(Reflection) Bennett + Monroe, The streams of Waterloo flow quietly now, their waters carrying tales of valor and fate
The following photos were captured not in Minnesota but in the Fashion District. This is marketing for Bennett + Monroe, not an official feature for Evan Piepho.
As the soothing beats of Carousel - Extended by Wankelmut fill the air, our minds drift into a daydream, wandering back to the historic scenes of the Battle of Waterloo.
Let me clarify something right off the bat. This isn’t any official column or regular feature. Nobody from the magazine gave me the nod or asked for my input. I’m not about to give you my last name either, so don’t ask. Just call me Evan — that’s all you need. Inevitably, people bring up that talk I gave at Elixir by Royel — or Bennett + Monroe, as it’s called now. Yeah, that one. The "Waterloo" piece. It’s funny how that became one of the most significant things I’ve said out loud. I didn’t expect it to resonate the way it did.
The thing about Waterloo is that most people know it as the site of Napoleon’s defeat. One day. One battle in Belgium. After years of shaping continents, wielding staggering power, and reinventing the world, his career — and his empire — shattered. Not gradually or gently. Just completely and irreversibly. What’s striking is that Napoleon didn’t anticipate the collapse the way it hit. He thought he had more time. He believed the ground beneath his feet was steady, that his plans were still in motion. And then, in an instant, it was over. That’s what stayed with me. That blindness. That sudden devastation.
When I think about Bennett + Monroe, that’s what comes to mind. It mirrors Waterloo. Elixir by Royel was more than just a brand. It wasn’t just a label slapped onto something; it was a thriving ecosystem, a culture where people invested themselves. They lived it. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a decision rippled down from somewhere up high, and everything changed. The name, the identity, the idea. The empire that countless people had grown into dissolved overnight. Same world, but under a new banner. And everyone acted as if nothing had really been lost.
Don’t get me wrong — I’m not saying the name change was necessarily wrong. Just as I’m sure plenty of people would argue Napoleon’s fall wasn’t wrong, depending on your perspective. What I’m saying is that both experiences carried a finality people weren’t prepared for. One morning, the foundation you stood on feels unfamiliar, and the thing you once relied on for stability or identity is gone. That’s a Waterloo moment. Not the fight itself, but the aftermath — standing there amidst the wreckage, trying to figure out what happens now.
We all face it sooner or later. A moment where something we helped build, believed in, or leaned on just vanishes, leaving no soft descent, no chance to regroup. Just the stark reality of what’s left when the dust settles. That’s what a Waterloo is. It’s not about the battle — it’s about what you do afterward. It’s about the decisions you make when the empire crumbles.
I ended that talk with a question, and I’ll end this the same way. Where, in your life, are you facing your Waterloo?
Essay Prompt: Defining Your Waterloo and Choosing Your Path Forward
Waterloo is not merely a historic battle; it is a metaphor for that life-altering moment when everything shifts dramatically, often against your will. It is a situation that demands resilience, introspection, and action as you face the fallout of unexpected, often catastrophic, change. Whether it’s the collapse of a relationship, the loss of a loved one, a career setback, or a personal failure, a Waterloo moment tests your character and forces you to confront the raw truth of who you are and what moves you forward.
To write this essay, reflect deeply on a pivotal moment in your life where you faced your Waterloo. This is not just a recounting of the adversity itself, but an exploration of your emotional response, your thoughts during that time, and the actions you chose to take—or avoided taking. Use the following questions to guide your response:
Defining Your Waterloo
What was the moment that marked your personal Waterloo?
How did it come about? Was it gradual, like the steady erosion of something once secure, or sudden, like a lightning strike that fractured your plans?
What emotions, fears, and thoughts did you experience when you realized you were at this turning point?
Dealing with the Fallout
After the metaphorical dust settled, what did the aftermath look like?
What were your immediate reactions? Did you resist acceptance, take quick actions, or retreat inward?
Who or what did you lean on during this time, and how did external influences shape your response?
Choosing Your Path Forward
Looking back, how did you either rebuild or reshape your life after this watershed moment?
What decisions defined your response to your Waterloo? Were those decisions proactive, or did circumstances drive you to act?
How have you grown or changed as a result of overcoming this challenge?
The Lessons Learned
What did this experience teach you about yourself, your resilience, and your values?
How do you view the concept of a Waterloo moment now? Has it strengthened your ability to face future challenges?
If you encountered a similar crossroads again, what would you do differently, or what would you repeat?
This essay invites you to not only narrate your story but also clarify the insights you gained. Approach this prompt with honesty and vulnerability, remembering that we all encounter Waterloos in life. The strength lies not in avoiding them but in defining how we rise when the structures we depend on fall apart.
Take your time to craft a thoughtful and introspective narrative. This is your opportunity to chart a personal map of resilience, demonstrate how you navigated your darkest hour, and consider how it continues to shape your path today.
Reference Essay:
There was a time in my life when I thought I had everything figured out. I had mapped out a future that appeared solid, almost unshakable. That future revolved around my career, one I had worked tirelessly to achieve, pouring in countless hours and unwavering dedication. But life, unpredictable and indifferent to my careful planning, had other ideas. My professional world collapsed unexpectedly, and in its wake, I was left grappling with uncertainty, fear, and self-doubt.
My "Waterloo" arrived in the form of a job loss. It happened suddenly—an unexpected restructuring of the organization I had called home for years left me standing at the edge of what felt like an abyss. Without warning, the foundation I had come to rely on vanished. At first, I was consumed by anger. I couldn’t understand why this was happening to me. After all, I had put in the work, exceeded expectations, and aligned myself meticulously with the organization's goals. But none of that mattered in the larger context of corporate strategy.
The initial days were the hardest. I felt small, insignificant, and utterly adrift. It was like standing in the eye of a storm, unable to see a path out. What frightened me most was not the loss of income, though that was no small issue, but the loss of identity. My sense of self had become entangled with my professional achievements. Without my title and position, I didn’t quite know who I was.
What saved me was a quiet decision made late one sleepless night. Instead of trying to rebuild the same structure I had lost, I resolved to start over on entirely new ground. It was humbling to admit how much of my worth I had tied to external validation and how little I had invested in nurturing my inner world. The months that followed were filled with self-exploration, not just to chart a new course but to understand who I was beyond my resume and LinkedIn profile.
I joined a local creative writing group, something I had always admired but never thought I was “good enough” to participate in. I began volunteering for a community mentorship program, sharing my story and professional insights with young adults navigating their own career paths. These experiences, entirely unrelated to climbing the professional ladder, guided me back to myself.
Eventually, I did find new work, but by then, my outlook had shifted. I no longer viewed my job as the singular axis of my life. Losing my career hadn’t been the downfall I once thought it was. It had been an opportunity to rebuild—not as the person I thought I was supposed to be, but as someone more aligned with my values, dreams, and authenticity.
Today, I carry the memory of that low point, not as a scar but as a reminder of my resilience. The structures we build around us will never be permanent, but the strength we cultivate within can withstand even the most unforeseen storms.