My American Entrepreneur’s Journey: Making a Life in Europe
My roller coaster experience in Germany as an American expat turned immigrant
I feel like half of Substack wants to live in Europe since January. I get it, I really do. It’s a big topic. I recently listened to a powerful episode from the Harvard Business Review podcast titled How Immigrant Entrepreneurs Build Lasting Businesses, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Author and Entrepreneurship Expert at the University of Oxford, Neri Karra Sillaman PhD, spoke directly to my heart in her interview with Alison Beard, Executive Editor at Harvard Business Review. That’s why I’m here today, writing. I want to share a few gems from the podcast and lots of my own opinions about living abroad as an American entrepreneur.
You see, Sillaman’s words felt like a mirror reflecting back so much of my own experience as an American living in Germany for the past 16+ years, and that of my husband, who spent 8 years as a German expat in the U.S.
Her eight principles for immigrant entrepreneurs, from “bridging cultures” to “frying in your own oil”, were truths I’ve lived, often quietly, sometimes painfully, always with determination. At the core of it, I’d say my experience has been to search for home. Not just in the geographical sense, but in the emotional, soulful, grounded way that we all long for.
When I left the United States in 2009, I didn’t fully understand just how deeply the concept of home shapes who we are, or how incredibly hard it can be to recreate that feeling of familiarly and security, somewhere new. Starting over isn’t just about unpacking boxes and learning a new routine. It’s about rebuilding identity in a place that may not understand who you are, or why you are the way you are.
And that’s even harder when you are still learning those things about yourself.
As a carefree and eager mid 30s American, I had no idea how profound the cultural differences between Germany and the U.S. would be when I landed here.
Most Americans don’t, regardless of age, especially those who’ve only visited Europe on vacation or for a month here and there.
To be honest, strolling through Paris with a croissant in hand might give you the illusion that living there would be easy breezy with delicious food, charming architecture, and leisurely walks. But living in Paris, really living there, as in signing a lease, putting your child in school, navigating the health care system, taking evening language classes, and figuring out how to ride the bus, is a completely different story.
Europe doesn’t roll out the red carpet just because you’re American either. You don’t get special treatment. No one says, “Oh, she’s American, let’s make this easier for her.”
You’re simply another foreigner trying to find your way.
And especially in today’s political climate, with the shadow of Trump looming large over how Americans are perceived abroad, being American may not open the doors it once did. In fact, it might quietly close some.
When I first relocated to Germany, I was hit hard by culture shock after the first year, the honeymoon phase of relocation, wore off. Everything felt harder suddently, and the pressure to adapt was suddently more intense. But I was also lucky: I had a German husband and a support system through family and friends. That helped me transition more smoothly than many. I also had something else, a community of loyal blog readers who had followed me on decor8 since the early days, back when I was blogging from Boston.
And I arrived in Germany with purpose. I wanted to have a baby, live in a beautiful old apartment with soaring ceilings and fishbone wooden floors (I know, the vanity!) and I was also on a mission to spark a movement. I wanted to help design blogging take root here, to build something meaningful. I wanted the magazines to be cooler, to show style outside of Germany, to stop putting raufasertapete on the walls in every home and apartment in the country (ha ha). I even said that in an interview I had with the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung back in 2009, which is the German newspaper equivalent of The New York Times. Imagine me, an American newbie, slamming a beloved wallpaper that was invented by the bauhaus, in Germany’s most esteemed newspapers? Yeah, I did that. But my very bold opinion on raufasertapete put me on the map. People in the industry quoted that article for years. And people with style, who also love design, respected that I had the courage to roll in and say something that they felt.
Back then, the blogger scene in Germany was still in its infancy. But I had three years of full-time blogging under my belt, and I was lit with blogger passion. I contacted the press. I hosted blog meetups. I championed the creative community. I wanted bloggers to be seen, respected, and celebrated.
And you know what? Together, we made it happen. I became the first blogger in Germany to publish a book, a best-seller!, and the first design blogger to launch a magazine with a major publishing house, the first to collaborate with a national retail chain, and the first to organize blogger meetups, including one in Berlin in 2007, even before I officially moved here.
I’m not bragging, but I am saying that immigrants who want to move to your country to build something amazing aren’t coming over to live off of your welfare system. We are coming to accomplish big goals. Like Eren Bali, his story mentioned by Neri Karra Sillaman in the podcast, and I’ll quote her,
“The founder of Udemy, Eren Bali, he immigrated from Turkey to U.S specifically because he knew that he cannot grow Udemy in Turkey. He wanted the ecosystem of the Silicon Valley.”
I came with heart, with vision, and with the determination to create a sense of home not just for myself, but for others in my industry, too. And though the road has had its challenges, I wouldn't trade that journey for anything. I may be one cog in the wheel, but I was a cog nonetheless.
The immigrant experience is often about building, not just businesses, but entire ecosystems of belonging. You learn to create a sort of emotional architecture all around you: routines that comfort, spaces that reflect your inner life, rituals that tether you to joy, people that you need to rely on. You learn to become fluent in nuance, of culture, of communication, of connection.
That’s what Sillaman’s research reminded me of in the podcast, just how immigrant entrepreneurs succeed not in spite of their differences, but because of them.
There’s one part of the podcast that especially struck me. When she spoke of “playing your own hand”, this idea of owning your unique experience and using it as your strength. I think for many of us who’ve chosen (or been called) to live outside of our home country, this hits deep.
For years, I loved standing out. I was proud to be me, assertive, charismatic, creative, American. I never felt the need to hide that. But something shifted around 2019, right before the world changed from Corona. During that time, I was working nearly weekly in Hamburg, working on my very own magazine, HOLLY, under a large German publishing house. It was exciting and full of possibility. I was directly a team, part of something big. But in that very corporate, very German environment, I began to feel the edges of my identity blur.
Suddenly, blending in felt safer than being seen. I tried so hard to “get it right”, to minimize my American-ness, to soften my voice, to adopt the rhythms and expectations of a culture that still felt foreign in many ways. I stopped celebrating what made me different. My collegue, Sinja Schutte, who brought me in to the project in the first place, was my rock. She was my cheerleader, my greatest fan, and her belief in me helped tremendously. I would have never signed my contract had it not been for her. Yet, even with Sinja and her faith in me, I slowly felt less confident. Instead of feeling like an asset, my uniqueness started to feel… inconvenient.
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