From the Founder: Mena Lazar

I co-founded Six Apart nearly 25 years ago. 

That’s when, in 2001, my then-husband and I released a blogging platform called Movable Type (followed by a bunch of other stuff, but that’s not what this story is about).

In the beginning, blogging’s value was simple.

It connected people with shared interests—no matter how niche—and gave people an outlet to express their creativity. In  these early days, people were mostly nice to each other and I was proud to have built part of the foundation for this new world.

But I also saw some downsides. In 2006, I gave a TED talk about blogging. I said that if blogging (ultimately, social media) was going to work — really work — we were going to have to take accountability for how we behaved. We had to be better than trolls. Because if we weren’t, and if we didn’t act like real people with real consequences, then whatever we built was going to reflect the worst of us.

Unfortunately, that TED talk turned out to be prescient. 

By 2007, I saw the writing on the wall with how the internet was going to evolve. I also happened to have my first child that year. So I stepped away.

No “pivot.” No “next launch.” I raised kids and stayed the hell out of tech. I made things with my hands. Over time, I remarried and had two more children—life pulled me in a different direction, and I joyfully let it. Meanwhile, Six Apart had its best days behind it, and that part of my life went from my present to my distant past.

And yet I struggled. If you have ever gone from entrepreneur to full-time parent then you know. Of course I found meaning in my family. But as the internet became less civil and I became more disconnected from it, I didn’t know where I fit in. Being a tech entrepreneur had been my identity and now I had no idea what I wanted to do professionally.

But what I did know I wanted was something that had meaning. That connected and helped people. Something that felt like those early days of blogging. And something that was authentic to me, where I was the right person for the job.

I’m excited to announce that I’m building something again – this time, not for scale, not for headlines and not for the big payout. Six Apart didn’t make me rich, but the path that followed showed me what I actually want to build. The goals for the business are simple: break even, make a local impact, support sustainability, and bring people a little joy.

It’s called SPARE and stands for Sustainable Provisions for Art, Reuse and Education. And it’s a non-profit brick and mortar shop.

Like other creative reuse stores, we will collect and resell secondhand sewing, craft, and art supplies at low cost. We want to reduce waste, support teachers and students, and make creative materials more accessible for everyone. Down the road, we would like to award grants to educators in the arts and offer classes to both children and adults.

It’s not lost on me how far from the internet this venture is. But the further away I get from technology the more I see the need for tactile, screen-free projects. Tech is so ubiquitous, it’s practically in our water. I think putting some hands-on creativity in the water is pretty important too.

But why me?

If you know me, you may know I used to sew quite a lot. It started with making my own clothes, and then grew to a blog and online community called The Sew Weekly. I also got into historical sewing (i.e. centuries-old fashion), along with all of the different fabrics, techniques, tools and materials that entailed. 

For the last seven years, I have volunteered at The Legacy in Sebastopol, a nonprofit thrift store that helps fund the Sebastopol Senior Center and sells community-donated art, craft, and sewing supplies. It’s the first real job I’ve had since 2010 and I’ve never been paid. Once or twice a week, I drive an hour each way to volunteer—sorting vintage pieces, merchandising the space, answering questions, and designing the window displays. As a kid, I dreamed of becoming an archaeologist or museum curator. That didn’t happen, but this work lets me live out a small part of that dream.

With SPARE, I’m building on everything I learned as a longtime volunteer. I want to make a local difference—something physical and lasting that helps people, supports educators, reduces waste, removes cost barriers for artists, and keeps creativity circulating in my own community.

Everywhere, public education budgets continue to be gutted. It wasn’t until I became a parent of school-aged children that I learned just how much money needs to be raised by parent organizations to fund the basic supplementary non-STEM classes and programs that we all took for granted as children as we begrudgingly made clay ashtrays as gifts for Father’s Day. 

Every teacher is buying their own supplementary supplies. Every artist is tired of heading to Amazon to buy the supplies that they can’t find locally. And everywhere, people are throwing out usable materials because there’s not enough infrastructure for reuse. 

That’s the sustainability and accessibility aspect of SPARE. At the same time, creative expression keeps shifting into digital spaces, and it’s hard not to feel like everything’s moving a little too fast. The rise of AI and other tech is exciting, sure—but it’s also disorienting. SPARE is meant to be a way to slow down and reconnect. To stay grounded in the act of making. There’s something irreplaceable about using your hands—about real tools, real materials, and the satisfaction of creating something tangible. SPARE exists to support that kind of creativity, and to make sure cost and accessibility aren’t barriers.

When technology drains, hands-on creativity replenishes.

It’s not a startup. It isn’t being built to scale. It’s a nonprofit shop. I’m self-funding it because I’ve seen the model work. For the Mena Trott of the Six Apart years, this might look like a sharp shift. It’s not. I’ve always cared about giving people the tools to make things and share what matters. 

This is just what that looks like now.

If this resonates with you, I’d really appreciate your help getting SPARE off the ground. We’re raising crucial funds to open the storefront and cover our first six months of operations, after which we expect to be self-sustaining—and you can donate here. Just as important: if you know someone who should know about SPARE—a teacher, an artist, a business owner, an organizer, or someone at an organization that shares these values—please send them my way. The more people who know what we’re building, the stronger it gets.