Vallory Feature Interview
Cherie Marquez
Co-founder of Vallory & Founder of cMedia collective
Before Vallory was a platform, it was a conversation — a quiet reckoning between two friends, both single mothers, both entrepreneurs, both tired of pretending we had to be someone we weren’t. Cherie Marquez, my co-founder and one of the most grounded, luminous humans I know, is the kind of woman who turns loss into legacy. A Hawai’i native who moved to California with her daughter and a dream, she built cMedia collective from the ground up, centering authentic stories and underrepresented voices.
When the Palisades fire took everything — her home, her belongings, her sense of safety — she didn’t crumble. She created space. Space for grief. For truth. For something new.
That something became Vallory.
Together, we realized we weren’t saleswomen — we were storytellers. And the stories we wanted to tell weren’t always pretty or polished. They were real. About bodies, burnout, motherhood, healing, and hope. This interview is a love letter to that journey — and to the woman who helped make it possible.
Let’s start at the beginning. What did growing up in Hawai’i teach you about strength, resilience, or what really matters?
When you grow up in Hawai’i, you are surrounded by different colors and cultures. Everyone is welcome. That sense of belonging—of being part of something bigger than yourself—taught me that real strength comes from community. You learn resilience not just by toughing things out alone, but by leaning on one another, giving freely, and showing up. Hawai’i also teaches you what really matters: relationships, respect, and living with intention. Aloha isn’t just a greeting—it’s a value system. It’s about care, presence, and humility, and it’s shaped how I lead, how I build, and how I live.
You moved to California with just your daughter and a dream. What was the hardest part — and what kept you going?
Honestly, it wasn’t really hard. California has always felt like a second home to me. The 72 degree weather year-round doesn’t hurt either. It’s hard not to feel hopeful when the sun’s always shining. I was excited to show my daughter what opportunity looks like, to let her grow up in a place where big ideas feel possible. There was a calm confidence in the move—like I knew we were exactly where we were supposed to be. That peace, that energy, is what kept me going.
Was there a moment when you thought, “I’m not sure I can do this”? And what helped you push through?
There were definitely moments where I thought, “This would be so much easier if my family were here to help.” Doing it alone, especially as a mom, can feel heavy at times. But I reminded myself why I came. I didn’t move to play it safe—I moved to build something meaningful. That reminder, plus my daughter watching everything I do, was more than enough to keep me moving forward.
What has single motherhood taught you about leadership — in life and in business?
At first, people feel sorry for you or assume that single motherhood is some kind of disadvantage, like you’re automatically struggling or limited. But what they don’t see is the strength, clarity, and focus it builds. It sharpens you. You don’t have time to waste, so your boundaries get stronger, your intuition gets louder, and your leadership becomes more intentional. I’ve built a life and a business not in spite of being a single mom but because of it. It’s not a weakness. It’s a superpower.
How has your relationship with your daughter shaped the way you lead cMedia?
I learn the most from her. The way I show up for her is the same way I show up for my team and my clients. I try to be present, honest, protective, and encouraging. She has taught me the value of listening deeply, leading with compassion, and creating space for people to grow into their full potential. I want her to see that leadership is not about control. It is about clarity, consistency, and care.
What are the lessons you hope she carries from watching you build something from scratch?
Be kind to people, you never know what they are going through.
Make mistakes. Be upset or sad if you need to—it’s healthy to feel your emotions. Learn from it, but then pick yourself up and keep going.
Losing your home in the Palisades fire is a grief most people can’t imagine. What did that experience strip away — and what did it reveal?
Losing my home in the Palisades fire stripped away any illusion of control. One minute everything feels secure, and the next it is gone. It forced me to let go of the idea that safety comes from things. What it revealed was how deeply community matters. People showed up in ways I will never forget. I’m still in the process of finding my strength. I don’t have all the answers yet, but I’m learning that resilience doesn’t always look like holding it all together. Sometimes it looks like simply showing up each day and being willing to try. I may not have the answer, but I’m trying.
In the wake of that loss, what helped you rebuild your sense of home — both physically and emotionally?
I’m still figuring out what a sense of home even means now. They say everything happens for a reason, and while I usually believe that, this one has been harder to make sense of. What I do know is that my purpose in work has shifted. It has made me want to show up differently, to help rebuild my community, to support others however I can, and to find meaning in the aftermath. That is where I am starting. This type of feeling of loss comes in waves.
If you could go back and whisper something to yourself during that time, what would it be?
Great question. I’d probably whisper, “It’s okay that you’re falling apart right now. You don’t have to be strong today.”
cMedia collective is more than a creative agency — it’s a reflection of your belief that everything in life is designed. How does that philosophy show up in the way you lead, create, and connect?
To me, nothing is random. Everything—from a brand’s color palette to the way a story is told—sends a message. cMedia Collective is built on that belief. Design is not just how something looks, it’s how it feels, how it functions, and how it moves people. It’s your story. Everyone’s story is unique, even if you don’t think so.
You’re known for building brands that don’t just look good — they feel like truth. What’s your process for drawing that out of people?
It starts with listening. Not just to what people say, but to what they’re really trying to say. I pay attention to the small things, the offhand comments, the tension points, the things they light up about. I ask a lot of questions. My goal is to help people remember who they are before the world tells them who to be. A lot of that person is in their brand.
What’s one project or moment that reminded you why you do this work?
Most recently, it was a special event called Stack the Shelves for LA wildfire families. What stayed with me was seeing volunteers, who had never met these families, show up with so much care. It was watching strangers become friends. It was holding space for tears without needing to fix them. That day reminded me that this work is about creating moments that connect us and honoring the humanity in all of it. Of course, it hit home and was personal.
Red Moon was our first shared venture — but Vallory came from something deeper. What did creating this platform unlock for you?
Red Moon was where we learned how to build together, but Vallory came from a more personal place. It unlocked a new level of vulnerability for me. It made me ask bigger questions about identity, impact, and how we take up space as women. It pushed me to lead not just from what looks good, but from what feels necessary. Creating Vallory reminded me that some of the most powerful ideas come from lived experience, not just ambition.
Why was it important that Vallory be a space for real talk — especially about the things women often keep quiet?
If we aren’t real, how will our children know what honesty looks like? Vallory had to be a space for real talk because too many women are taught to keep things quiet—our fears, our ambition, our burnout, even our joy. I wanted to create a space where women could tell the truth without apology. Where the messiness was welcome. Because when we speak honestly, we give other women permission to do the same. And that kind of honesty creates real change.
What do you hope women feel when they land on Vallory — even if they only stay for a few minutes?
I hope they feel seen. Even if they only stay for a few minutes, I want something to land, whether it’s a sentence, a story, a moment that makes them feel less alone.
What does power mean to you now — and how has that definition changed over time?
Power used to feel like control. I thought it meant being on top of everything and always having the answer. Now it feels different. It looks like knowing who I am, trusting my voice, and not needing to prove anything. I have learned that you do not need to be the loud one in the group to be powerful. Real power is steady. It is being clear in your values, setting boundaries, and leading with care instead of fear. It is quiet confidence that comes from within.
What’s a truth that took time to learn, but now lives deep in your bones?
That I can trust myself. For a long time, I looked outside for validation, always waiting for someone to tell me I was doing it right. I kept asking for permission. I grew up in a time when we were expected to become someone we may not have wanted to be, to follow paths we weren’t sure were meant for us, or to look a certain way just to fit in. Now, I don’t care. I trust my voice, my choices, and the life I’m building. But it definitely took time to get here.
If you could offer one message to women navigating uncertainty, change, or reinvention — what would you say?
Give yourself permission to start over, even if it’s messy. You don’t have to figure it all out. Sometimes just showing up is enough.
