Kate Assaraf on Building DIP, Rejecting Growth-at-All-Costs, and Why “Buy Less” Became the Business Model: An interview with the Beauty Founder that wants you to buy less. 

After nearly 20 years in beauty marketing, what made you start questioning the industry?

I think after enough years inside beauty, you start realizing how much of the industry is built on manufacturing insecurity. So much marketing depends on making women feel “less than” before offering them a solution. I reached a point where I just couldn’t participate in that anymore.

I also became frustrated by how disconnected beauty had become from real life. Everything was optimized for algorithms, trends, virality, and endless consumption. It felt less like helping people and more like feeding a machine that constantly demanded more products, more launches, more urgency.

At some point I realized I didn’t want to build another beauty brand. I wanted to build a company that questioned what modern consumerism had become.

You’ve said traditional beauty marketing often treated women as one-dimensional. What frustrated you most about that?

Women are incredibly nuanced, intelligent, funny, exhausted, emotional, ambitious, overwhelmed, practical, creative human beings. But beauty marketing often reduces them into caricatures.

Everything became: “fix this flaw,” “reverse aging,” “look perfect,” “buy more.”

Meanwhile, real women are raising kids, running businesses, surfing, trail running, caregiving, surviving hard seasons, trying to feel okay in their own skin.

I wanted dip to sound like a real person talking to another real person. Not a focus-grouped corporation pretending to be your best friend.

Was DIP born more from inspiration or frustration?

If I had to be blunt: both. There was frustration with the waste, the fake urgency, the endless plastic, the influencer culture, and the feeling that every brand was starting to sound identical.

But there was also inspiration. I genuinely believed there were people craving something more human. Something high-performance that still had a soul.

Dip became this strange little rebellion disguised as shampoo.

What made you believe there was room to build something differently?

Because consumers are smarter than the industry gives them credit for.

People know when they’re being manipulated. They know when reviews are fake. They know when influencers don’t actually use the products. They know when “sustainability” is just branding.

I believed there was room for a company that respected people’s intelligence.

Also, I noticed something interesting happening in refill stores, surf shops, and small salons. The people running those businesses actually cared deeply about what they sold. They had expertise. Taste. Standards. Community.

That felt like the future to me.

How obsessive did the testing process become while developing the products?

Borderline unhealthy! We tested endlessly because I knew sustainability alone would never be enough. The products had to outperform salon products people already loved.

Our conditioner bar especially became an obsession. I wanted insane slip and detangling because I was thinking about swimmers, surfers, moms brushing kids’ hair after the beach, runners showering daily, curly hair households.

I probably drove our chemist crazy.

But that obsession mattered because if sustainable products feel like a compromise, most people won’t stick with them long term.

The “Second Rodeo”

One thing I appreciated was your honesty about your first business not working out the way you hoped.

I think entrepreneurship culture romanticizes success and completely ignores the emotional wreckage that often comes before it.

My first experience humbled me deeply. There was grief attached to it because when something you build fails, it doesn’t just feel professional. It feels personal.

How difficult was that season emotionally and mentally?

Very difficult.

There’s shame that comes with things not working out, especially when you’re someone who people perceive as capable or successful. You feel embarrassed. You question your instincts. You wonder whether you were delusional.

The internet makes this even worse because everyone is curating victories while quietly hiding the hard parts.

Do entrepreneurs talk enough about shame and failure?

Not even close. We talk about failure after we survive it. We package it into inspirational content once there’s a happy ending.

But in the middle of it? People are usually terrified and isolated.

I think more founders would benefit from hearing that struggling does not automatically mean you’re unintelligent or incapable.

What finally gave you the courage to start again?

Motherhood changed me.

Once I had children, failure became less terrifying because my identity stopped being fully tied to business outcomes. Also, I realized I would regret not trying again more than I would regret failing again. That clarity is pretty freeing.

What did you learn from the first experience that shaped dip?

Almost everything. I learned how dangerous sharing your dream or idea can become. I learned that not every opportunity is actually an opportunity. I learned how seriously you should take an operating agreement!

Would dip exist if the first company had succeeded?

Probably not! Failure stripped away a lot of illusion for me. It forced me to get radically honest about what kind of life and company I actually wanted to build.

Dip came from that honesty.

Building a Different Kind of Business

You’ve openly said you’re not interested in “growth for the sake of growth.” That’s unusual in modern business culture.

I think we’ve normalized a version of business that behaves almost like addiction. More growth. More scale. More products. More customers. More speed.

But very few people stop and ask: “To what end?”

If growth destroys your mission, your culture, your health, your family, your product quality, or your ethics, was it actually success?

Do you think we’ve confused growth with success?

Completely. A profitable, values-aligned company with healthy employees and loyal customers is successful. But modern culture often celebrates visibility over sustainability.

Some businesses are scaling beautifully on social media while quietly collapsing behind the scenes.

Why was it important to you to avoid Amazon and focus on independent stores?

Because independent stores are one of the last places left where human connection still exists in commerce.

Someone greets you.
Someone has tried the products.
Someone gives real recommendations.
Someone built something meaningful inside their community.

That matters to me deeply.

Amazon optimized convenience. But convenience alone cannot be the only thing society values.

What do those local refill stores and surf shops represent to you?

They represent real sustainable culture. They represent people taking risks to create gathering places with personality and expertise. They remind me of record stores growing up.

Those businesses shape communities in ways algorithms never will.

Do you think people are hungry for businesses that feel more human again?

Absolutely. I think people are exhausted by transactional relationships masquerading as community.

People miss trust. They miss discovery. They miss feeling seen instead of targeted.

Can companies scale without losing their soul?

I think it’s possible, but only if leadership is willing to say “no” constantly.

You have to protect the soul of the company aggressively because growth naturally pressures businesses toward sameness and optimization. It's not easy to do.

You’ve talked about “unlearning corporate consumerism.” What does that mean?

It means questioning the idea that buying more things automatically improves your life. We’ve been conditioned to believe happiness is always one purchase away.

I don’t think that’s emotionally healthy or environmentally sustainable.

Do you think people are exhausted by constant marketing and digital noise?

Completely exhausted. We are living through an era of digital pollution. Everyone is performing. Everyone is optimizing. Everyone is selling something.

Human nervous systems were not designed for this level of constant stimulation and persuasion. 

Why have you intentionally stayed away from influencers and AI-driven marketing?

Because I think authenticity matters more than scale. A small business owner who genuinely loves our products means more to me than a giant influencer campaign.

I also think consumers are becoming increasingly aware of manufactured authenticity online. The more artificial everything becomes, the more valuable real human trust becomes.

What concerns you most about where marketing is heading?

The loss of humanity. When every interaction becomes data-driven optimization, businesses start forgetting that people are emotional beings, not just conversion metrics.

As the daughter of an anthropologist, that scares me.

What does authenticity actually look like today?

Authenticity means your values still exist when nobody is applauding you for them.

Your message of “buy less” is almost radical in modern culture. Where did that philosophy come from?

From pure exhaustion! I became deeply disillusioned by endless overconsumption disguised as self-care. We don’t need 14 shampoos. We don’t need constant hauls. We don’t need infinite clutter.

I wanted to build products people genuinely loved and used for a long time.

Motherhood, Perspective & What Really Matters

One line that really stayed with me was: “I love being a mother. I tolerate being an entrepreneur.”

That’s probably the truest thing I’ve ever said. I’m grateful for entrepreneurship, but motherhood reordered my priorities completely. 

Has motherhood changed your definition of success?

Yes and no.  You don't need to be a mother to understand that success can mean "peace". Success is the ability to sustain yourself while doing good for others. Success used to look external. Recognition, growth, achievement.

Now success feels much quieter: Peace, dinner with my family, building a company my children can respect.

Do women today feel pressure to “do it all”?

Constantly. Women are expected to be endlessly productive while also being emotionally available, physically attractive, deeply involved mothers, ambitious professionals, and mentally resilient.

It’s kinda impossible.

I think many women are silently exhausted.

What have your boys taught you about perspective?

Children expose what actually matters very quickly. Kids do not care about your engagement metrics or your sales charts.

They care whether you’re present. That perspective is incredibly grounding.

You also said: “There are no shampoo emergencies.” There’s real wisdom in that.

I had to learn that. When you run a company, everything can start feeling urgent. But most things are not truly important in the grand scheme of life.

Nobody is dying because conditioner shipped late.

How have you learned to separate urgency from importance?

By becoming more protective of my nervous system and my family life. Not every email deserves panic, and not every opportunity deserves access to your peace.

What matters more to you now than it did 10 years ago?

Depth.

Real relationships.
Health.
Time.
Community.
Integrity.
Being emotionally present for my family. Ten years ago I probably would’ve prioritized optics more. Now I care much more about playing an extra round of Monopoly Deal with my husband and 2 boys.

Closing Reflections

What have you learned about building something meaningful?

That meaning usually comes from restraint. From choosing what not to become.

What do you hope people feel when they encounter your brand?

Relief. Like they can exhale a little.

Like someone built this company with actual care instead of just chasing trends and extracting attention.

What do you hope your boys learn from watching you build this company?

That success without integrity is empty. That businesses can still be human. And that it’s okay to build a life that looks different from what culture tells you to chase.

In a world constantly pushing people toward “more,” what have you learned about living well with less?

That "enough" is an incredibly powerful word.

Enough products. Enough money. Enough to share with others. Modern culture rarely tells people they’re allowed to stop chasing.  

But some of the happiest moments in my life came when I finally did.