Lundon Attisha.

My family left Iraq in the seventies, leaving behind the supposed “Golden Age” and a looming war. Carrying faith, a name, and not much else. I’m Chaldean Catholic, part of one of the oldest Christian traditions on earth, dragged forward in the body of a family who understood that survival is, in itself, a kind of fluency.

But before any of that meant much to me, there was the register at my dad’s store. Going to work, or shula—the Aramaic word I used exclusively until first grade to describe wherever my dad happened to be—was one of my favorite things in the world. I worked as a cashier throughout elementary school, high school, and into college, counting change, restocking shelves, learning the names of regulars and the rhythms of a neighborhood from behind a counter. It’s where you learn to read a person before you read anything else. You learn that showing up, every shift, for years, is its own education.

I studied political science at the University of San Diego, where I also played soccer, a game I grew up with and never really left. I still bleed Barça the way some people keep a faith. But the degree wasn’t decoration. I co-founded the Minority Humanitarian Foundation while working at the Neighborhood Market Association. That became my corridor into years spent serving Middle Eastern Christians, both stateside and abroad.

Law school only deepened the vocabulary. I earned a J.D. with an emphasis in business and tax. Throughout law school, and while preparing for the California Bar Exam, I worked at Dallo Law Group, focusing on tax controversy, commercial negotiations, acquisitions, and corporate restructurings. In the evenings and on weekends, I provided free legal services to people the system had never bothered to reach directly. My goal was to translate the law into something it too rarely becomes: useful to the people who need it most.

Off the clock, I read. Dostoevsky. Hemingway. McCarthy. Camus. Writers who never flinched from contradiction. In their pages, a man could be a believer and a sinner in the same paragraph without apologizing for either. That’s the kind of writing I’m drawn to, and probably the kind of life I’m drawn to as well.

Immediately following Bar passage, I became fixated on the idea of community. Technology was advancing quickly, yet meaningful human connection seemed increasingly difficult to find. I wanted to explore that tension.

I launched Bidstitch in the summer of 2020 as a digital third place for resale and thrift culture. It was conceived as a counterweight to the sterility and curated hypebeast mentality that had come to define many resale platforms. I went looking for the pulse of vintage clothing rather than simply the marketplace around it. Since then, we’ve grown Bidstitch into a community of more than four hundred thousand followers across Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube. Vintage is the past made legible to the present—stained and torn by time, carried forward by a different body in a different century. I understood that intuitively, and the community seemed to feel it too.

Since Bidstitch, there have been other ventures, and there continue to be. I’ve been fortunate enough to help raise millions of dollars in venture capital for companies and causes I believe in. Throughout my journey as a founder, I’ve been guided by a simple principle: I enjoy creating, but I don’t enjoy giving up control. No matter the company, I don’t compromise on the integrity of the vision. I continue to consult for brands and technology companies looking to find their place in the resale economy, lending the instincts I developed from building within it. More recently, I’ve found myself studying the political fundraising landscape with the same curiosity. More on that soon ;)

Son of refugees. Lawyer. Advocate. Founder. Devotee. I live in all of them simultaneously, without apology, while continuing to search for the thread that runs through them all. Above everything else, I think of myself as a thinker and a problem solver—someone who finds purpose in mobilizing people around causes worth our collective attention. Whatever I build, I want it to reflect the faith I hold and the God I believe is quietly running through all of it.