Cereal
& Such
How a 6×9 shed in Los Angeles became a nationwide cereal brand — and what behavioral observation, stealth testing, and community design had to do with it.
A workspace.
An accident.
A sensation.
In January 2017, I sketched an idea on paper — a 6×9 shed with cereal dispensers, a serving window, a circular rug. I wanted a place to work and entertain friends without them feeling bored. There was no business plan. There was no pitch deck.
Eater LA
changed everything.
Within weeks of opening, Eater LA covered it. I hadn't planned for that. What I built for myself suddenly became something for everyone. Because I went somewhere others weren't willing to go, I somehow produced a completely unique response.
The intersections between two people who would never interact — now connecting over a bowl of cereal — that was the magic. I loved cereal growing up. I wanted to create a world where I could connect with others who did too, and experience that sense of nostalgia together. It became something far larger than that.
Selling someone
else's cereal
wasn't enough.
As the bar grew — partnerships with Nike, Footaction, Beats By Dre, Michelle Obama's When We All Vote foundation — something became clear to me. The identity, the culture, the community was entirely Cereal & Such. But at my core, I was a wholesaler. I was essentially selling someone else's business.
I wanted to fully own every aspect of what I was building, not just the identity and branding, but the cereal itself. I knew the audience. I understood the palate. And I knew that while things were going well, I had to move before the public became fixated on the bar as a fixture. It was still a living, breathing thing. And there was more to accomplish.
What people
ordered — not
what they said.
At the bar I had six cereal containers, each a different flavor — chocolate, peanut butter, marshmallow, cinnamon, and a random flavor based on the season. I watched without asking. Almost every order skewed toward chocolate or cinnamon. That told me everything I needed to know.
I knew that if I asked people directly, they'd skew toward telling me what they thought I wanted to hear — they knew me from the Eater article and they knew the brand. So I didn't ask. I just observed. That instinct turned out to be the most important research decision I made.
Three boxes on a wall.
One sticker each.
I made mockups of three different cereal box designs and mounted them in my gallery. I asked people passing through to place a sticker on the box they liked most. I already knew which box I was going to select — but it was great insight to see why people preferred what they preferred, and it kept them engaged as I prepared to launch something significant.
This is preference testing. I ran it not because I was uncertain, but because real signal is always worth having — and because it made the community part of something they didn't yet fully know was coming.
The product
spoke for itself.
The cereal launched in Fall 2019 alongside Cereal Sounds — a compilation album I put together with numerous other artists who were connected in some way to me and the cereal. Using my musical vehicle to bring two worlds together was something I always wanted to do. It was very natural.
Ironically, our biggest wholesaler turned out to be a package-free store. A store that promotes product quality over packaging and sells purely on taste. That validated everything. It's not the packaging or any outside influence — the cereal is actually good. That was the point from the beginning.
What this taught
about design.
I never called this a UX project while I was doing it. But every decision I made — watching what people ordered instead of asking, testing packaging on a gallery wall, building the community's investment before announcing the launch — reflects how I naturally approach problems. It turns out that's what good product thinking looks like.
I am an artist driven by insatiable curiosity. I go where others are unlikely to want to go. And what I've learned is that following your own interest, coupled with a drive and keen observation, can lead to unimaginable heights. My journey here speaks to that.
