My daughter had been buzzing about visiting Anmé in NYC for weeks. So, we decided to make it happen—a quick day trip from Baltimore to New York, just the two of us. Her excitement was contagious, making the three-hour drive fly by. This was the final activity on her summer bucket list, and we were both thrilled to check it off.
When we arrived, though, we found ourselves greeted by a line that stretched down the block. It was Smiski’s birthday celebration, and half of New York seemed to have the same idea as us. We joined the queue and settled in for the wait.
As we waited, the girl in front of us turned around with a smile and asked if we wanted to see her collection of Sonny Angels—those naked, incredibly cute, collectible baby figurines that are wildly popular. She explained each figure in detail—the series, the condition, and her love for them evident in every word. We admired her collection but didn’t buy anything, not yet. She tucked them carefully back into her case, and we kept chatting if only to pass the time.
Then she shared her story. She’s a Dreamer—not just in the aspirational sense, but in the immigration sense. Brought to the U.S. undocumented at the young age of three, she’d been working at Trader Joe’s until her work permit renewal was delayed in June. Without it, she couldn’t work, so she started selling her belongings, including her Sonny Angels, and picking up photography gigs for friends to get by until her paperwork came through.
The more we talked, the more her story echoed in my mind. Here was a young woman, doing everything she could to stay afloat while holding onto her dreams. And then there was the store ahead, packed with the collectibles my daughter had been looking forward to. The question hit me: Should we buy from this bustling store, or support a young dreamer with big dreams?
The answer was obvious. I turned to my daughter and asked what she thought about buying a few Angels from the girl in front of us. Without a second thought, she nodded. We stepped out of line, found her, and picked out a few of her Sonny Angels. Her smile was immense, and in that moment, I knew we had made the right choice. It wasn’t just about a purchase; it was about seeing someone’s struggle and choosing to make a small difference.
We never set foot in Anmé. My daughter didn’t get the thrill of unboxing a Sonny Angel from the store. We didn’t check off that last bucket list item. But we walked away with something much more valuable—a lesson on empathy, connection, and choosing to support others. Funny how sometimes, the things that truly fill us up aren’t the ones that go in our bags.
