Juliana Cochnar learned that her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer while Juliana was out traveling the world for two years. When she stopped in Australia, she called her mother, Barbara, who shared the news. The first thing Cochnar said to her mother was, “I’m coming home to help you,” but her mother had a different outlook. “Oh, no you’re not. You’re staying and doing what I can’t do.” Months later, when her travels were finished, Juliana returned home to her mother’s side.
What happened to Cochnar from her travels and witnessing her mother’s challenges made her aware of life’s bigger picture. “I had to give back,” she said, seated across from me at a San Francisco sidewalk café. “More women were going to struggle with this disease.” It’s not an uncommon path, individuals moved to make a change in the world when someone they love is struck with adversity. But what Cochnar found when she set out to make a difference was that things took on a life of their own.
That next fall, in September of 2003, Cochnar began her work. She reacquainted herself with the same charity that she had volunteered with while in her sorority at college, Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. Race for the Cure started as a promise from a younger sister to her older sister to find a way to speed up the breast cancer research process in finding a cure to honor older sister, Susan G. Komen’s life. Twenty-five years later, Race for the Cure is the most successful fundraising event for breast cancer, and, as of 2007, has raised nearly $1 billion in research funds.
Cochnar formed the team with her women friends, called Barbie and the Boob Brigade, in honor of her mother, of which I was a part. We dressed in all pink (I wore a hot pink Marge Simpson wig) and wore t-shirts made by Cochnar with the names printed on the back of those we had loved and lost. When we walked along the San Francisco Bay, I marveled at the amount of people who had been touched by this disease.
Cochnar invited her mother in from Baltimore for what her mother believed would be a mother-daughter weekend. Barbara arrived in San Francisco, not only to the surprise of joining Barbie and the Boob Brigade for the race, but also to a huge pre-party that her daughter had created called Beats for Boobs, that was also in her honor. Juliana presented her mother with a pink-sparkled scrapbook and filled it with photos and letters from friends and family, all who had pledged money, love, and support.
For event planning, Cochnar reached out to her already active social circle. “I thought, ‘Wait, I know so many people, I should make this larger.’” And her friends reached back. “My friend, Radhika, had lost her aunt to breast cancer, so she said, ‘We can do this to raise community awareness,’” which got the ball rolling to decide that Beats for Boobs would be an event that would also share women’s talents. Art and collaboration blossomed. Fashion designers put on a fashion show to strut their creations down a runway. Other women were in charge of the background visual art. A female DJ spun butt-shaking House music records and other women showcased and sold their art. Another woman friend of Cochnar’s had worked with the Komen foundation in college, so she spearheaded marketing for donations while four other women followed her lead. Four years later, the committees have multiplied, with sixteen women spearheading different areas of focus for the event.
As Cochnar continued to stretch herself, she was amazed to learn that everyone who offered to help out in some way had been personally affected by breast cancer. San Francisco’s Sauce restaurant donated food for the last two years—the mother of the two brothers who owned the restaurant was also a breast cancer survivor. Sauce sent one of their top chefs to the event in order to serve up dinner directly from their hearts. The event was held at the swanky open space, 111 Minna, an art gallery and club that held all six hundred guests. When the manager of Minna donated the space, Cochnar was blown away, but when he asked if he could set up a table to sell “Tough Titties” t-shirts from his own self-created breast cancer organization, Cochnar was thrilled. “Each person who donated a large chunk to our event had been touched by breast cancer, either by their mother, sister, grandmother, or aunt. I had so many people’s stories to share.”
