Last month, over the Mothers Day weekend, we met with one of our first (and favorite) DG models Angie Bordeaux. Over the years her connection to Dos Gardenias, and to our founder DiDi, has only grown deeper. In this conversation, she looks back on the journey: the early days of wildness, the middle stretch of unraveling, and the messy, magical becoming of motherhood. Through it all, she’s stayed true; to herself, to her girls, and to a love that's made her stronger and more alive than ever.
You were one of our first models. What do you remember about those early days? How has DG and your relationship with DiDi evolved over the years?
I remember shooting in the tide pools, the sun warm on my back, salt clinging to my skin, and laughter floating between waves. It never felt like a job—more like someone pressed “record” on the life I was already living. With Dos Gardenias, it was never about posing—it was about presence. I met DiDi through my ex and kept her—the best part of that story. From Metallica and Jane’s Addiction shows to Venice romps at James’ Beach and dinners at Mama’s in Maui, we’ve run wild and rooted deep. Now she’s godmother to my girls, and one of the truest friends I’ve ever had.
Give us the basics. Where are you from originally? Where did you grow up? Give us a sense of where life has taken you, and how these experiences / travels / adventures have shaped you and your life now.
I grew up between the hippie hills of Topanga Canyon and the chaos of Venice Beach—a little bit fairy, a little bit street rat. That contrast raised me. I was barefoot in the woods and scrappy on the boardwalk, equal parts soft and sharp. It gave me range. I got my first passport on my own at 18 and left the country a month later. Editorials and runways became my rhythm—living out of a suitcase, partying with professionals like it was part of the job. I learned how to shape shift, how to land in foreign places and make them feel like home.
But behind the glossy images was a different reality. I was in a toxic relationship with someone I thought was my best friend—but best friends don’t treat you the way he treated me. The abuse was something I tolerated because I hadn’t yet developed the self-worth to know I deserved better. I was always moving, but deep down, I was completely stuck. I remember walking out of a restaurant in Argentina, glass of red wine still in hand, slipping into our ride heading to Lollapalooza to see Flume. I ended up on the sound stage, floating above it all—living the dream, but realizing it wasn’t mine. I was completely numb at that moment. Something cracked open in me, and I knew I needed to change.
Seven years sober now, and that decision brought me closer to a God of my understanding - and to the real magic: two radiant little girls and the dream man I never believed I deserved. Life didn’t just change. It came alive.
So you’re now a mom twice over…you’ve continued to model with DG through it all, how has becoming a mother changed the way you see yourself—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually?
Motherhood didn’t just shift how I work—it shifted how I see myself. My shoots look different now: the girls from DG are pushing the stroller while the baby naps, I’m jumping in front of the camera and breastfeeding between takes. It’s chaos and beauty, all tangled together. I went from a size 1 to a 3—not a dramatic change, but enough to feel the difference in an industry where every inch is measured. But I’m learning to offer myself grace. This body carried, birthed, and fed two little queens. I’m done trying to erase the evidence of that. Emotionally, I’m wide open. Spiritually, I’m cracked—but in the best way. More raw, more rooted, more real. It’s messy, it’s magical, and I’m finally starting to feel at home inside the mess.
What’s a moment in your journey as a mom that made you feel proud or deeply moved?
It’s the quiet moments that move me most. Like the day Ariella wrapped her little arms around Kimimila crying and whispered, “I know, I know, it’s OK.” No prompting. No script. Just her being love personified. That’s when I knew—something we’re doing is working.
What have been some of the most challenging, frustrating or unhinged mom moments?
Some days I whisper when I want to scream. Other days I do scream - but into a pillow like a mature adult. I’ve breastfed with one hand, unclogged a toddler’s nose with the other, and realized I haven’t peed alone in a long time. I’ve cried in the car, eaten dinner standing up, and seriously considered running away to a hotel…five minutes away.
How do you navigate the pressures and realities of parenting while staying connected to your own identity and dreams? What would you share with mothers who feel they’ve lost a sense of themselves after having children?
Holding onto your identity in motherhood feels like doing a headstand on a moving train. Some days, I recognize myself. Other days, I feel like a ghost in stretchy pants. But I’ve learned this: it’s a short, beautiful, completely bananas season. You can grieve who you were and still fall in love with who you’re becoming. Even if it’s just shaving one leg or locking yourself in the bathroom for three minutes of quiet. That counts. That’s care.
To any mom who feels lost: you’re not. You’re just buried under diapers and yogurt melts and tiny humans who need everything. She’s still in there—the woman with the spark, the bite, the dreams, the good eyebrows. And when she comes back? She’s going to be wiser, funnier, and more powerful than ever before.
What lessons from your own mother (or maternal figure) have you carried into your life both as a human being and as a mom?
My mom’s motto was basically: do no harm, but take no shit—and honestly, it’s become my north star. She led with love but never lost her edge. A soft force with sharp instincts. My sister, who stepped in as a maternal figure more times than I can count, carried this quiet wisdom. In the middle of chaos, she’d simply say, “Take a breath. Go wash your face.” It was grounding. Almost sacred. I still do it when everything feels like too much.
Now, as a mom myself, I carry both their voices in my head. I’m quietly fierce. Observant. I lead with love and respect—until I’m not met with the same. I don’t always have the answers, but I know how to stay. How to show up. How to pause, breathe, wash my face, and keep going—with a baby on my hip, spit-up on my shirt, and a quiet fire in my chest.
If you could write a letter to your children about what being their mother has meant to you, what would the first line say?
You made me softer, stronger, and more myself than I ever was before you.
Many women face body image challenges post-pregnancy. What advice or insight would you offer to mothers striving to embrace their postpartum bodies?
Listen… your body isn’t ruined. It’s been rewritten. And I get it—some days, you’ll miss what it used to be. The ease. The lightness. Belonging only to yourself. Now you belong to tiny hands, early mornings, and midnight cries. You traded crop tops for nursing bras, silence for lullabies, freedom for something heavier—and holier. It’s okay to grieve what was and love what is. Meet your body where she is. Dance in the kitchen with your messy bun and one sock. Call it survival. Call it joy. Call it enough. And if you’re standing in the mirror wondering who you are now—just remember: you’re not lost. You’re becoming.
What lessons about confidence and self-love do you hope to impart to your children?
I want Ariella and Kimimila to know that confidence is a quiet flame, not a spotlight. It’s the way you hold your own gaze in the mirror. The way you laugh at your own jokes. The way you walk into the world without shrinking. Self-love isn’t all skin care and yoga classes. Sometimes it’s brushing your hair when you’d rather hide. Saying “no” without a 10-minute apology. Eating a warm croissant with both hands and zero guilt. I hope they see me loving myself in real time - in the mess, in the stretch marks, in the trying-again moments. Not because I have it all figured out, but because I keep choosing to show up. I want them to know they are worthy exactly as they are. That their softness is strength. And that the most powerful thing a girl can be—is herself.
