"It’s Not Just About Cosmetics—It’s About Economic Sustainability for Us All”: Denyse Nadon on Building a Movement for Healing and Generational Impact
Listen to the episode on Spotify and Apple Podcasts
Listen to the episode on Spotify and Apple Podcasts
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“It’s not just about cosmetics. It’s about economic sustainability for us all.”
Denyse Nadon is the Founder and CEO of Tribalure, a grassroots cosmetics and skincare brand rooted in Ancestral knowledge, ceremony, and community healing honoring the Seven Sacred Teachings of wisdom, love, respect, bravery, honesty, humility, and truth.. An Algonquin woman from the Apitipi (Ah-PEE-tee-pee) Anicinapek Nation, a proud matriarch, Denyse isn’t just redefining beauty—she’s reclaiming it.
Denyse leads Bear Vision Consulting & Training, a 100% Indigenous woman-owned business specializing in cross-cultural education, truth and reconciliation training, and leadership development. With 25 years of experience as an Indigenous adult educator and trainer, she has empowered countless communities through culturally grounded workshops, and keynote addresses.
We’ll be diving into what it means to build a business that’s rooted in identity and storytelling, the power of matriarchal leadership, and why beauty—when done with intention—can be a form of resistance, connection, and self-love.
If you're curious about what it truly means to lead with purpose and build in a way that honours the past, present, and future—this conversation is for you.
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3:30 At just seven years old, Denyse’s life changes when her parents move the family seven hours north to Northwestern Ontario, settling in Ojibwe territory.
4:27 “Whenever you go to new places, you are a visitor.”
4:44 Raised with the values of sport and education.
7:55 Her father encourages experiencing diverse ways of being and seeing the world.
10:57 Guided by her grandmother into cultural spaces.
11:44 Knowledge isn’t just for her — it’s ancestral.
11:55 How come I know what I know? My ancestors.
12:06 Introduced to the idea of blood memory.
13:39 Speaks with care, thinking of the next seven generations, ahead of her.
13:55 Silence is not anger — it’s deep reflection.
14:40 Don’t take my silence as being upset or annoyed- rather, Denyse is in deep reflection.
14:53 Our sacred responsibility is to future generations.
15:00 We must lean on ancestral wisdom to avoid unintended harm.
16:45 “Denyse, you’ve always been special.”
18:03 After her grandmother's passing, she struggles to find direction.
19:02 “I kept walking.”
22:30 Navigating grief without her grandmother (teacher).
23:11 “I am grateful today that I am physically alive.”
23:40 Medicine man helped her through her rough time, placed protection around her and encouraged her to continue to live, share her story and the light within her
25:10 Listen, look, learn, pay attention. Your knowledge keepers are all around you.
25:40 “Pay attention with your skin” For 6-7 years, I paid attention.
27:45 You don’t need 10 or 20 people in your circle. A small, trusted circle is enough.
31:08 In her 50s, Denyse chooses joy and purpose.
31:56 Starts Tribulaure to honor MMIWG.
32:30 Her Aunt Josephine was murdered in 1969 — no justice.
33:48 Guiding teaching: “Words go right to your spirit.”
34:44 We are going to empower, inspire and honor women
35:34 Reflects on why her parents warned her not to “be too visible.”
39:18 “Sitting on Mother Earth, I’m preparing to be an ancestor.”
46:00 “Tribulaure is more than cosmetics — it's about Indigenous economic sustainability.”
47:50 What do Indigenous entrepreneurs need? Capital.
51:48 Denyse built her business with and for her community — true grassroots leadership.
Conversation Transcript
Naomi Haile: I know that your journey has been heavily influenced by the matriarchs in your family—your mother, your Auntie Josephine, Mary Nadon, and Mary Black—so I'd love for you to share with us some context about your early years growing up.
Denyse Nadon: Yeah, absolutely. Thank you, Naomi, for the invite. I've been thinking about this for quite a while since our first conversation and my origin story. I'm the second oldest of five. I was born in Cochrane, Ontario, Northern Ontario, just outside of Timmins. I grew up around my nation, around our people, but one of the things that happened to us was the residential school.
So, when I was about seven years old, my parents decided that it wouldn’t be a very good place for us to grow up with all of that trauma, so they decided to move us. We moved about seven hours away to Northwestern Ontario, where I grew up with my sisters and my two uncles who brought their families. We grew up around the Ojibwe territory, and it's important that I say that because, as an Algonquian woman from Northern Ontario, we have our ancestral lands, and they are really important to us. When I say "ancestral," I speak about seven generations before me who were there.
When you go to new places, I often remind people that wherever you go, you are a visitor. We were raised in the Ojibwe territory as visitors, and growing up in that environment was challenging at times because you're not from there, but you're still Indigenous. We were raised through sports and education, and when you're away from your nation and your family, all you have is just each other, right? I mean, there's nothing wrong with that, but you're still living in a small home—seven of us living there—so you tend to get a little cranky with each other. My parents said, "We need to get these kids out."
So we ended up joining sports. We played ringette, baseball, basketball, curling—you name it. We played it in the little town of Makina, along with Airline First Nation, Kenora, and Longlac 58. We were surrounded by different nations and different groups. A lot of French Canadians were there, so it was really a mixture of a whole bunch of different people.
It was through sports that I actually realized my competitiveness. I am quite competitive, but I'm also a team player, right? So you kind of have to learn both. Being part of that space allowed me to step into the competitive edge, but also to understand that when you don’t come from there, you have to stand up and represent yourself in a different way.
I loved learning. I loved school. I grew up with a residential school survivor, and growing up in that space was really tough. Not only did the survivor mentality come in, but there was no—how do I say this—there was no love. It was straight-up, "Make your bed. Do your dishes." It was a very rigid space that we grew up in.
That led me to school, which I absolutely loved. I loved high school. I loved learning. I would redo my notes every day after class, underlining and highlighting. Not only did sports lead me, but I also started teaching when I was about eight or nine years old. You know how kids play different things outside? Well, I used to play teacher with my siblings. I’d make them sit down in the basement, set up a little board, and teach them. They’d be like, "Aren’t you sick of school, Denyse? We’re in school all the time!" But I just loved school.
I grew up in education and training, but I also spent summers with my grandmother. My parents would take me back to our nation, back to the land. So I had both worlds, which was really cool because, while my parents didn’t want us to lose who we were, ironically, we kind of did—until we grew up a bit. Around 18 or 19, I started to become curious again about who was around me. Why did my family live seven hours away? Why was I living with people I knew but didn’t really know? They were Indigenous, but they weren’t my people. It was an interesting way to grow up.
What I loved about it—and my dad just recently said this to us last week—was that one of the reasons he took us away wasn’t because he didn’t love our family. It was because my parents wanted us to expand our experiences, to see different ways of being, knowing, and understanding the world.
Both my parents were travelers. My mom, well, I guess you could say she was a traveler for a month—going back and forth to the residential school. But my dad, on the other hand, didn’t go to residential school. He traveled everywhere—Montreal, Northern Ontario—just hopping on buses and trains. The things they saw, they wanted their children to see as well. They planted the seed of education as well as the seed of traveling, of seeing different people and different ways of doing things.
So that’s my origin. I grew up with my nation part-time but also with other nations, and that was really helpful because it opened up my learning spirit. It built my confidence. When you’re with your nation, your people, everybody knows you. You can’t pretend to be someone you’re not. They see right through you. But when you're in different spaces, you have to be you, and you have to represent yourself in a certain way.
My parents were very mindful of that. They always said, "Be careful how you walk. You are a visitor here. Represent who we are as Algonquin people, but also represent our family and our matriarchs, our grandmothers."
So I was constantly walking in both worlds. That’s what I liked about living away from my nation. As much as I missed them, I also had the ability and opportunity to go out into the world.
Naomi Haile: Wow. Thank you for sharing your story and also your reflections on your story. It’s very clear that you are intentional and thoughtful, and that you think back to the threads of your life and how they have informed the way you move today.
It’s so interesting that you mentioned your parents as travelers and your dad specifically saying that, as early as he could, he brought you into a new environment to open up your world and your appetite for learning. You know, I hear a lot of people doing that on their own accord once they reach 18 or 19—this idea of moving beyond where they grew up. But the fact that you had that experience before the age of 10, and that it was also informed by standing in your identity, knowing where you come from, and acknowledging that you are a visitor, is something I don’t hear about often.
I think it comes with a level of respect—for yourself, for where you are, and for the people around you. You said so many things that connect really well to what you’re doing today.
I’m curious—you mentioned thinking about seven generations behind you and also the seven generations ahead. How does this philosophy really inform everything you do today? As an educator, as a woman who leads several businesses, how does this position you in spaces that may not think this way? You’re coming into these spaces with this knowledge and this acknowledgment. Can you talk to us a little bit about that philosophy?
Denyse Nadon: Yeah, it's a way of being, right? It's something that I remember growing up with—my grandmother and going to see Mary Black—that was her name. She would bring me on activity and explain and show me these different spaces, different areas. My mother was born on activity, like in the bush. My grandfather was a midwife.
Back then, people thought only women were midwives, but actually, the men were as well. My grandmother would take me to all these spaces, and she would share—I always thought they were just stories, right? Just, "Oh yeah, there's that place over here. There's this over there. Let me sit around a tap fire and pick blueberries," and she would tell me more stories. Honestly, I just thought it was my grandmother communicating with a 10-year-old little girl.
But it wasn't until I started healing and coming into my own—really listening to my inner voice—you know when you hear stories from way back, and you're like, "What was this about?" Something triggered a thought, and I think it was in my mid to late 20s when all these stories my grandmother told, the stories my parents told me, all sort of came together.
I don’t even categorize it like one morning I woke up and said, "Wow, the things that I know today weren’t just for me." So I started to peel that back—asking myself questions and speaking to elders, saying, "How come I know what I know?" And they said, "It’s because of your ancestors."
A lot of times, as Indigenous people, we know deep down that it's in our blood. They call it blood memory. Everything that happened to your mother, your grandmother, your great-grandmother flows through you—through your blood. They call it blood memory. What that means is that all of the past people before you, especially the seven generations, have come through you to help you stand where you are today.
Sometimes, I don’t know if this happens to you, Naomi, but you say something, and you're like, "Where did that come from?" I strongly believe that’s an ancestor whispering knowledge that you need to share at that particular moment. When I started living in that understanding and listening to those whispers—that’s what I call them, little nudges—you know, when you notice something and a thought or a feeling comes in, I think, "Oh, there’s an ancestor."
Or sometimes, you have to change direction—even when you’re walking—it's like, "No, I shouldn’t go down there. Maybe I’ll take this way instead." I think that’s an ancestor saying, "No, that’s the wrong way. Go this way."
I think about those seven generations behind me, and I situate myself where I am today, at this stage, at this particular time, in the middle of a snowstorm in Treaty 9. I think, "Okay, those seven generations brought me to where I am today. Now I have to formulate all of that knowledge in order to share it with you today, right?"
That’s important—just thinking, "What am I saying, and who’s coming through me to share this knowledge and wisdom with you?" It’s those generations that inform, but then also thinking about the future generations. I have to take time to really think about what I’m saying to you because it will impact the next seven generations ahead of me.
When I think about the spaces I’ve been in—mining negotiations, business negotiations, banks, education institutions—what I’ve noticed over the years is they always want me to make a decision right now.
They’ll look right at me and say, "Well, Denyse has a Master’s in Education. She has something to say, and she can say it right away."
I would find myself going, "Wait a minute. I’m getting whispers. Give me a moment to formulate this." I need to take where I am today, my current situation, and realize that the step I take ahead is going to impact the next seven generations.
Sometimes, in those spaces I go to, people get frustrated and anxious because I’m not saying anything. They’re not certain why I’m not saying something, and they start to worry. They’re like, "Okay, is Denyse upset?"
A lot of times, they take my silence as being upset or annoyed instead of realizing—no, Denyse is in deep reflection. She’s getting all these whispers around her.
The sacred responsibility that I have—or that we all have, I believe—is for the future generations. If we don’t take that moment to acknowledge those whispers or those nudges, whatever you call them, then we make mistakes that aren’t intentional.
So I always say—take that moment. Whether it’s going for a walk or saying, "Hey, let’s park this discussion until I talk to you again," because sometimes I have to put tobacco down. Sometimes, I have to call one of my fine grandmothers or my mother. Or I have to go into my journals and say, "What was I thinking back then?"
It’s a different process, but I think it’s a really important process because it doesn’t just bring what I think into the arena—it brings everybody else's knowledge.
That’s how I see the seven generations behind me, my current situation, and why I always have seven thoughts ahead, right?
Naomi Haile: Wow. When did you start to hear those—you call them whispers? Because I think the first thing that came up for me was the reception that you have to have in your own life to even be able to be in tune with your seven generations before you.
You mentioned blood memory, which I've never heard of in that way before, but the concept of it I’ve heard, understand, and appreciate.
So what do you understand as the work that you've done, Denyse—with Denyse—to be able to hear, be receptive, and be in a place and position where you can be informed by your grandmothers and the people who came before you?
Denyse Nadon: I think it's always been with me. I remember, just like I want to say a year ago, my mother said—this is really ironic because my mom doesn’t say very much, right? She’s a listener, and she likes to watch. But when she does say things, I pay attention.
She said to me, "Oh my God, my girl, you’ve been special ever since you were born—June 14, 1970. I don’t know what happened, but your grandmothers were there, and they saw you, and they said, ‘This baby is special. There’s something about her.’"
How that came to be, I don’t know. It just was there. And I think what happened was my grandmothers, my siblings, my aunties, my uncles, my nations—they grew me into that, you know?
Even to this day, when things happen in our nation or our families, they call me. They're like, "Nyse, what do you think? We need you to come to this meeting. We need you to talk about this."
I think it’s just inherently in us—that blood memory that I speak of. I really believe my grandmother, especially my mom’s mom, Mary, and I had this instant connection, this instant vibe that nothing could break.
She poured everything—all her knowledge and wisdom—into me through all the stories that she shared, all the things that she did, planting all those seeds for me to be able to carry them.
And like I said, I didn’t know what she was talking about half the time. But as I grew older and I started healing—and that was a big piece of it—I knew certain things growing up until she passed when I was 15.
When she passed, I stopped everything, because I remember thinking to myself, "Who’s gonna lead me now? I don’t know who to follow. I can’t follow anybody."
It’s like walking in the snow with snowshoes—you see the tracks, right? And here I am, walking along at 15, and then, boom, the snowshoe tracks are gone.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know if I should turn back—so I didn’t do anything.
That’s when my life took a pretty dark turn.
But then, a person looked at me one day and said, "What are you doing? You need to get back. You have so much wisdom and knowledge. I listen to you in meetings—you pay attention, you read, you write, you’re very thoughtful when you speak. You need to come back."
So that’s when it came to me, and he started helping me with ceremonies again—putting them back in my lap between the ages of 18 and 19.
That’s when things started to pick up again.
So that analogy with the snowshoes—what I realized was that I had to keep going.
So I put my grandmother’s snowshoes on—or maybe my own, I don’t know—and I just kept walking.
But this time, instead of her being in front of me, she was behind me.
She was pushing me—with that energy, with that blood memory.
Whether that blood memory was trauma or healing is irrelevant, because I think we need both, right?
So when I wanted to stop, she would give me a nudge.
If I wanted to turn left, she’d turn me right.
And those are the whispers that I talk about.
I see them everywhere.
I’m like, "Oh," and I pay attention to that.
I think that comes from the healing and the responsibility that we have as Indigenous women.
I’m not only a daughter, a sister, a cousin—I’m also an auntie.
And being an auntie—it’s a very important relationship to their nieces and nephews.
Being an auntie means they tell us everything—their deepest secrets, their fears—all of these things, right?
So when you’re gifted that knowledge and that responsibility for the things that young people share with you, now you have to carry that.
But I can’t do it alone. So that’s where I dig back. I’ll go back and say, "Okay, ancestors, clan, grandmothers, this is what’s been given to me. What do I do?"
Then I’ll go into prayer, or I’ll go for a walk, or I’ll speak to other elders and just kind of use that system.
And then I listen to the youth, right? My actions speak very loud, too, so they’re watching me.
So there’s that back-and-forth knowledge exchange—whether it’s verbal, physical, or not.
We’re constantly watching each other. That’s how I see the seven generations working for me. And they say it’s actually 14, because it’s seven back, seven ahead. But I say—what about me? So I actually use 15. That transfer of knowledge between the two.
And hopefully, I’m doing a good job because, you know, I won’t be here forever. And whatever I’ve given them, they’ll be able to use—to continue those teachings.
Naomi Haile: Wow. When you were sharing about that period after your grandmother passed away—of you not knowing what to do next—you mentioned it was like five to eight years before someone in your community said, "Denyse, you know," and kind of, I guess, spoke life into you and reminded you who you are.
If you feel comfortable sharing, what did that healing journey look like for you after having that conversation—and I’m sure several conversations after that?
I know it wasn’t easy, but maybe you could speak to folks who may today be in that same mindset that you were in—who don’t know what to do next and feel like any move may not be the best one, so they’re frozen. What would you say to them to encourage them to keep going?
Even if it’s small steps that they’re taking, they’re in the right direction, and therefore, they’re good.
Denyse Nadon: Absolutely. For me, when my grandmother passed away, I went crazy—literally. I started drinking. I didn’t grow up with alcohol in my family. I started hanging around the wrong people. I was just kind of lost, right? It was like when your teacher is gone. You’re sitting in a classroom, and you’re like, "Okay, there’s no teacher here," and you don’t know what to do. That’s sort of what I did—the only way I knew how to function.
Because I grew up with residential school, that emotional connection wasn’t there with my mother. That was her mother who had passed, and their relationship had a fracture as well because of residential school. So my mom didn’t know how to deal with me, and because she hadn’t dealt with her own mother, it was just a ball of—it was a mess.
I ended up putting myself in spaces where I knew a couple of people who could see me going down the wrong path. I am literally grateful today that I’m still alive because I was in a bad relationship with a man who choked me so hard that I don’t even know why I’m still here. All I know is there was a bright light, and suddenly, I started breathing.
After that, I was working for an organization, and I came into work with black eyes, blaming it on sports. "Yeah, a ball hit me in the eye," I’d say. But I was a center fielder—I could catch anything, right? People knew I wasn’t telling the truth.
There was a particular gentleman, a medicine man, though I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was that he took a liking to me. He liked listening to me, and I liked listening to him. One day, after I came into work, he saw me and asked, "What happened?" So I told him the truth.
He said, "Okay, Denyse, we’re going to do some ceremony on you." We started getting into ceremony, and he began putting protection over me. He told me, "You have so much more to life. There’s something about you that you need to continue to share. And now that you’re at this age and you have this experience, you need to share, but we need to pull you out of it."
So I went to the elders. I just sat there. That’s all they really want—you don’t even have to talk, they just want you to be around them. I started hanging around the elders, going to those places.
I remember attending a couple of powwows in Thunder Bay. I didn’t know anything about them, and I would show up in a business suit. I wasn’t wearing ribbon skirts or anything like that. I was always on the outside, and I stood there for a long time because we didn’t grow up with those ceremonies, so I wasn’t even sure what they meant.
But the medicine man told me, "Denyse, just listen. Look. Learn. Pay attention. That’s your job."
I remember being in a meeting, and I was going on about young people, saying, "You guys are doing the right things for us, blah, blah, blah." I was 20. He looked at me and said, "Denyse, shut up and listen. That’s your job as young people. You need to shut up and listen. All your knowledge keepers are here. They’re all around you. Pay attention. And I want you to pay attention with your heart, with your third eye, with your ears, with your eyes. Pay attention with your skin—feel it."
So that’s what I did. For about six or seven years, I paid attention. I watched. I went to different spaces. And of course, I found one or two people that I really trusted. When you find people like that, stay with them.
You don’t need 10 or 20 people in your circle. I think I’ve said before—look at who’s sitting at your table.
Naomi Haile: Yeah, that daily commitment.
What you mentioned—I think it’s such a blessing to be that close, connected, and transparent with your family. Your comment about your trusted circle—I think some folks learn that through experience, maybe by not trusting the right individuals, or by opening up to anyone and everyone. But eventually, you know who your people are.
To be able to build with them, to encourage them and be encouraged in return—to be completely honest and yourself. You mentioned the word "authenticity," and I think it’s a gift to have that.
If you can find four or five people, that’s truly a gift.
So I’m wondering, Denyse—you have so many ventures that you’re leading. You mentioned ceremonies in your nation, and over the years, you’ve learned to lead them as well. Could you bring us into your world a little?
Specifically with tribal—what was the origin of wanting to enter into this space and use it almost like a vehicle or a vessel for a greater and more profound purpose?
Denyse Nadon: Absolutely. Tribalure’s been envisioned for over 20 years. It’s something that my former business partner and I wanted to do at the time. Makeup wasn’t on people’s minds, right? Our Indigenous nations were thinking about smoke shops and gas stations. That was their process of entrepreneurship—for us, and racially. So that’s where we were at. But we ended up putting it aside. Then I got into teaching, education, and training. I started going to different nations and started seeing a lot of the violence in our communities, in our families, in our nations. And I was just like—wow, what is going on here?
My role at that time, through Bear Vision Consulting, was to bring empowerment and guidance through experiences—my own personal experience of violence. I thought, if I could get in there and help people, and show them that I’m living proof that you can actually make it with the right support around—that wasn’t enough. I started realizing I was getting tired. It’s an emotional place to put yourself in, you know, when you’re constantly talking about healing and listening to people’s stories. And it was taking me away from home a lot. So I thought—what am I going to do for the next half of my life? I’m in my mid-50s. I want to do joy. I was doing the hard lifting—the emotional, hard lifting of our nations. So I was getting to know myself again. And I’m like—well, I’m still excited, and I’m an advocate for the Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women and Girls, and I’m still all of this. But how do I do that, stay in it, but in a different way?
And so I decided to bring back Tribalure. MMIWG was still there. Just a couple of days ago, they found a 14-year-old Indigenous girl, Emily, from the United States. Fourteen. And I’m like—my God, it’s still happening, right? It’s those types of stories that led me to Tribalure. I remember when we had all our cosmetics laid out. I remember exactly where I was. I was looking at them, and I chose red specifically because I knew—I knew that I loved red, and I knew what it meant for me. It was our women and girls. I didn’t put everything together right away. I just went with red first. And I was looking at things, and I was like—there’s something missing. What are women going to put their makeup in? So I designed that—the red legs kit, the MMIWG kit, with the handprint. It’s involved. It’s a beautiful mirror.
And I thought about my Auntie Josephine. Josephine was murdered in 1969 in Northern Ontario. It was brutal, and nothing was done. So I connected her to that. I said—You know what, Auntie, you may not be here physically with us, but you’re not forgotten. As a family, we actually went through the MMIWG reports. We did all the things we had to do—tried to open the case and get some justice. But all they said to us was, “Continue to pray.” And I’m like—okay, we need a bit more than prayer, right? Because of who we are as Indigenous women and girls, and the impact it was having on everybody. I just couldn’t sit back. I was protesting. I was marching. I was doing all those things prior to Tribalure. But I guess I was getting tired.
And I’m a firm believer in words. My grandmother used to say to me—my nickname is “Baby” with her—and she’d say, “Baby, watch your words. Watch how you talk. Your words are your most powerful weapon.” That’s always been in the back of my mind. So when I speak, I’m like—okay, I mean, I’m still human, I will have my moments—but for the most part, I’m very gentle. I’m like—watch what I say, because I could really hurt somebody. My grandmother said, “The words go right to your spirit, and once they get to your spirit, they change everything about you.” That’s been my guiding teaching.
So when I look at the words MMIWG—Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women and Girls—I thought, no, I need to reframe this. And I decided to reframe it through the cosmetics world. I’m the type of person—when I’m feeling it, I won’t dress up. I’ll lay down. I put myself in some pretty compromising situations when I wasn’t in a good place. And to get out of that space—to find balance—I would shout, I would fix my hair, put makeup on, and I would feel better. I would find myself naturally gravitating towards those positive spaces. That always stuck with me. Even during hard times, I would still get myself up.
So I thought—Tribalure, that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to empower, inspire, and honor our past women that have been taken, our girls, our women today, and then in hopes that it’ll help the seven generations. That seventh—seven generations—always guide me. So MMIWG happened. And when it was happening, I was part of it. I didn’t even know I was part of it. I didn’t know my auntie was taken. All I knew was that my parents were very protective. I had two sisters, and they didn’t want us to wear makeup. They didn’t want us to show up. They wanted us to be really quiet.
I used to get upset—why can’t I wear makeup? So I would sneak it in my bag, put it on the bus, put on makeup, and take it off when I got home. Put my “ugly” clothes on. But I would always show up. I didn’t want my parents to be upset, but I didn’t know why. When I found out my auntie was taken—my dad’s sister—it all came to me. My dad, my mom—they were so afraid that their daughters were going to be murdered. That’s not a way to live. We should not be living in fear.
So that’s where Tribalure literally came from. It rose from that foundation—that our women and girls have a right to represent their nature, their ancestors, represent themselves, and know that they’re representing the future generations however they choose. And I know when I put on my makeup, I think about all our women. I know how it makes me feel. I feel empowered. I feel beautiful. I feel like I can show up in those spaces. I get shy sometimes when people look at me, depending on what I’m wearing. But I walk through it and say—you know what, there’s that whisper, there’s my grandmother pushing me again.
And I’ll share a story with you. I went to Paris in October for Cosmetics360. This is Tribalure getting out there. I’m not sure what’s going to happen yet, but I planted the seed. When I went, I wanted to represent through my clothing as well. So I had one of my friends, Amanda Fox, do a ribbon suit for me. It has my sacred colors attached to it. I remember that morning because I was doing a presentation on opportunity in Shabiquay and how we see beauty in the industry. I walked out in my ribbon suit, my jewelry, my makeup, my hair—and I swear to God—and this is me being humble, not doing anything—I swear everybody stopped. And I was so shy. I felt scared. I felt anxiety. I didn’t want anybody to look at me. I turned my body to the right because I wanted to go back into my group. And something stopped me. It was like a nudge. A little shove. And it was just me walking—and it was a half-hour walk too. It wasn’t a two-minute walk. I was like—I don’t know if I can do this. But I kept feeling those beautiful, gentle nudges. And I swear—I do know—it’s my grandmothers and the matriarchs going, “No, you need to go. You need to represent. You’re the only one here now, but you’re not going to be the only one forever.”
Sometimes I think about Tribalure, and the foundational reason why I’m doing it—to open that door. To open it a bit so that more of our Indigenous women and girls, all women and girls, walk through that door knowing they belong. That they belong there. And take up that space with humility, strength, wisdom, and teachings. I think it’s beautiful. I look at where I’m at now. In the last two and a half years of Tribalure—it’s been a beautiful journey. It’s been ups and downs and all the way around. The most foundational piece is our women and girls. That’s never going to change. Wherever this goes, it goes. All I know is I’m still here, talking. I’m sharing the story more and representing—representing our women and girls as best as I can, for now, until the next generation. I can’t wait for that day—to hand it over and say, “It’s your turn.” I’ll take my rightful place as an Elder, a Clan Grandmother, and then an Ancestor.
And that is one thing I want people to really think about—when it comes to ancestors. When I sit here on Mother Earth physically, I’m actually preparing to be an ancestor. We all are. If you really think about that—that’s quite heavy and quite deep. But I think if we could do that for ourselves in that space, things will change. Things are changing.
Naomi Haile: It has to change, and I’m sitting here listening to every single word that you’re saying, but also what’s underneath it. You have such a powerful way of speaking, Denyse, and when you say that you’re preparing to be an ancestor—yeah, I was thinking about what that means. I’m internalizing what you’re saying. I’m thinking about what that means today, and also how that would inform how you move, the decisions that you make, and how—it’s not about you, really, you know? It’s about your community. It’s about the people who are not even here yet, but are coming.
And yeah, I can definitely understand how that would inform the ways that you engage with young people, the ways that you mentor, and how you think about the longevity of the things that you’re building, right?
Denyse Nadon: Yeah, and I honestly believe the world is coming to that space, you know, in just little pockets with the truth and reconciliation. I had an opportunity to do that webinar with the National Women's Council of Canada. They let us do it, and instead of me presenting the truth and reconciliation in a written document form that’s out there, I said to them, there are two different worldviews here. We have an Indigenous worldview and we have a non-Indigenous worldview. Now one is written, and one is soul—or sacred, spiritual.
Now imagine if we were to bring those two worldviews together without actually asking each other to compromise. And that's what we tend to do. You know, I've seen it in my nation as well, where we're like, "Oh no, this is the only way to do it." But I'm like, "No, there's not." We can look at those worldviews and bring them together and take the best of what we want. This place—this place would be so much better.
And I think it's getting there. Like, I have to—have to have hope. And I also have to pick up our ancestors, right? I know what I know today because of them. I'm physically here on this earth for a purpose because I'm going to go back into the earth and shape, I guess, or inform the decisions of the ones coming ahead of me—the next generation. So if you really think about it, it's full circle. The teachings that the ancestors have for them—they, I'm sure they have these things. We know they have these things, and they prepared us to date to be able to handle them, right?
And so the more that we come together like this, the more that we talk, the more that we're open about the situations that we find ourselves in—I think the better off we'll all be for the next generations who are going to be standing. Like, think about the ancestral nudges, the whispers. Just think, Langley, that's going to be us. We're going to be whispering and nudging our people from within the earth. Like, to me, that's a powerful way. And if we really take that in and truly believe that collectively, the change—it will change how we navigate and walk in this world.
Naomi Haile: Powerful, Denyse. And I'm wondering if you can, because you alluded to the training that you do and these presentations, keynotes—I know you're in many spaces, whether you're doing your consulting work or the story that you shared earlier about being in Paris at a show, for business owners. So can you speak to these moments as you're building up your different ventures?
It's very clear—the values that kind of guide you—and you're very clear on your purpose and your reason for doing the work that you do. During our last conversation, you talked about your love for learning and your curiosity, and you’re exploring different AI tools and learning about new business models. You speak about hope. What is the greatest hope that you have for your cosmetics company and the consulting work that you do, and how it will impact people, businesses, communities, and the world at large?
Denyse Nadon: Absolutely. Here's the cleaned-up version with "you know" statements and disfluencies removed, while still preserving Denyse's voice and language choices:
Wow, I think about entrepreneurship—even Bear Vision Consulting and Training—that’s a business. I didn’t even really know it was a business. All I knew is that I loved teaching, I wanted to share a story, I wanted to sit with the people and be in the grassroots. One of the most important pieces for me as an Indigenous entrepreneur is I'm grassroots—right from the rez, right from the nations, right from the families—where you see and live and learn all of these different ways.
When I think about being curious and running these businesses, I go into the western world, and I’m pretty good in it, because I was kind of raised in it. I understand how the model works. But then when I go into my nations and I go into ceremony, there’s a different way of seeing business. One of the most important ways I see business now, through my Indigenous Algonquin lens—this woman lens—is that it’s not about a transaction. Our businesses are about community development, growth, and empowerment.
When I look at the ventures that I’m in—specifically Tribalure—I have the cosmetics that are out there doing their thing, and I’m currently working on that blueberry skincare line. I call it Mînân Mîn, which means blueberry in Algonquin. Those berries were picked from my nation, in ceremony, by myself and one of my aunties, and brought to the students to formulate. The whole intention is this: I come from the land of mining, and mining is a non-renewable resource. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. But berries and trees—those come back. So in my mind, Tribalure is not just going to be about cosmetics. It’s going to be about economic sustainability for us and taking care of the land.
What happens in mining is that it’s so focused on a transactional way of knowing and being—get there, grab, grab. Production. Grab as much as you can, go quick, get as much money as possible. Sometimes we fall into that trap. I’ve been in spaces where I’m like, "Yeah, give me, give me, give me," and then I think, whoa, slow down, you're losing your way. That happens in our nations too, where we end up losing our way.
My vision for the business at hand with Tribalure is to make it sustainable. I want to secure a piece of land for blueberries. Not just a small piece. When we’re doing our negotiations, they ask, “What sections of your areas do you want protected for medicinal plant use?” And I say, this is not just medicinal. It is medicinal, but it’s also about economic survival and prosperity. The goal for Tribalure is to pick our berries, build a manufacturing plant there, do the ceremonies, honor those blueberries the way they need to be honored and in their original sacred purpose. And ensure that once they take the gold, we still have something—because the other thing runs out. We may have money now, but it does run out.
It’s important for me to think about economic reconciliation from that perspective. When we start doing things, we have to think about the land at the end of the day. Many bankers and others have asked me, “What do Indigenous entrepreneurs need?” I always say, capital. And they still don’t seem to understand what I mean.
I went to one of them, and they asked me again. I said, “We need capital. Capital is money.” I asked, “At the end of the day, banks—where do you get your money?” And they didn’t know. They looked at me and said, “What do you mean?” I said, “Where do you get it from? It comes from somewhere.” And they couldn’t figure it out. I told them, “It’s all about the land. Those dollars come from the resource development of the land. And the land, technically, is the responsibility of the Indigenous people. So technically, the money is mine. So why am I sitting here begging you for money that comes from our lands?”
When we think about entrepreneurship in these bigger spaces, it’s about shifting your mindset. Mining is all about the resource and the money. I understand supply and demand, and people will challenge me—and that’s okay. I like the challenges. It brings up conversation. It stirs curiosity. But at the end of the day, it’s about that land that transfers into money.
If we could take some of that cash to help me with Tribalure, to build my blueberry skincare line, to sustain not only the economic sovereignty of our nation but also continue the sacred responsibility of those blueberries—that’s the goal. The blueberries aren’t just for skincare. They’re for ceremony, for food, for sustenance. There’s so much more to everything that we use. Even the gold—even though it’s non-renewable—there’s something sacred about that gold. It’s there for a reason. But how we do things is the key.
Navigating and bringing those two worldviews together with real understanding would be a game changer for economic sustainability.
Naomi Haile: Wow, economic sustainability. You talked about your Strawberry Collection, your Blueberry Collection, and the involvement of your community in the formulations. Before we wrap up, I think it's really important for you to speak to the role that your community holds in the process—specifically with Tribalure—because there’s a lot in here that people can learn from as they apply it in their own businesses as well.
Denyse Nadon: Absolutely. I think I said it earlier that I'm a grassroots business, and that's a really key word—grassroots. And there's a lot of us out there that are grassroots. What that means is that I am accountable to a nation—my Abitibiwinni Nation, the governance part of it—but I'm also accountable to all the people that are there and all the ancestral knowledge that's there as well. So as a grassroots business and entrepreneur, what that means is that I had this idea with the blueberries. I pick them all the time. I eat them, I make blueberry jam, I spend time—I’ve been doing it my whole life. But then I thought, wait a minute, I can do this. But as a grassroots entrepreneur and an auntie and a grandmother in my nation, I had a responsibility to them.
So what I did was, when I started formulating this idea, I went to my nation, and we had a big community meeting. I asked for the microphone so I could share my idea. I said, I’m Denyse, I’m Kokokoo Ikwe, which is “Good Gentle Woman” in my language. And I said, I have this business, and I want to be able to use the blueberries for that vision. And people were like, what? They’re like, blueberries? Yeah, I have this vision. I explained it all—funny—and I remember exactly where I was, what I was doing, what I was wearing. And it was interesting, because everybody in my nation went, that’s a great idea. One young man stood up and he said only one question to me. I said, what’s that? He said, how many blueberries do you need? I said, I don’t know. He’s like, okay, well I’m all for it, just don’t take them all. We need to save them, keep them, and sustain them.
So that’s grassroots entrepreneurship. I went to my nation and told them what I was doing. I got them on board with me. Now I follow up with them. I keep them updated. I brought our deputy chief. I got the formulations done. I invited my nation—my leadership—to where they were handing over the samples to me, the very first set of samples. I included them right in that process. I also got my auntie, who’s one of our clan grandmothers, to do a ceremony for the blueberries. We can’t just pick them. So I had to go to her, offer her tobacco, tell her what I wanted to do. How do I process them? How do I ceremony them? She had to give me that sacred blessing as well.
Now, where I am today is I have to go to our lands and resource department. I’ve got to talk to them about securing something, putting Tribalure in the land use plan, to be able to say, okay, if I need X amount of blueberries, I need a place to go. I need some soil testing. There are all different types of regulations that I need to follow. And if you don’t include your nation, how would I be able to do this?
The unwritten understanding and the beautiful blessing between me and my nation—and all the people, not just leadership, but everybody there—is that one day, my gift to my nation is to hand this over to them. Here you go. Let’s continue this. Right now, I happen to be the one to lead it, and that’s great. It’s kind of getting out of the way, because I know what the vision is. I’ve seen it, and I want to have the freedom to build it to a certain point, and then when it’s time—here you go, and let’s keep it going.
That’s how I see it. That’s how true grassroots economic reconciliation works. True grassroots business entrepreneurship. That’s how we do it. It’s always back and forth. It’s a beautiful journey. The most important piece about it is—I’m not doing it alone. My nation, my family, my ancestors are pushing me, and the next seven generations are waiting as well. I’m leaving them something. That’s the legacy. That’s the legacy I’m bringing. Whether I get to that space fully or not, completely the way I see it—it’s okay. The vision is there. I know what I know today, and hopefully one day that will be passed on, and maybe that next generation will take it even slower—but I’m opening doors.
Naomi Haile: Thank you. Thank you, Denyse. Truly an honor to speak with you and to hear the stories that you’ve shared with us today. How can people support you, and where’s the best place for people to connect with you online if they want to follow along the journey? Yeah.
Denyse Nadon: Absolutely. Supporting Tribalure—sharing the posts, going on the socials and sharing the beautiful stuff that’s happening. Go on our website as well, tribalure.com. I'm on all socials. You can order online, and you can directly message me.
Something that’s been happening, which is pretty exciting, is for International Women’s Day or Month, MMIWG, May 5. Corporate gifting seems to be happening quite regularly, which is really nice. You go to these community meetings or these big events, and we all get the same kind of gifts, right? And they’re nice, don’t get me wrong. But people are starting to say, hey, why can’t I buy a red kit and honor that—and support an entrepreneur in their business that way as well?
So yeah, just word of mouth. If you do order a red kit or have some of the makeup, do an unboxing. Really keep that momentum going. I'm a one-woman show right now, so I do it all. All of these pieces—support systems—really help the entrepreneur. A lot of times, we do it ourselves. And when we get the shout-outs or things like that, it really helps. It helps us and saves a lot of money in marketing. Absolutely.
Naomi Haile: Absolutely. Thank you, Denyse. Thank you for being here today and for sharing your story, as I’ve mentioned, and for being really forthcoming. You shared a lot of stories with us, which I think is so important. When people think back to conversations like this and to the episode, that’s what they remember—the stories and how they resonated with them in that particular moment of their life.
So thank you for your honesty, for your truth, for your inspiration. And thank you everyone for listening to this episode of The Power of Why podcast. We’ll catch you in the next one.
Thank you for listening to The Power of Why podcast. You can find the show notes at https://www.naomihaile.com/podcast. And if you haven’t already, make sure to subscribe to The Power of Why on iTunes, Spotify, and wherever you listen to podcasts.
This episode was brought to you in collaboration with Invest Ottawa. Visit www.investottawa.ca/IWM to learn more.
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Connect with Denyse
LinkedIn: Denyse Nadon
Tribalure Website: tribalure.com
Tribalure Instagram: @Tribalure_Cosmetics
Tribalure LinkedIn Tribalure Cosmetics
Connect with Naomi
Website: naomihaile.com
LinkedIn: Naomi Haile
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Twitter: @naomiathaile