a little something on the house!!!
In celebration of the new website, I'm offering $100 off Side Note Sessions or $500 off Atelier with code PULLUPACHAIR.
But I’m not going to do that.
Instead, I’m going to give you the real, human story. Because what kind of human-first, hospitality-focused, live-and-breathe-your-brand strategist would I be if I gave you just another me-and-all-my-marketing-speak About page?
BUSINESS IS HUMAN. THIS IS PERSONAL.
(So let’s get personal.)
This is the part where I should tell you that you're in the right place.
LET'S WORK TOGETHER, LIKE, YESTERDAY
human-first, hospitality-focused brand strategist
And while I fall more deeply in love with that identity with each passing day (and with each perfectly aligned project), that’s not even close to the most captivating part of this story.
How I ended up here, creating jaw-dropping brands for equally jaw-dropping clients like you, still baffles me.
How does a professional singer/songwriter in Nashville end up as a lucky-as-lucky-gets brand strategist in Iowa?
I'm Natascha— a Brand Designer and Strategist specializing in taking businesses from pretty little things to pretty darn undeniable.
hey, hi, hello
very much
Well... moonlighting.
‘Director of Ops’ for a music licensing company (and
wondering what I was doing with a title like that at the age of 21), walking random people’s dogs, and of course, gigging — just to keep a roof over my head.
I didn't have two dimes to rub together, much less to pay somebody to design my album artwork or creative-direct my music videos. So, I did what I always do when something feels impossible: rolled up my sleeves, greased up my elbows, grabbed my laptop, and built it myself.
Before my design days, I spent years trying to turn art into rent money: writing songs, making records of said songs, touring, and praying for publishing deals.
As an independent artist, I had two choices when it came to building my own brand: sell my soul or figure out how to do it myself. (Bet you know which option I chose.)
I was working five jobs as it was— braving the crowds at Nashville institution Frothy Monkey, nannying the sweetest little boys this side of the sun, wearing the title
Before my days I spent years trying to turn art in rent money: writing songs, making records of said songs, touring, and praying for publishing deals.
As an independent artist, I had two choices when it came to building my own brand: sell my soul or figure out how to do it myself. (Bet you know which option I chose.)
I was working five jobs as it was —braving the crowds at Nashville institution Frothy Monkey, nannying the sweetest little boys this side of the sun, wearing the title ‘Director of Ops’ for a music licensing company (and wondering what I was doing with a title like that at the age of 21), walking random people’s dogs, and of course, gigging — just to keep a roof over my head.
I didn't have two dimes to rub together, much less to pay somebody to design my album artwork or creative-direct my music videos. So, I did what I always do when something feels impossible: rolled up my sleeves, greased up my elbows, grabbed my laptop, and built it myself.
(but we'll get to that.)
Turns out, I wasn’t half bad at designing, and other artists soon started to notice that I was doing all my own creative work, so…
They began asking me to design their album art, their merch, their music video concepts… & thus, the moonlighting began. I would quite literally get off stage, pack up my guitar, and hit the laptop to crank out design after design well into the wee hours of the night.
But moonlighting isn't actually moonlighting if you feel more yourself in your secondary thing than your primary thing, is it now?
I was sitting at my tiny kitchen table in my shoebox of a house— bundle of blue hydrangeas on one side, half-finished puzzle on the other— working yet another side gig as director of marketing for a therapy-focused agency.
Somewhere between emails and existential dread, I caught myself thinking, “what is actually going to create a sustainable lifestyle?” I immediately buried the thought (treason! blasphemy!).
But some thoughts demand to be thought again… and again.
While I haven’t totally closed the door on my music (it still sneaks its way into my work all the time!), I’ve realized that the same creative spark that made me a songwriter is what now makes me a meaning-maker (AKA, a brand strategist).
Nothing delights me more than helping other entrepreneurs build meaningful brands—and lives—that feel as spacious and creatively vibrant as mine (finally) does.
The throughline was never music. It was meaning.
This work used to be just a little rent-paying after-hours experiment. Now, Moons and Things represents the “what if?” window my clients experience — where everything feels a little impossible and farfetched, but they choose to bet on themselves (and me!) and shoot for the moon, anyway.
And moonlighting became shoot for the moon.
so, moons & things co. was born
But where is 'here' exactly?
there you have it— the origin story that got us here
If we were sitting at my kitchen table right now— candles lit, my weekly sourdough baking in the oven, old apron I’ve been meaning to replace acting as my outfit of the day— these are the things you’d probably learn about me as a human, being.
But where is 'here' exactly?
there you have it— the origin story that got us here
If we were sitting at my kitchen table right now— candles lit, my weekly sourdough baking in the oven, old apron I’ve been meaning to replace acting as my outfit of the day— these are the things you’d probably learn about me as a human, being.
I certainly wouldn’t need to tell you about Retro and Thrift, my two rescue pitties (lovingly nicknamed “The Fellas”), who run my household and cameo in my life more than I cameo in theirs, because they’d be resting by your feet, winning you over one puppy dog look at a time.
I’d probably be fresh out of a yoga class (or practicing tree pose in my kitchen), still going on about becoming a vinyasa instructor and slowly building a “half-career” devoted to helping veterans, first responders, and prenatal bodies feel safe and supported again.
At some point, we’d start talking about food — sourdough, tomato sauce, whatever’s currently taking over my freezer — and how standing in my kitchen for hours feels oddly meditative.
You’d notice how animated I get when I talk about thrifting, antiquing, and my lifelong commitment to unsuspecting aesthetics (dirty dishes in good light count).
You’d also learn that I’m a chronic hobbyist, an obsessive reader of three books at once, a devoted BBC and BritBox consumer, and someone who can’t leave the house without sunglasses unless a little mental breakdown is on the books for the day.
Finally, you’d discover the hard way that I drink whiskey on the rocks (you don’t want any?), tear up a little bit at beautiful light (other creatives do this, too, right?), and love mowing my own lawn (my someday husband will be the one putting the duvet cover on, thank you very much… the lawn’s mine).
All of this— the rituals, the noticing, the care — is the same energy I bring to my work.
I don’t separate how I live from how I build. The way I host humans in my home is the same way I host my clients in my studio: thoughtfully, intentionally, with open arms and room to breathe.
A place where nothing is an afterthought and everything’s on purpose.
HOST ME NEXT, PLEASE & THANKS
I’m a documentarian at heart.
That instinct lives at the center of my work. Every brand I build is a record. A reflection of who you are right now, designed with enough care and clarity to carry you forward into whatever comes next.
I’m drawn to marking moments in time, no matter the medium. Capturing what something feels like while it’s still alive and evolving. Paying attention to the nuance, the texture, the in-between — the things that tend to slip by unless someone is really looking.
When I think about the common thread between everything I do (brand designer, (copy)(song)writer, chronic hobbyist…) it’s this:
