photo album
Here is a collection of photographs from my Juice Press days (2010–2019), along with images documenting the development, construction, and evolution of goodsugar (2020 to the present).
A note about my former business partner, Mr. M. Karsch:
I think of him with love, gratitude, and compassion. During our glorious years together, we burned through millions of ideas and millions of dollars trying to turn Juice Press into a mega-blockbuster. It was quite an adventure, and I believe we are both better for having lived through it.
I sincerely wish him and his family well.
When I sold my interest to him in 2019, Juice Press had 85 stores. Today, in late 2026, approximately 15 remain.
Karsch and I had fundamental differences about nearly every major aspect of the business, from the products and ingredients to the philosophy, branding, and direction of the company. Ultimately, his vision prevailed because he controlled the money. That’s business.
When I created goodsugar, I had the opportunity to build the company I always believed Juice Press should have become. In many ways, goodsugar is the continuation of the ideas I couldn’t fully realize back then.
Karsch took Juice Press in another direction, including the move toward Just Plants, introducing dairy and eggs, and pasteurizing the juices. These were decisions I would never have made. But rather than spend another thousand words explaining our differences, I encourage you to visit one of the remaining stores and decide for yourself.
I don’t look back with bitterness. We built something extraordinary together, made plenty of mistakes, learned some expensive lessons, and had one hell of a ride.
And now, here we are.
Anyway, enough about business history. Enjoy the photographs. There’s a lot of blood, sweat, creativity, ambition, insanity, and love in these pictures.
Well, maybe not blood. Everything is plant-based now.
gs#1 Build Out
GS#1 Installing s/s mop bucket wall insert.
3rd - 69th Store #1 in Construction 2022
construction gs#1 2022
gs#1 Build out store front
walk-in doors installed, bathroom door not. circa 2022.
Mid construction (60 days in) The stainless steel support legs arrived from fabricator. Here we see the 1" plastic counter tops Installed.
Pure white Stonhard floors throughout. Total disaster, since they showed every mark, so we redid them in salmon. Shown here with basic framing done, before the walk-ins went in.
Getting the big ice chests to fit snug around the column meant welding them together on site. I found a 78-year-old welder to do it.
2022: Stainless counter bases with built-in ice chests go in. My contractor and I made ¼" plywood mock-ups first and sent them to the fabricator, so the steel would fit tight around the columns.
Intricate work alying down 1" sheets of plastic counter tops. In the background is a faux-hood we ung over the soup kettles and later took down and threw it away.
$35,000 Alto-Shaam bakery oven. It works beautifully. The $7K hood above it is useless. Paying for a self-cleaning steam system was a mistake: two cheaper ovens stacked on top of each other would have saved space and doubled our capacity.
Introducing goodsugar Solid 18K Gold Chopsticks, just $3,200. Because your $14 poke bowl deserves better. Hand-forged, heavier than your conscience and impossible to drop without everyone turning around. Dishwasher safe, if your dishwasher has a security guard. Gluten-free, obviously. Pairs beautifully with brown rice, humility and a sensible credit limit. Each pair comes in a velvet box with a certificate of authenticity and a note from your accountant. Eat like royalty. Tip like it, too.
The hood never vented. It’s there for looks, and now it catches a bit of steam from the soup kettles. I built the table on the right for a 6-gallon blender we never ended up using.
Assembling the stainless counters, with the walk-in doors already in place in the back. We moved the electrical panel to the bathroom. The old panel spot on the right is now the dishwasher area.
During construction, sample test-prints of shopping bags came in. Made from kraft paper, printed with colorful butterfly illustrations and the 'goodsugar' logo, shown against a neutral background.
Joking with my dad: “Take everything, Pops,” while he was busting my balls over his lawsuit with Karsch. Since then he’s lost 110 pounds without drugs, and he’s 84 in 2026. Keep going, Dad.
The retail area in 2026. I like it.
A little more detail. The lights look dim because the store is getting blasted by sunlight.
I made this with AI. I enjoy making dumb stuff like this. It would actually be a good idea if I could figure out how to make it without plastic and nasty chemicals.
October 2026, lights down low: the smoothie station, seen over the retail ice chest. I enjoy this store’s design. I’m hoping the next store does even better.
Barbie came to JP5, and we made a big deal of it. Thank you, Barbie, for whatever that nonsense did for us. I’m sure New York’s cool cats thought a Mattel collab made us very cool.
The retail area in 2026, with Naomi behind the bakery counter.
September 2026: Jermaine Jonas in a beard net, helping us in the kitchen. He’s a great chef and my friend, and I love him.
I’m against pasteurized juice, starting with how it tastes: like dog shit. Juice Press was the golden goose. It just wouldn’t lay eggs for Karsch, and it laid plenty for Antebi. If you start a juice company and grow, remember: HPP will destroy your product. If you’re forced into it, you f*cked up.
2026: me, Marcus Antebi, sitting in the store figuring out what to do with the website. OK, good idea: a photo album.
This floor was beautiful, but it needed buffing every quarter to bring back the shine. Karsch couldn’t understand how floors got dirty or how they got clean. So instead, he glued horrible fake-wood vinyl into every store. OMG.
Back of house at goodsugar: the ice machine’s tiny sign reads “NO PHOTOS unless they’re of me.”
Just a gluten-free bakery and some food in ice chests. goodsugar, 2026.
The team and I tagged the basement staircase in the most insane ways. It looks like CBGB’s in there, as if we’d occupied the space for decades. goodsugar, 2024.
Displays and artwork. goodsugar, 2026.
On Fox 5’s morning show. I did two days of media training for it, and I think I did OK. The good old days, though I can’t remember exactly when.
A small corner of our LIC fridge at the end of a production run: handmade, unpasteurized juice. We made about 10,000 bottles a day.
Introducing the goodsugar Solid 18K Gold Fork & Spoon Set, $4,350. Finally, cutlery as rich as our gluten-free brownies. Hand-polished, perfectly balanced and so heavy you’ll count each bite as a rep. Stirs smoothies, scoops chia pudding and silences dinner parties. Not dishwasher safe. Not roommate safe. Barely safe for you. Comes in a velvet case with a lifetime warranty and a sternly worded letter from your financial advisor. Spoon-fed luxury. Fork it over.
For years at Juice Press, I wanted to make a wall of fake flyers poking fun at the ridiculous ones you always see in health restaurants, health markets and juice bars. Here it finally is, at goodsugar in 2026.
Introducing the goodsugar Vegan Western Saddle: hand-stitched from mushroom leather, cactus and the tears of a reformed cattle rancher. No cows harmed, though one horse rolled its eyes. Features a gluten-free horn, cold-pressed stirrups and a cup holder for your 16 oz. unpasteurized juice. Smells faintly of oat milk. Fits all horses, ponies and one patient golden retriever. Warning: may cause spontaneous yodeling and oversharing. Ride off into the sunset. Then compost it, partner. Yeehaw.
Fast forward to 2026. I’ve always been obsessed with wheat-pasting. It’s really collage, something I learned from my mom and her sisters, and probably from my grandmother Adele (RIP). I love the imagery and the colors. It’s a cool way to communicate in New York.
More wheat-paste artwork at goodsugar: design elements that look human-made, because they are. I made them and fitted them by hand. At Juice Press, I made tons of random artwork for every store, for messaging and for a certain look. Picture it: the founder and co-owner driving around in an SUV, secretly graffitiing store walls with stuff that would piss off Karsch and his ass-kissing lackeys.
Five Points Academy on Lafayette. Training with a Thai master, who got annoyed that my head movement was too American-boxing, so he threw me out of the ring. I was defenseless.
I made this bookmark and left it in all our stores. It poked fun at the CEO of Organic Avenue, a competitor, who said in a press release that he was a “flexitarian” and that Organic Avenue’s menu reflected it.
Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson and my lead investor, Kenny Dichter, on the set of Entourage.
Rest in peace, Ira Kramer, one of my first loyal customers at JP1 on East First Street. He loved Juice Press and spent $100 every other day. We became friends: we drove around in his sports cars and talked about his life. He had been ultra-Orthodox and had stepped away from it. I introduced him to my food mentor, Fred Bisci, who made a food plan for him to follow. When he passed, I was heartbroken. Farewell, old friend.
Fred Bisci, 97 in 2026. This is probably from 2015, at a small talk on food that he and I gave together. A great person, mentor and friend. Thank you, Freddie.
Thai boxing on the bag at Gold’s Gym in Venice Beach. My shorts had my name on them. That was also the last year Brooks made normal running shoes.
We fabricated endless steel racks to hold the enormous weight of produce and machines. You need racks that won’t break or rust, because you have to store stuff, you idiot. Buy industrial grade, and spend the money.
goodsugar on 69th Street, our first store. goodsugar is great. I’ll see this through, and it will stay better than every other food company.
Introducing the goodsugar 2-Horsepower Blender. Most blenders go to 10. Ours goes to 11. Why not just make 10 louder? Because this one goes to 11. Pulverizes kale, frozen mango and your neighbor’s sense of peace. Smoothies come out so smooth they apologize. Comes with a safety lid, ear protection and a waiver your lawyer will love. Not recommended for small kitchens, small dogs or small talk. Turn it up. All the way. Eleven. Rock on.
Introducing the goodsugar “HPP Sucks” Thermos. Built to keep fresh, cold-pressed, never-HPP’d juice cold, honest and delicious. Double-walled stainless steel, because your juice deserves protection, not 87,000 psi of industrial nonsense. Holds 16 oz. of the real stuff and zero shelf-stable regret. Leak-proof, sweat-proof and allergic to marketing words like “cold pasteurized.” Fits most cup holders and all arguments with your partner. Proudly made for fresh-juice snobs. Fresh tastes better. Say it loud: HPP
On the phone in the back room of JP11, around 2015–16. I was so self-important back then.
In the JP5 fridge with Russell Wilson, the Seattle Seahawks quarterback, back when he was giving Brady and the Patriots a hard time. Russell later invested in Juice Press for our Seattle location.
I woke up to a call telling me to buy the Post and turn to Page Six. It did more good than harm. My dad really was suing my ex-partner, Michael. They settled around 2015–16, with Juice Press buying my dad’s store, JP3, back from him.
Introducing the goodsugar Nipple Clamp Health Monitor. Forget finger pricks and awkward scales. Two clamps, one quick squeeze, and you’ll know your blood sugar, your BMI and exactly how much you regret clicking “buy.” Clinically tested on our COO, who has asked for a raise. Fits all body types. Bluetooth-enabled, battery-free and powered entirely by your screaming. Results in 10 seconds, tears in 3. Not FDA approved. Not doctor approved. Not approved by anyone, actually. Clamp responsibly.
Left to right: the king of a country I can’t remember, Chef Jermaine Jonas from Antigua, me, and Ira Kramer (RIP), on East 10th Street, around 2011–12.
Living on the Bowery around 2015–16. I painted this on the wall of the building next door, a private residence that sold for about $50M and later became the Supreme store. It said: “I love you so much, I’d even pick you up from the airport.” I stole that line from somewhere.
Juice Press in its glory years, around 2015. Even large-batch juice is still great when it’s pressed on a Goodnature juicer and not HPP’d into cat piss.
I have so much to say about this chapter of my life. First, gratitude for the good fortune of being where we were. I started Juice Press in 2010 in a 280-square-foot store that rented for $3K a month. My early partners included Jake Vainer, who was paid handsomely for his equity, and Alain Palinsky, who made 90X on his initial $15K. Thank you both for your contributions. Alain is genius.
JP11, at our peak. We taste-tested everything. Here we’re goofing around with our innovation chef’s magic drum, “blessing” our palates. That’s Peter Kay holding the drumstick.
JP14 on Greenwich Street in Tribeca. We filled the store with quirky little props to make it special, like these high-hanging swings that nobody could ever reach. The contractor and I still tested them, in case someone managed to climb on. They were bombproof and could hold thousands of pounds. Total overkill.
The great Curtis Kulig, friend and artist, let us put his artwork on our bottle. It was a great seller. I also asked him to paint it on JP7 on Prince Street. I hope the statute of limitations has run out on that horrible crime against humanity. It looked cool as fuck. Plenty of New Yorkers loved it when Juice Press had the nerve to do great stuff.
A marketing pitch from Kirshenbaum to my partners, the Karsches. They hated it. I understood Kirshenbaum’s idea of edgy, because edgy was working for us: people loved our irreverent brand. The Karsches whitewashed it and erased everything witty and clever.
JP5, with Kenny Dichter on the left and Jake Steinfeld of Body by Jake, the famous infomercial guy. Don’t ask why we were all together. That’s Kenny’s magic: he knows everyone.
Karsch loved this, and I’m not sure why. I loved it too, and I still had to sneak it onto the windows of 20 stores. It was inspired by a dumb Chipotle sign praising itself for dropping GMOs. I thought they owed customers an apology letter in the window, not a pat on the back.
Seen here with a Photoshopped bag of Juice Press goodies. From around 2014 until about 2024, Photoshopping like this by hand was hard work. Today I can do a better job on my phone with ChatGPT.
A repost of Ivanka Trump’s post, around 2014–15, before her daddy made America garbage again. She’d taken a mirror selfie with a Juice Press bottle next to her Poland Spring.
Me and my dad, David, around 1990, maybe the late ’80s. I was about 18 or 19, in the last year I kept my hair that insane. Pops is 84 in 2026 and has Alzheimer’s. I’m sad, but grateful, because he and I had a lot of good times. ❤️
Getting the first of 800 vaccinations across Juice Press. Everyone had to get one for us to stay open. There was a hepatitis scare tied to raspberries, and Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s and Juice Press were all named as possible sources. They never found the cause, but here we go: stick it to me.
Cool story. A customer who loved Juice Press offered me this giant wall on Houston Street in SoHo, as long as I paid the $21K to have it painted. The deal: he got 50% off Juice Press for five years, and we got the wall for 60 days. It ended up staying up for 18 months.
A sign I made for JP5, back when we still had the mojo. We lost it because none of us knew what we were doing. There was no unified team: Karsch and I worked against each other, and we were headed for Ego Land. I wanted to stay on my original path. Karsch wanted to tell me he graduated in the top 10 of his class at Harvard. No map, no shared mission, shitty leadership, including mine. Oh well.
Bear with me. I got clocked by Mo Vale, a great fighter, and he cut my gums. By the end of sparring at Crunch on Lafayette, my mouth looked like I was bleeding out. Judging by my grays, it was 2014.
I made this brochure as a playful way to introduce a complicated product. Proviotic was a great product. Circa 2013/14
Introducing the goodsugar Stash Bear. He’s soft, he’s cuddly and he’s hiding your gummies. A secret zippered compartment in his tummy keeps your vitamin, sleep or “vitamin” gummies safe from roommates, your partner and that one friend who “just wants one.” Nobody suspects the bear. Nobody ever suspects the bear. Hypoallergenic, machine washable (empty him first) and sworn to secrecy. He’s seen things. He’ll never talk. Keep away from actual children. Enjoy responsibly.
Introducing the goodsugar Green Juice Flask. It looks like a virtuous mason jar of kale, celery and good decisions. It’s not. A thin wall of fake green “juice” hides a secret flask inside, so everyone thinks you’re cleansing while you’re actually celebrating. Perfect for brunch, weddings and family reunions. Holds 8 oz. of whatever you’re into. Your nutritionist will be so proud, until they’re not. Must be 21+. Sip responsibly. Namaste-ish.
Introducing the goodsugar “My Abs Are From Carbs” Beach Towel, $40. For the person whose six-pack is a party sub. Oversized, ultra-soft and big enough to hide a croissant habit. Absorbs water, sunscreen and judgment from people doing crunches nearby. Machine washable, gluten-free and proudly unpasteurized, like its owner. Lie on it, roll on it, nap until your shoulders burn. Core strength? Bagels. Definition? Croissants. Confidence? Priceless. Towel? Forty bucks. Six-pack not included.
My dear friend Benji Bamps passed away a while ago. We met during my skydiving years at the Ranch and were best friends for about four years. Rest in peace.
My childhood friend joined Juice Press as COO when we had six to eight stores. I ended up firing him. Afterwards, three of our store safes were robbed, and we had plenty of footage. Here he is in a wig.
Karsch started a supplement company with his business partner in Bulgaria. We had some decent products with cheap-ass execution. We never put in the resources to make them great, just OK. The formulas were pure and simple, like vegan D3 from lichen with no fillers. But when the people around you think “sunshine in a bottle” is good branding, you can’t win. “Moonshine in a bottle” works better, if you’re selling potato liquor.
Supermodel Karlie Kloss at JP5, reading the book I made with my friend Brion Isaacs. People loved it. M. Karsch discontinued it because it leaned hard on unpasteurized juice, a philosophy he didn’t want to be locked into. After I left Juice Press, he pasteurized every juice and slowly sank that category.
The Murray Street store was a bad location. Karsch took it on, promising it would be our best store at $20K a day. It was massive, with a huge build-out, and it never got busy. The layout tried to fit the space and every product category, and I made a lot of mistakes building it. But in a good location, the layout would hardly have mattered. It was a shit location.
My partner, dark eyebrows and gray hair: Michael Karsch XXXI. Karsch slammed $70M into Juice Press, renamed it Just Plants and drove it off a cliff. He added whey, eggs, milk, pizza and boba tea, and went from 85 stores in 2019 to about 15 in 2026. He loves me, I love him. He strutted into goodsugar on opening day. Peter Kay hid in the back so he wouldn’t lash out. Karsch acknowledged me with food falling out of his mouth. In the fridge with him: champion quarterback Russell Wilson.
A postcard from every Juice Press store that people loved. I wrote it about my relationship with my then-partner Michael Karsch, who graduated in the top 10 of his class at Harvard.
Herringbone tile, used across the Juice Press brand. Erica and Michael hated this floor. After I was bought out, they covered real Carrara marble with fake-wood vinyl meant for homes. Geniuses.
JP10, Madison and 92nd Street. We agreed on $20K a month in rent. When we got to the landlord’s office to sign, his attorney had changed it to $21K. What a dick move, squeezing us for another $1K a month. I told Karsch we should get up and leave, but he couldn’t do it and said to pay the rent. Shitty negotiation.
This graphic went over well with the public, and with the Karsches until they noticed it said “avoid alcohol.” Then came our fruitless deal for 35 crappy stores inside Equinox, which lost $3M a year. We had to whitewash the graphic because it said “eliminate processed food.” Equinox wanted “reduce processed foods.” What a bunch of f*cktards.
I liked this style more than the generic decals that cover big-chain walls. I drew on the glass with oil-paint markers and photographed it. The decal maker then turned the photo into a machine-cut vinyl decal.
Our automatic piston fillers sped up hand-filling, especially thick smoothies, but they only filled one bottle at a time. The kitchen was a marvel. It cost millions to build and didn’t lower our operating costs.
A Juice Press postcard about juice cleansing, from sometime around 2014–16. I can’t remember exactly when.
At one point JP5 held so much produce that I built detailed steel racks around the shop and kitchen. It looked cool for that era of the brand. Circa 2013–14.
Putting up the window decals. This one was fun. I think this was in 2012/13.
Ginger Fireball: just ginger and orange juice, plus a drop of oil of oregano in the early days. It was delicious fresh, before pasteurization, and probably our most copied juice at Juice Press. Our Long Island City commissary, circa 2014.
I built big, impressive fridges that turned out to be too big for what we sold. By my last years, 2018–2019, they had become a problem, so when I built goodsugar I used ice chests instead. This monster held juice mid-production: Juice Press #5 on Greenwich Avenue was our production kitchen before the commissary.
Karsch told me, “I let you do the Wall Street Journal.” I remember thinking he should have let the WSJ follow him through his own routine, and seen what that press would have done for consumers in 2015. Anyway, this is real. I fought and trained hard in Thai boxing. That’s a real story about a real person.
I was a cute kid. Here I am with Mike Hirachis, so it must be 2015. Back when the Freedom Tower was going up, we’d get visits at Murray Street from the fine people of the US military, in for smoothies. Also, RIP solid-gold Rolex. I had to dump it: too gaudy.
I made this neon for what I think was the first Juice Press in Boston. It might be the only thing of mine Karsch really liked. I know I sound bitter. I’m not, because I got paid. Spend a week with Karsch and you’ll understand my tone. Anyway, Karsch, thanks for the memories. Live long and prosper.
Our sneakers date this one: mid-2017. Knit Adidas, kind of hideous now. Jean shorts cut about 3" too far above the knee. She looks great as always. Her style’s on point.
Hard to tell which store this is, maybe Boston. Peter Kay was our COO at Juice Press then, and he looks so young and fresh here. The juice business aged him, or maybe Karsch and I just beat him to death. Sorry, Peter. After 11 years of well-paid torture at Juice Press, Peter came to work with me at goodsugar.
Me and Karlie Kloss in the walk-in fridge at the Juice Press commissary in LIC, around 2015. Karlie is a kind person. She was about 22.
I built an elaborate system that raised four Goodnature X-1 presses off the ground, so the floor underneath could hold all the waste we produced. We simply didn’t have the floor space. The whole commissary was doomed, because it would never bring economies of scale with our 85 stores. But man, it was fun trying to make it all work. Karsch was not a fan of my work. At all.
Another bookmark that could probably have gotten me cancelled back then. It mocked juice-cleanse doubters by suggesting they just keep eating shit and see how that feels.
I did my best to build a compelling display for this great product, with no tools and no team. I was way over my skis. Plexiglass and stainless steel. What a shitty display.
this is who I have always been, like a child. sorry if you think im unrefined. the jokes on you. i love to use my body and be playful.
What a mess. I had “NO HPP” plastered on store walls. HPP, high-pressure processing, ruins the taste of juice. Yuck. Then my partner Karsch wanted it scrubbed from every store, so I had the decal guy change HPP to HYPE. “NO HYPE.” What a joke that business became.
JP10, maybe 2013. A nice-looking store. It closed in 2025–26.
More test runs of shopping bags, circa 2022.
Getting taken down by a giant, two-fisted barroom brawler: Richard Murphy, my dear friend and builder. He built and project-managed a lot of our stores and was with me from the beginning. Karsch pushed him out for being loyal to the wrong guy: me. Circa 2015–16.
Juice Press was a cool company. My best guess is that Simone Levinson, a Juice Press investor, shot this at a Yankees game. I can’t tell you the year.
I caught a nice elbow above the brow. The cut healed well and never reopened, and I got better at blocking elbows. Circa 2016.
I had this custom-built in Colorado, and it actually worked. It’s 20 feet long. It cost $50K, and the room we built around it cost another $50K.
goodsugar Philosophy collage with actual bakery counter, clean text posters, seven visitors, and no robot reader icon
This was an A-frame sidewalk sign I designed for one of the Juice Press stores.
The ever-talented Argentine chef Martin. He was our very first chef at Juice Press Store #1 back in 2010. I met him through Alain Palinsky, my original business partner, whom Michael Karsch bought out in 2011. Martin was only 23 when he came to work with us. He was incredibly talented, and eventually, a broken heart sent him running from New York City.
I miss you, Martin. Come back soon!
I spray-painted this directly onto a wall at the Empire State Building, using handmade stencils and different colors. I even created a stencil for the third hanging light. It was a great creative experience. Michael Karsch hated it. His argument was that we were a corporation and shouldn't be doing things like this. My response was, "Don't be so logical. People get the idea." I loved experimenting with unconventional ways to bring Juice Press into the world. Not everything had to look like traditional corp
This a close-up of my laptop screen displaying a printed design for a 'JP Quality Freshness Taste Service' satisfaction guarantee badge, with the Adobe Photoshop interface visible around the edges.
This was a close-up of a glass window with handwritten motivational text and drawings in white marker, including the phrase “LOSE THE GUT.” Later, I turned these into decals that looked cleaner, sharper, and more polished than the original handwritten versions.
'WHICH OF THESE IS BEST BEFORE A WORKOUT?'.
Plastic everywhere. One thing I did exceptionally well during the Juice Press years was contribute mountains of plastic packaging to the waste stream across New York State. Not exactly something to be proud of. I eventually realized we had to switch to glass. Pictured here is a three-vitamin daily pack I created. An interesting concept that needed more time and development before it was ready for prime time.
Visiting the Health-Ade Kombucha factory in California with Sean Edelman, Aiden Carty, and the founders. Sometime in the 2010s, although I can't remember the exact year. Always interesting to get a behind-the-scenes look at how other food and beverage companies operate.
An actual managers’ meeting during the peak of Juice Press. I believe this included our corporate team, store managers, and possibly a few assistant managers. Looking back, we had way too much management, too many layers, and far too much overhead. We were bleeding cash. The company was growing, but so was the bureaucracy, and we were building an expensive management structure that the business couldn't financially support.
Sean Edelman, who ran our Juice Press kitchen in Long Island City. We're laughing because we'd just been talking shit about Peter Kay, and then Sean went ahead and called Peter. The sad truth is that we all took turns bad-mouthing each other. What a shitty workplace culture. Instead of working together, people were working against one another, pointing fingers, assigning blame, and creating unnecessary conflict. I recall much of that culture was a product of Michael Karsch. He liked us infighting.
Alain Palinsky, my brother from another mother. He joined Juice Press during construction of our first East 1st Street store, investing $15,000. Two years later, Michael Karsch bought his equity for $1.3 million. Alain had originally offered it to my dad for $800,000, but I didn't want my father owning more equity, so I got Karsch to pay the higher price. Not bad for a $15,000 investment! Alain is great.
I ate ten of these every single day because I was convinced they would protect me from foodborne illness. And guess what? I never got sick. At the time, I considered my experiment a tremendous success. Whether it was science, coincidence, or sheer luck, I couldn't tell you. This was a Juice Press product.
We needed a water product at Juice Press, so I came up with this ridiculous idea. We bought enormous crystals, dropped them into a giant 90-gallon water hopper, let them sit there, and then filtered the water before bottling it.
The concept was crystal-infused water. Looking back, I have no idea what I thought the crystals were supposed to accomplish, other than giving us a marketing story. The product was a complete failure.
This was a complicated two-head piston filler with a conveyor belt that cost us about $50,000. It never worked for our needs. A complete waste of money. All told, we spent roughly $150,000 making expensive mistakes trying to find the right equipment to bottle our juice. One of many costly lessons in food manufacturing.
One of the ridiculous Instagram posts I made for Juice Press. Michael Karsch absolutely loved this one. Looking back, it's so incredibly cheesy. Apparently, this was one of those rare occasions when my creative instincts and Michael's taste were perfectly aligned. Not sure that's something to brag about.
Before Michael Karsch started taking down my crazy artwork, I had this hanging in a few Juice Press stores. Back then, I didn't give two fucks if people were offended. That was my arrogant style. Looking back, maybe Karsch was right to remove some of this stuff. Not every creative impulse needs to end up on a retail wall.
This was a Wall Street article about Michael Karsch. I hung copies of it in our Juice Press stores and then took the liberty of decorating them myself. Apparently, I couldn't resist turning a serious piece of financial journalism into my own little art project. Not exactly the corporate tribute he probably had in mind.
my beautiful and lovely wife teresa.
An actual sign I made and posted in 50 stores. 'IF YOU CALL IN SICK FREQUENTLY ENOUGH TO BURDEN OUR MANAGEMENT YOU RISK LOSING YOUR JOB.
A plastic gift card i made. fun.
Behind me is a giant sign advertising some truly shitty Juice Press sweatshirts we were desperately trying to unload on the public. Another brilliant merchandising idea that probably should never have made it past the drawing board. Sometimes retail is less about selling what people want and more about figuring out what the hell to do with the stuff nobody wants.
Novak Djokovic and Michael Karsch together after the US Open. A little piece of Juice Press history. Djokovic approached us about doing something together in Cannes, and then, as I remember it, tried to poach Sean Edelman, our head of kitchen, from Juice Press. Apparently, he liked our food and our talent enough to want both. Quite a funny chapter in the Juice Press saga.
These are most of the postcards that survived the great whitewashing of Juice Press branding. It was a logistical nightmare, and looking back, actually pretty funny. We had an absurd number of postcards piled up in the basement of our 22nd Street location. There were so many that we had to create an entire distribution system just to get them out of the basement and into the stores. What started as a creative marketing idea turned into a full-blown warehouse operation. Only at Juice Press.
This was a good seller.
Me and social media influencer, Casey Neistat, and the owner of a cross-training gym.
Michael Karsch on day trip to Block Island on one of our wonderful investor's very big yacht.