More Than the Numbers Guy.
On turning 50, reclaiming identity, and building a brand rooted in belonging.
Tomorrow, Brian turns 50.
As he hits this milestone, I’ve been thinking about the long, quiet road he’s walked to get here. Not just as a partner and a dad, but as someone who’s spent a lifetime navigating the world between cultures, identities, industries, and expectations.
A few weeks ago, Brian joined the Modern Minorities podcast with host Raman Sehgal. It was the first time he’d spoken openly about being mistaken for everything but Filipino, about carrying his grandparents’ legacy in his name, and feeling like he was always explaining who he was instead of just being it.
What follows is a reflection on that conversation. Not just the story he shared on the mic, but the one I’ve watched unfold up close. It’s the story of a multiracial kid from Montclair who found his way back to himself, and now makes space for others to do the same.
🎧 Listen to the full conversation on Modern Minorities →
Neither Here Nor There: Growing Up Mixed
“I can look like many things. But flat out, I’m a Filipino American.”
He was born Brian Robertson Reid in New York City and raised in Montclair, New Jersey, with a Filipina mother and a white father from upstate New York. “All my brothers have the whitest names—Gregory Donald, Kenneth William —and me: Brian Robertson Reid.”
The food was there. The stories were there. But the language wasn’t. “My parents didn’t teach me,” Brian said. There weren’t many other Filipino families around. “I only had one Filipino kid in my kindergarten class and I was always kind of having to explain it to people. People didn’t really understand it.”
It was a pattern that kept repeating, especially because of how he looked. “I would also get mistaken for other races all the time,” he said. “Some people are really cool. Others are like, ‘You’re white’ or ‘You’re Asian.’ I get that all the time.”
For multiracial kids, that ambiguity is familiar and exhausting. You’re rarely seen fully. You’re whatever others decide you are in the moment. And usually, it’s whatever identity is least convenient.
The First Time He Felt Seen
The shift didn’t happen overnight, but college was the beginning. Brian joined the Philippine Society of Boston College (PSBC). “I saw there was PSBC… so I went ahead and checked it out. I was like, wow, I’m drinking a beer with another Filipino my age.”
And yes, that’s where we met. At a Filipino club picnic.
He was finally in spaces where he didn’t have to explain himself. But even then, there were layers. “Some Filipinos didn’t want to integrate into those events so much. There was still that barrier,” he said. “BC as a whole is pretty preppy. So there was always that…”.
That tension, that feeling of still not quite fitting, even when you’re technically among your own, is something both of us have wrestled with over the years. And it’s shaped how we raise our kids.
What We Want Our Kids to Know
Brian and I are raising two Filipino American teenagers in New York City. From the start, we knew we wanted their experience to be different than ours.
“Our first step was really to teach our kids to be proud to be Filipino,” Brian said. “And also to teach them the importance of visibility and representation.”
We’ve always shared our own questions and contradictions with them—the food, the ancestry, the reasons behind our names. “Filipinos are already so many different races,” he said. “I can tell you—I have Chinese, Malay, Spanish. And then my father’s side is Anglo, Scottish, German.”
We don’t have it all figured out, but we’re trying to model what it looks like to stay curious—and proud.
From Wall Street to Cannabis
Brian initially dreamed of becoming a history professor. But when he was stuck with a student loan, he decided to pursue a career in finance. For two decades, Brian worked on Wall Street. He was one of the first Filipinos to make partner at a multibillion-dollar hedge fund. While he learned a lot, it took a toll on his body. “I got up to 270 pounds doing it,” he said. “The lifestyle is not healthy, but I needed to make money. And I needed to learn how stuff worked.”
He didn’t want to go into Wall Street. But he did it. And he did it well.
Eventually, I nudged him toward cannabis. At first, he thought I was crazy. But he dove in, learned the industry, owned a part of a packaging company, helped raise money for the first woman-owned license in Massachusetts. And by 2022, we launched Dear Flor.
The goal wasn’t just to start a company—it was to show what’s possible when Filipino stories, flavors, and founders take up space.
“I really think the time is now for Filipinos—across the board,” Brian said. “It’s literally like shaking up a bottle… and then it explodes.”
Building a Brand, Reclaiming a Culture
We didn’t just start Dear Flor because we love ube and mango and buko pandan (though we really do). We started it because we believe cultural visibility is infrastructure.
“The more people see Filipinos, the more it becomes mainstream,” Brian said. “When we were in San Francisco, we didn’t even have to explain our flavors.”
That’s not nothing. It’s a small but powerful shift—from having to explain who you are, to just being seen.
And for Brian, that shift isn’t just personal—it’s generational. “Under 18, 62% of the children of Filipinos are multiracial,” he said. “Which is why I think it’s important to start having folks like me talk.”
What He Wishes He Could Go Back and Say
When Raman asked Brian what he’d say to his younger self, he paused.
“Actually, it would be something to tell my mom,” he said. “She once taught a Filipino cooking class at the local King’s supermarket. Made the paper and everything. I wish she kept doing that.”
As for himself? “I’ve always been into all that. Just latch on. Be a sponge.”
Fifty Looks Good on You
Fifty isn’t just a milestone—it’s a marker of growth, clarity, and momentum. Brian didn’t arrive at this moment by accident. He earned it—through years of doing the hard work, not just in business, but in identity, fatherhood, and self-acceptance.
And if you know Brian, you know he’s not big on attention. But I can’t think of a better way to celebrate him than by sharing his story and his voice..
Happy birthday, Brian. You’ve always belonged. I’m glad the world is finally catching up.
So yes, it’s Brian’s birthday. And in true Filipino fashion, he’s not asking for gifts. He’s giving one.
To celebrate Brian’s birthday and Father’s Day, we’re kicking off our Founding Father’s Day Sale.
👉 Buy any 2 bags of gummies, get 1 FREE
That’s $90 worth of gummies for just $60!
🧡 Runs through Sunday, June 15
🚫 No code needed
🎁 Discount applied at checkout
Happy Birthday, Brian!!! 🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂