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About Girl 820
Born from wildfire, raised on grit, carried by women who remember.
For woman finding their way back to themselves - steady, clear, and rooted.
There comes a moment when the noise stops and you start reading the ingredients.
You crave simplicity again, not to feel younger, but to feel like yourself.
Girl 820 was created for that moment and the woman who feel it.
Our tallow is made simple, ancestral, and honest.
Made by hand in the Rogue Valley with the old-world steadiness that women have trusted for generations.
Meet the Maker
I was born in 1962 — yeah I am 63, which basically means I’m from the last generation that knew how to mind its own business, drink from a hose, survive without seatbelts, and still show up looking better than most people who have ring lights and mental health apps.
I lived through the 60s, the 70s, the 80s, and the chaos that followed.
I survived polyester, cigarettes in the cab of my dads truck with the windows rolled up, jeans so tight they required a prayer circle. and music that hit harder than half the therapy bills I’ve paid since.
Well good lord, lets not leave the hair out. We had perms that could pick up radio stations and that were technically fire hazards, hairspray that could withstand nuclear blasts — Shit, we walked single file through doorways because our hair was so big. And let me tell you we showed like god sent us.
Let’s not forget to mention the metal playgrounds, hotter than hell’s driveway, and outfits that defied physics. I come from the era when kids played outside until the streetlights came on and meanwhile, there we were out there surviving bikes with no brakes.
Oh and our parents, bless their hearts… our dads fixed everything with duct tape and rage. Our moms needed reminding to let us back in the house when it got dark. Pretty sure their parenting style, would now be considered a felony.
We didn’t have Uber.
We had hitchhiking, which built character and trust issues simultaneously.
And we turned out fantastic. Well… mostly.
The world was wild, messy, real — not curated.
I didn’t start Girl 820 because my life was peaceful and I needed a hobby.
I started it because I was one bad lotion away from committing a skincare war crime. And probably raging ADHD, unhinged and undiagnosed.
I don’t follow trends because trends die faster than my patience.
Wild hearts know
their way home
In Summary...
I’m creative, sentimental,
and slightly dangerous with
hot wax and a blender. I save
bark curls like relics and still
think about the ancestors
watching me make skincare
like, “Well… she’s trying.”
I’m unhinged because the 70s raised us with no helmet laws.
And I’m funny because if you made it through the 80s, how could you NOT be?
I boycott what I see as bullshit. I am too much for some and not enough for others. And I learned to let it be.
Call it balance. Call it trauma. Call it a legacy —
I don’t really care, as long as your skin glows.
We don’t age — we evolve into legendary goddess.
Welcome to Girl 820, babe.
It’s wild in here, but so are you.
Oh and although he called me Girl,
~my name, its Tay Lindsay
The Name He Gave Me
Let me sum him up…holy hell. He was stupid-handsome, wild as a loose match, built for chaos and adventure, and carried a grin that could talk a sane woman into bad decisions.
He used duct tape as a security system, lived louder than the rules allowed, and moved through life like it was daring him back.
He raised a gang of wild boys and then me- his only Girl. He drilled one one rule into them- watch out for her.
I was the one he’d soften for—barely—calling me “Girl” in that rough, warm way that said everything he didn’t know how to say out loud.
And I called him dad.
Those boys teased me, renamed me- The Warden, The Governor, Miss Kitty like Gunssmoke- but the unspoken truth was simple;
I was the one they'd stand in front of trouble without hesitation.
That mix of chaos, protection, and outlaw humor is stamped into every jar we make.
Girl 820 is the legency of that name. A name built on love, grit, and a grin that aways meant trouble.
The Flame
Sali was my great grandmother. Choctaw by roots, mountain hands and a way of working with instinct rather than instruction.
She rendered tallow by firelight, trusting the old ways when the world had none to offer.
Her presence in this brand is simple and intentional.
The flame, the roots, the knowing.
Nothing loud. Nothing heavy.
Just a quiet reminder to keep things real, keep them simple and keep them close to the land.
820 is my number
A number that showed up in a moment when life split clean between what mattered and what didn’t.
I don’t need to explain it- it's mine.
What it reminds me of is simple; keep the flame lit, cut the noise, stay loyal to what's real.
Everything else can fall away.
It's the pulse under the brand.
Steady and unspoken.
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