before cannabis content, and what parts of your background shaped the person we see today?

Before cannabis content, my life looked like every other mom trying to hold it together while figuring out how to make money for my family and still be present. I was posting online, but none of it felt like me. I was mimicking what I thought the internet wanted because I was still trying to figure out how people were actually building something real on social media. Meanwhile, I was using cannabis behind the scenes every day. But no one saw that part. I have always been someone who just goes for it. My senior year of high school, I was voted most likely to get what I want, not because I had it all together, but because I always had this belief that there will always be someone prettier, better, faster, but there will only ever be one of me. I learned early on that you have to be your own biggest fan in your own head if you want to be successful at anything. People will doubt you. People will misunderstand you. People will try to stop you. I have never let that keep me from trying and doing what I want to do.

My background shaped so much of who I am today. I worked in the beauty industry for years, which taught me how to talk to people, how to turn it on, how to connect, how to sell, how to be charismatic. I have always been creative. I studied graphic design. I have always had that mindset of if something does not work, keep going. I was never the person who quit. I was the person who kept failing forward until something finally clicked. Then one day, I saw creators posting cannabis content online and something in me finally said screw it. I posted a video and within an hour, it passed a million views. Moms were commenting that they felt so seen. And for the first time in my entire journey, I thought, “This is it. This is what I am meant to be doing.” I stopped trying to be what I thought the internet wanted and started being who I actually am. I have been a cannabis user for over a decade. I always wanted to be part of this space, but I just did not know how to fit into it until that first post. Once I went all in, everything aligned and everything exploded. And looking back, it makes perfect sense. Every job, every skill set, every risk, every moment of failing forward built the person people see today. Which is really just the same person I have always been: me.

Everyone has a turning point. What was the defining moment that pushed you toward becoming a cannabis creator?

The real turning point for me was burnout. I was creating content that looked like everyone else’s because I was still trying to figure out what my place was online. Nothing felt authentic. Nothing felt fun. It was like I was performing instead of actually showing up as myself. At the same time, I kept seeing cannabis creators getting this massive response. People were relating. People were talking openly. People were finally being honest about something I had been doing behind the scenes for years. And something in me finally said, “That is who I really am. That is what I actually love. That is a conversation that needs to be louder, especially for moms and parents who feel like they have to hide this part of their life.” So one day, I just hit that mental point of screw it. Why am I hiding this? Why am I pretending to be someone else when the real me is right here? I picked up my phone, filmed a video of me smoking a joint while floating in the lake, and posted it with zero expectations. That moment of saying screw it changed everything. It was the first time I chose to show the world the part of myself I had been afraid to share. And that decision is what started everything that came after.

When you first started posting, did you ever imagine your platform would grow into what it is now?

When I first started posting, I was not thinking about going viral or building a huge platform. I just wanted to finally show the world who I really was and see if anyone out there felt like me. But I will also say this: a part of me did expect it. I mean, at the end of the day, I had already built up a large following from posting about something I didn’t really love. So I knew if I could do it once, I could do it again. Because desire without expectation is just wishful thinking, and I have always had the desire to be in this space. Every time I tried something new online, I could feel that pull, that knowing that there was something more for me, and I just had not found it yet. When I started posting cannabis content, it was the first time in my life that something did not feel like work and I could still make a living doing it. I love creating it. I love talking about it. I love the people it brought into my world. And the messages—thousands of them. Comments, DMs, shares. Moms, dads, and grandparents saying I feel so seen. People saying you are me. Can we be friends? I have never felt this understood. I love you for saying what I cannot say out loud. You’re my favorite account on Instagram. That was when I realized it was bigger than me. It was not just content. It was connection. It was community. It was giving people a safe place to breathe and be themselves in a world that tells them to hide. It was about being honest and unapologetic about something society has judged for so long. So yes, part of me always expected something big to happen because I believed it would. But I never imagined it looking like this. I never imagined it would turn into a movement of people who finally feel seen. I am so grateful that this is my life and that I get to make people feel understood in places where they may not feel understood at home or in their community. That means more to me than a large following. Making people feel seen is the whole point.

How do you balance marriage, motherhood, and your personal cannabis routine in a way that keeps your home life strong and grounded?

Honestly, balance is a myth. I do not think anyone is perfectly balancing marriage, motherhood, building a business, and having any sort of routine. I think you just learn how to be self-aware enough to know what you need and when you need it. Cannabis is part of that for me. It keeps me regulated, present, patient, and grounded. It helps me show up as the mom and partner I actually want to be instead of the stressed-out version of myself that used to run the show. In my marriage, I am very open about it. There is no sneaking around, no shame, no pretending. My husband knows cannabis is part of who I am and part of what helps me stay centered. When I feel good, my home feels good. And when the energy in the house is off, everyone feels it. So for me, cannabis is not an escape. It is a tool. It is something that brings me back to myself so I can show up for the people I love without losing my sanity. So I do not balance everything. I just allow myself to be human. I let myself take space. I let myself use the tools that support me. And cannabis is one of those tools. It keeps me grounded in a life that could easily feel chaotic if I let it. It helps me show up with love instead of overwhelm. That is what keeps my home strong.

How did your husband respond to your content journey early on, and what role does he play in the life you’re building today?

My husband has always supported me in every single thing I have ever done, and I know how rare that is. Especially because he is a retired police officer who comes from a world where cannabis is not just stigmatized but completely frowned upon. So to have someone like that stand behind me, even when he did not fully understand what I was doing, is something I do not take lightly. Before cannabis content, I was a stay-at-home mom, and he supported that fully, but I still felt this deep pull to contribute in my own way. When you have kids and your partner works in a dangerous line of work, you start thinking about stability and protection in a different way. That is what pushed me to start posting online in the first place. I wanted to build something that could take care of my family if life ever forced me to. In the beginning, he supported me even though he did not get it. And I do not blame him. Most people do not understand the online world until they see results. I think it was not until I started making a substantial amount of money that he had that “holy-crap” moment. That was when everything clicked for him.

When I shifted into cannabis content, I think he was skeptical at first, and honestly, it made sense. He came from a world where this could cost someone their career. But the one thing about my husband is that he will never try to hold me back from who I am or what I want to do. He trusted me. He trusted my vision. And now I think he is incredibly proud of what I have been able to build in such a short amount of time. I am sure he doubted it at moments. I am sure my family doubted it. A lot of people did. But I never did. I always knew this would become something real, and I never put a timeline on it. I did not need instant results. I just believed it would happen because I was willing to show up for it every day. That detachment from the timeline is what made this grow as fast as it did. His support mattered. Not everyone gets that. And I know how lucky I am to have someone who believed in me even when the vision was not clear yet. Now he sees what I always saw, and we get to build this life together.

Your audience feels a real emotional connection to you. What do you think people are truly coming to your page for?

People are not coming to my page for perfect content. They are coming because they finally feel like they can breathe. They feel seen. They feel understood. They feel less alone in a world that expects them to pretend all day long. My audience is full of people who have been hiding parts of themselves for years. Moms who feel guilty for needing a break. Women who have been holding their families together with zero support. Creators who feel lost. People who love cannabis but have never had a safe place to say it out loud. They come to my page because I talk about the things they whisper about in private.

I think people connect with me because I do not show up as a highlight reel. I show up as a real human. I show up messy, spiritual, sarcastic, emotional, growing, learning, healing, failing forward, figuring it out, being bold, being loud, being myself. And that gives people permission to be themselves, too. People are coming to my page for honesty. For comfort. For humor. For a break from the pressure to be perfect. For a sense of community that feels safe and nonjudgmental. For someone who is not afraid to say the things they are afraid to say. At the end of the day, they are not coming for me. They are coming for how they feel when they are here: seen, validated, free. And that is the whole point of everything I post.

Cannabis affects everyone differently. How would you describe the version of yourself that emerges when you consume?

The version of me that comes out when I consume is the version of me that finally feels safe to exist. Cannabis quiets the noise in my mind and brings me back into my body. It softens the edges. It pulls me out of survival mode. It slows the world down just enough so I can actually hear myself think.

And honestly, I have never been good with alcohol. It never made me feel like myself. It never grounded me. Cannabis was always the thing that made me feel better, calmer, more centered, and more connected. It supports me instead of throwing me off balance.

When I consume, I become more patient, more present, and more playful. I am a better mom because I am not operating from stress. I am a better partner because I can listen instead of react. I am a better creator because my ideas flow without overthinking. I feel regulated instead of overwhelmed.

Cannabis enhances the parts of myself that I love the most. My creativity. My humor. My intuition. My ability to slow down and actually enjoy my life. It reminds me that I am allowed to feel good. I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to show up exactly as I am. And that is the version of me I choose every time.

What part of your real life influences your content the most: your relationships, your routines, your mindset, or something else?

My real life influences everything I create because my content is literally my life. I am not performing. I am documenting. If I had to choose the part that influences me the most, it would be my mindset. Mindset is the reason I show up the way I do. It is the reason I am able to turn my everyday chaos into something relatable and funny. It is the reason I can take the most stressful parts of motherhood or marriage or running a business and turn them into content that makes people feel understood. My relationships and my routines definitely shape my content, too, but they shape it because they keep me accountable to who I want to be. My marriage keeps me grounded. My kids keep me honest. My routines keep me sane. But my mindset is what helps me navigate all of it and still show up online with clarity and confidence.

I think people connect with me because I create from real life, not a highlight reel. I talk openly about the mess, the overwhelm, the self-doubt, the mom guilt, the cannabis shame that so many people still feel, and the work it takes to grow out of that. My content is influenced by the version of me who refuses to shrink, who refuses to hide, and who knows that being honest about my life gives other people permission to be honest about theirs. So yes, my relationships and my routines matter, but my mindset is what drives all of it. It is what keeps me anchored in the middle of motherhood, marriage, business, and everything else. It is the reason my content feels like a safe space for people. And it is the reason I show up the way I do every single day.

Social media is unpredictable and demanding. How do you stay authentic in a world obsessed with trends and virality?

Honestly, staying authentic is easy for me now because I have already lived the phase of trying to be what the internet wanted. I chased trends, I copied what everyone else was doing, and none of it felt good. The second I started creating from who I am instead of what was popular, everything shifted. I do think trends can help. If a trend feels good and it fits who you are, do it. It can boost growth. But it is not the end-all-be-all of building something real online. Most of my viral posts are the ones I spent the least amount of time on anyway. That is why I always tell people to throw spaghetti at the wall in the beginning. Try everything, test everything, and when you find what works, double down on it.

A lot of people start posting for themselves first, which is understandable, but if you want real growth, you have to create content for other people first. The goal is to make someone feel seen, heard, understood, less alone. And the magic is that once you do that, you end up creating for yourself too, because the content still has to feel good and aligned or people know instantly. Repetition kills all doubt. The more you post, the better you get. The more you post, the more analytics you have, and the easier it becomes to see patterns and understand what people truly respond to. But there is also something powerful about creating a piece of content simply because it feels like you, regardless of whether you think it will go viral. I have a good balance of both. You have to trust that your content will reach the right people, even if you do not see results right away. The internet will tell you very quickly what it likes and what it does not. That is why trying a bunch of different things matters so much. You need the information. You need the data. You need the feedback.

But at the end of the day, the content has to feel good to you or it will never be sustainable. I stay authentic because I only create what feels aligned, what feels fun, and what feels true to who I am. That is the balance. That is the secret. And that is why my audience connects the way they do.

What has cannabis taught you about yourself that you may not have learned otherwise?

Cannabis has taught me more about myself than anything else ever has. It taught me how to slow down. It taught me how to listen to myself instead of reacting to everything around me. It taught me how to get out of survival mode and actually be present in my life. I think the biggest thing it taught me is that I do not have to be the strong one all the time. I do not always have to push through everything. I do not always have to carry everything alone. Cannabis showed me that I am allowed to take up space, breathe deeper, feel good, and exist without guilt. It also taught me how creative I really am. It unlocked parts of my mind I never gave myself permission to explore. It showed me that I can build a life, a business, a community, simply by being myself. I do not think I would have learned that without cannabis. And honestly, it taught me acceptance. It taught me to accept who I am instead of trying to fit into what society or even my own family expected from me. Growing up around law enforcement, there was always this unspoken pressure to be a certain way. Cannabis helped me break that mold. It helped me realize that I am allowed to choose my own path and I am allowed to build a life that makes sense to me, even if it looks nothing like what I was raised around.

If you weren’t creating cannabis content, what other path or passion do you think you naturally would have followed?

If I were not creating cannabis content, I would still be creating something. I have always had that drive in me. I have always been creative, always been entrepreneurial, always been the type of person who cannot sit still and just accept a life that does not light me up. I also have a background in beauty and graphic design, so I know I would have still been creating. But honestly, I think I would have found my way into the online world no matter what. I have always been drawn to creating, building, connecting, and making people feel understood. Cannabis just gave me the clarity, the confidence, and the community I had been searching for all along. So even if the path would have looked different, the mission would have been the same. Helping people feel seen, helping them feel less alone, and building a space where they can show up exactly as they are.

You’ve built a loyal community. What values matter most to you when it comes to nurturing that connection?

I think the biggest value in my community is that I am simply myself. I am not afraid to speak my mind. People come to me because I am honest about my experiences and I am not here to sell them on anything. I am here to tell the truth, or really my truth. And I always remind people that they should never take my advice as absolute. What works for me might not work for them. Everyone has their own path. Everyone has their own timing. I think people feel connected to me because I give them permission to be themselves. I show them that it is okay to have a different opinion. It is okay to go against the norm. It is okay to live your life in a way that other people might not understand. The real work is having that confidence in yourself and trusting that you are doing what is right for you.

I am big on coaching yourself through life. Parenting yourself. Being your biggest fan. Reminding yourself that everything is working out for you, maybe not in the way you expected, but always in the way it is meant to. To me, faith is believing in something you have never seen but choosing to believe in it anyway. That is how I built this. That is how I kept going even when no one understood what I was doing. I think that is also why my community feels so loyal. People can feel my authenticity, but they also feel the freedom to form their own opinions. I never force anything on anyone. I share my life and they take what resonates. That is the value I care most about. Creating a space where people feel safe, where they feel seen, and where they feel empowered to believe in themselves, too.

Every creator has moments of doubt. What keeps you centered when the pressure of visibility becomes overwhelming?

I have moments of doubt just like everyone else, but for me, the doubt usually shows up when the platforms take something away that I worked so hard to build. Cannabis is still a huge gray area online. So when you create something beautiful, when you grow a big community, when you pour your heart into it, and then your account gets suspended or restricted or deleted, it is a real gut punch. It makes you question everything. Is this a sign? Am I supposed to be doing this? Is it worth it? But that is also the moment you either give up or you lean in.

And every time it has happened to me, I chose to lean in. My account has been suspended three times. I got kicked out of Stan Store as an ambassador for my cannabis content. I have had content flagged for absolutely no reason. I have had every odd stacked against me in this space, like so many of us have. But I never let that stop me. If anything, it made me push harder. That is why I built so many outlets outside of one platform. My Skool community, the Garden Tok podcast, multiple Instagram accounts, TikTok, Facebook, YouTube. I learned very early on that in the cannabis space, you have to cast a wide net because visibility is never guaranteed. And when you already know that is part of the journey, the hits still hurt, but they do not knock you down the same way.

What keeps me centered is remembering why I started. I did not do this to be perfect or to go viral. I did this to help people feel seen. I did this to give a voice to people who feel like they cannot speak openly. I did this to create a space where people can be themselves without shame. So when things get overwhelming, I ground myself in that truth. This work is bigger than me. It is about the community. It is about the people who feel seen because I showed up. And as long as that stays my focus, no suspension, no algorithm, and no platform can take away what this truly is.

What do you think is the most misunderstood part of being a woman in the cannabis space?

I think the most misunderstood part of being a woman in the cannabis space is that people still assume we are lazy, unmotivated, unsuccessful, uneducated, unattractive, or sitting around in pajamas all day doing nothing with our lives. There is this stereotype that if a woman consumes cannabis, she must be a bad mom, a bad partner, or someone who does not have her life together. So when people see a normal woman or an educated woman or an attractive woman or a successful woman who also consumes, it shocks them. It challenges everything they thought they knew. They do not expect a woman who handles her home, her family, her business, her mental health, and her life to also be someone who tokes. And I think that is exactly why this space needs more women speaking up.

I have all sides to me. I am a mom, a wife, a business owner, a creator, someone who showers, someone who gets ready, someone who takes pride in her life, someone who loves cannabis, and someone who is successful because of who she is, not in spite of it. Showing all of those sides is empowering because it forces people to question the outdated version of what a cannabis consumer looks like. To me, the most misunderstood part is that women who consume are somehow less than. And it could not be further from the truth. We are smart, driven, ambitious, attractive, educated, loving, present, and powerful. We just also happen to love cannabis. And that does not diminish us. It amplifies us.

As your platform grows, how do you maintain balance between public persona and private identity?

The way I stay balanced between my public persona and my private identity is by remembering that I get to choose what I share. People think I put my whole life on the internet, but the truth is, I only share what I want to share. I let people see the parts of me that feel aligned, honest, real, and helpful. The rest stays with me, my family, and my home. I also remind myself that my online self and my real self are not two different people. I do not play a character. What you see online is who I am in real life. I think that is what makes balance easier. When you are not performing, you do not have to manage two identities. I am the same person whether I am on camera or off. I am just more selective with what I allow the world to witness. Setting boundaries has been huge for me. My marriage is sacred. My kids are sacred. Certain parts of my daily life are sacred. The internet does not get access to all of that, and it never will. People see what I give them, not everything that exists. And that is what keeps me grounded.

I also think cannabis helps me stay connected to myself. It keeps me present. It keeps me regulated. It helps me hear my own thoughts instead of everyone else’s opinions. That makes it easier to show up online without losing myself in the noise. At the end of the day, I know who I am when the camera is off. I know my values. I know my intentions. I know my worth. And as long as I stay rooted in that, I can show up publicly without ever feeling like my private identity is at risk. The key for me is simple. Share honestly, but not everything. Protect what matters. And never let the internet define who you are.

What have been some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced in the cannabis world, and how did you push through them?

The biggest challenges in the cannabis world have always been the restrictions and the stigma. My content gets taken down for no reason. My accounts get suspended. I get shadowbanned. I have had my store shut down. I have had platforms delete things I worked months on. And the frustrating part is that people posting the same thing never get touched. It feels like the rules are constantly shifting and women especially get hit the hardest. The other challenge has been the assumptions people make. The judgment. The idea that moms who consume cannot also be great moms or successful businesswomen. I have had to fight that stereotype the entire time I have been in this space. But honestly, it only made me louder. I knew that the only way to break the stigma was to exist publicly as a normal woman who loves cannabis and is still a phenomenal mom, wife, and entrepreneur.

I pushed through all of it by refusing to give up. Every time a platform took something from me, I built something new. When Instagram suspended me, I started growing on TikTok. When TikTok slowed, I built my Skool community. When Stan Store kicked me out, I turned to other platforms and made them work. I learned very fast that in the cannabis space, you cannot rely on one outlet. You have to cast a wide net. You have to build a real community that lives beyond just one app.

What kept me going was knowing that this is bigger than me. It is not just about my content. It is about the people who tell me they feel less alone because I show up. It is about giving a voice to people who feel like they cannot speak openly. When I remember that, I do not break under the pressure. I adapt. I push harder. I innovate. Every challenge taught me something important. Even if the platforms try to silence us, the community keeps growing. As long as I stay rooted in why I started, nothing can stop me.

For people who want to follow in your footsteps, what advice would you give to aspiring cannabis influencers who are just starting their journey?

My first piece of advice is to just start. Do not wait to feel ready. Do not wait for the perfect lighting, the perfect background, the perfect confidence. You only get better by doing. Repetition kills all doubt. The more you post, the better you get. The more you post, the more data you have. And the more data you have, the easier it is to see what works and what does not. You also have to be honest. People can feel when you are performing. People can feel when you are chasing attention. People can feel when you are hiding parts of yourself because you are scared of judgment. If you want to grow in the cannabis space, you have to be willing to show up as who you really are. Not the polished version. Not the version you think the internet wants. The real you. Try everything in the beginning. Do humor. Do educational content. Do storytelling. Do day in the life. Do mindset. Do whatever feels good. The internet will tell you very quickly what people connect with. And when you find the thing that works, double down on it. Protect your mindset. This space is not easy. Your content may get taken down. Your account might get flagged or suspended. Brands might be hesitant. People may judge you. And you will question yourself at some point. Expect that. Know that it is part of the process. When it happens, do not quit. Lean in. Build across multiple platforms. Build a community that exists outside of one app.

Create content for other people first. Make them feel seen, heard, understood, safe. When you create from connection instead of ego, your growth will be faster and more meaningful. But at the same time, make sure the content also feels good to you. If it does not feel aligned, you will burn out. And lastly, have faith. Real faith. The kind where you believe in something you have not seen yet. Believe in yourself when no one else does. Believe in your path even when it makes no sense. Believe that everything is working out for you, even when it feels like things are falling apart. If you keep going, keep posting, keep learning, keep adjusting, and keep trusting yourself, you will be shocked at how fast your life can change. The world needs more people who are not afraid to be themselves. Be that person.

When you think about everything you’ve created so far, what do you want people to feel or understand after reading this interview?

What I want people to feel after reading this interview is possibility. I want them to understand that I did not build any of this because I had the perfect plan or the perfect confidence. I built it because I finally stopped hiding who I was. I leaned into the parts of myself I was taught to quiet. And I trusted that there were people out there who needed exactly that version of me. I want people to understand that you do not have to fit a mold to deserve a good life. You do not have to be perfect to be successful. You do not have to wait for permission to be yourself. You can be a mom, a wife, a creator, a leader, a cannabis user, a spiritual person, a messy person, a growing person, all at the same time, and still build something you are proud of.

I want people to know that their voice matters. Their story matters. Their truth matters. Even if it scares them. Even if the world misunderstands them. Even if the odds feel stacked against them. I want them to walk away knowing that the moment you stop performing and start being who you actually are, everything in your life starts to align. And most of all, I want them to feel seen. Because that is the whole reason I started. I want people to know they are not alone. I want them to know there is nothing wrong with them. I want them to know that cannabis does not make them less than. It does not make them a bad parent or a bad partner or a bad person. It is simply part of who they are, and they deserve to feel safe in that truth. If someone leaves this interview believing in themselves a little more, trusting their path a little more, or feeling a little less alone, then I did exactly what I came here to do.

This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.

Photos courtesy of Stephanie Trenkamp

<p>The post The Gardener Who Got Cannabis Moms To Breathe: A Q&A With Stephanie ‘thegardentok’ Trenkamp first appeared on High Times.</p>

The post The Gardener Who Got Cannabis Moms To Breathe: A Q&A With Stephanie ‘thegardentok’ Trenkamp appeared first on Paradise Found.

The world used to pretend weed was a dude thing… cute. But stoner girls have always been here; rolling, sparking, sharing, passing, laughing, and living deliciously high. We are not the sidekicks, the giggling “pick me”, or the “chill girlfriend” holding the grinder.

Now, attention is shifting, and who gets to be in the spotlight is being redefined. The modern weed era is finally featuring women who are shaking up the 420 culture: the growers with resin on their fingers, the scientists flipping stereotypes on their heads, the activists fighting for safe access, the stylish queens whose purses carry lipstick, a lighter, and the future of this industry.

Stories of women cultivators, legal pioneers, and company founders are becoming more common, both shaping and reflecting the market. And brands and firms are responding, which proves that this isn’t a niche: it’s mainstream. If Carrie Bradshaw lit up on prime-time TV 20 years ago, nothing should stop you from pulling out a pink Veazy from that super cute bag of yours.

And yes, there are still barriers, such as capital access, historical exclusion, regulatory headwinds. But the shift is real. So spark up and pay attention.

From Witches to Stoners: How Women Kept the Fire Burning

Long before indoors, lab coats, and posh dispensaries, women were already communing with the plant by cultivating, healing, and whispering knowledge across generations. Cannabis was part of their toolkit, used in ointments, teas, and rituals that celebrated healing, fertility, and altered states.

Mexican researcher and educator Polita Pepper provides an anthropological view:

“Women’s role in relation to cannabis, and to other sacred or medicinal plants we now call psychedelics or entheogens, has been profound, diverse, and historically invisible.”

She explains that this connection was “intimate, spiritual, communal, and ecological, part of a worldview where the body, the soul, the plant, and the land were one inseparable whole.”

Then things got messy. Colonization and patriarchy turned healers into witches and medicine into taboo. The burning of women was also the burning of memory — a way to erase independent, community-based wisdom.

Today, that fire is back, but on our own terms. “The link between women and plants has always been political. To silence those forms of knowledge was to control women’s bodies. So today, reclaiming that connection is a feminist act, an act of care, of autonomy, of building a more human and ethical relationship with nature,” Polita says.

From witches to stoners, the lineage is unbroken, only transformed.

A brief-ish history of handbags

The purse has not always been the fashion-obsessed, mystery-filled sidekick it is today. Its history is basically a travelogue through women’s evolving freedom. Handbags as we know them only took shape toward the late 19th century, shifting from delicate reticules meant to hold perfume or a fan (and definitely not money, because men controlled the cash back then) into practical, structured bags that snapped shut and offered privacy and independence.

Before that evolution, women relied on “tie-on pockets” —separate little pouches worn under skirts and accessed through slits in the fabric, because our clothing didn’t include functional, built-in pockets like men’s garments did. And honestly, who are we kidding? It’s 2025 and women’s clothes still treat pockets like mythical creatures.

As gals started moving more freely in public, taking trains, working, and organizing, their bags had to keep up. The handbag became a feminist symbol on the streets. During the Suffragette movement in Great Britain, bags got bigger because activists needed to stash pamphlets, notebooks, and tools of protest. They were no longer accessories, but portable declarations: I am here, I have rights, and I have receipts in my bag.

That vibe definitely fed into the satire of Alice Duer Miller’s suffrage book Are Women People? (George H. Doran Company, 1915). In a section called Campaign Material, she included “Why We Oppose Pockets for Women”, a biting parody of the ridiculous arguments used to deny women both pockets and political representation. Pay special attention to number 8.

Today, handbags are as diverse as the women who sling them over a shoulder or clutch them through a smoky afterparty. They carry self-expression, survival, chaos, and sometimes weed-proof lining. They are still political, still personal, still loaded with history… and possibly a lighter that has been lost for three months right under the gum wrappers.

Which brings us to the point. Because if a purse represents identity, then what better way to explore who “stoner girls” are than by diving into what they carry? Rolling papers next to lipstick. A vape next to a half-eaten muffin. A grinder and a journal. Comfort and rebellion, all tied into one.

Welcome to the archeology of the stoner girl’s purse. No permission required.

What’s In The Bag, Babe? High-or-Die Essentials Only

Here’s the deal: we talked to nine stoner girls who joined us on this wild Very Happy trip hosted by En Volá in Ushuaia, Argentina —the literal end of the world. Eighty-three weed lovers, ten vans, grow associations, a substrate factory tour, a sunset catamaran to watch the sea lions, with everyone high-key blasted… you get the vibe. And yes, the cannabis community still skews dude, but down here the girls were thriving: comfy, seen, supported, loud, soft, weird. The whole she-bang.

So we asked each one the question:  What can’t you leave the house without? What is the one (or two, or five, because pockets hate us) thing that absolutely must go in your purse, or the whole mission falls apart?

This is the stoner girl survival kit. Let’s unzip.

Luna Stower — United States

Role: Freelance marketer and brand builder for psychedelics & cannabis.

Essential(s): “I cannot leave home without my rosin, which I always get from Northern California producers that are from cannabis-grown and living soil, always kind of regenerative, agriculture-focused, live rosin only, no residual solvents, no anything. Clean, tested, pure, and obviously, my Dip Device or my Storz & Bickel all day, every day. That’s what I need.”

Zara Snapp — Mexico

Role: Director at Instituto RIA.

Essential(s): “In my purse or my backpack, I always carry water, rolling supplies, some flower, and stickers to give to people I meet along the way.”

Aleksandra — Germany

Role: Corporate cannabis lawyer.

Essential(s): “The one thing I can’t leave behind is active carbon filters because nobody ever has them… I’m the only one who likes to smoke with them!”

Polita Pepper — Mexico

Role: Cannabis & entheogen researcher + educator.

Essential(s): “A stoner girl must always carry something to smoke —and if it’s with harm reduction in mind, even better.”

Antara — Chile

Role: Chemist & chocolatier.

Essential(s): “What can’t be missing in my purse is something sweet for the munchies… most likely already a little nibbled.”

Marina — Argentina

Role: Founder of Que Lindo Community, a wellness-focused cannabis club.

Essential(s): “I just cannot leave home without my ID and my dry herb vape. But I like to keep a clear head while I’m being active, so I usually light up when my responsibilities have been taken care of”.

Erandeny — Mexico

Role: Herbal vaporizer entrepreneur.

Essential(s):  “I cannot leave home without a vape —for harm reduction— and my grinder, to make everything simpler and prettier. And, of course, my herb.”

Marta — Spain

Role: Criminal lawyer defending the cannabis community.

Essential(s): “I can’t go anywhere without good resin to smoke, and the perfect filters, exactly the right size —I’m very picky about my filters.”

Alexandra — Argentina

Role: Cannabis professional at Melody’s Farm.

Essential(s): “In my O.Zeta bag —a cannabis essential in its own right— I always carry mouthwash. That’s just being a good smoker.”

<p>The post What Do Stoner Girls Carry in Their Purse? We’re Here, We’re Hot, We’re High AF first appeared on High Times.</p>

The post What Do Stoner Girls Carry in Their Purse? We’re Here, We’re Hot, We’re High AF appeared first on Paradise Found.