Hello! I’m Ina Minx—artist, maximalist, vintage scooter enthusiast, dog mom to 3 rescued hellhounds, and the owner and curator of Revolte Goods. We specialize in taking eccentric maximalism and smashing it together with retro weirdness to create a technicolor fever dream of WTF nostalgia.

I chose the name Revolte for my shop because my road to it was filled with exactly that—revolt. I grew up as a weird kid, born in the early 80s and part of the micro-generation of Xennials. Back in the 80’s and 90’s, kids like me were thrown into gifted programs, celebrated with pizza parties and VIP access to Scholastic book fairs. We made dioramas, did reports on whatever subject we liked, and shook hands with astronauts, while our peers were learning the fundamentals. We all knew we were nerds and most of us had no self-esteem, but the adults in our lives told us we were special. For many of us, that was the one thing we built our identities around.

I burnt out quickly, trying to live up to the potential I was supposedly wasting. It felt like being an Olympic athlete—constantly celebrated for breaking records but always expected to do better next time. Eventually, the creativity I was told would make me something became an argument at the dinner table, where I was urged to think about more ‘realistic’ paths. Like many other former gifted kids, I found my way into counterculture. I found people like me—writing music, making art out of thrift store finds, and drinking cheap wine on the rooftops of abandoned buildings. It was my bohemian renaissance, and it gave me support at a time when society was trying to drag me into its beige walls.

For a long time, I tried convincing myself I could survive on my passions in a way that wouldn’t make my dad cringe when asked what I did for a living. But chasing these underwhelming ideas led me into student debt. I wasn’t cut out for life in the ant farm. In 2008, after helping a friend decorate her loft, she pushed me to look into interior design. My spaces have always been over-the-top, layers upon layers to keep my brain happy. While some people thrive in minimalism, I needed more. So I agreed to attend an orientation for a local design program. The students were a mix of high school grads and empty nesters, but I was particularly inspired by an 80-year-old woman who told me she enrolled because her husband said the only way she could redecorate their home was if a professional did it. She decided to become that professional. Honestly, I think I signed up just to see her put him in his place.

Design clicked for me, and I quickly became a favorite of my instructors, dubbed their ‘design star.’ My partner at the time wasn’t supportive of my choice and made it clear he wasn’t happy, even threatening to leave because he didn’t want to settle down with someone with student debt (dodged one there). The relationship ended during my last year of school. Around the same time, the program director told me that if I wanted to be successful, I’d either have to tone down my work to stay in Denver or move to LA or New York. But I didn’t have the support or the means to uproot my life.

The reality hit me hard—most design students end up in jobs at Ikea or working for developers, telling people how high their cupboards should be or whether a space is ADA compliant. Important work, sure, but not why I got into the field. So I made a drastic decision: I quit my boring job, dropped out of school, and decided that if I couldn’t land my dream gig creating whimsical spaces, I’d open a store that helped others tap into their eccentricities. I’d use my design knowledge to help them achieve that for themselves.

Free from a toxic relationship and a dull job, armed with an education in design psychology, I set out to become a superhero to the other weirdos and a ruthless villain to the big bosses of societal norms. But there was one problem: I was broke, unemployed, and on the verge of losing my home due to the breakup. With help from family, my new partner and I found a little grave-level apartment on 17th and Gilpin, not far from where Revolte is now. We both got jobs at the first place that had ever employed me—a vintage costume emporium that had once been a must-see destination, now a ghost of its former self. I saw it as a chance to learn the ins and outs of running an offbeat business.

I found a mentor in the eccentric, fuchsia-haired woman who ran the shop, and we made plans to revive it. She shared her own weird path, and I finally felt like I was on the right one. But a year after bringing me in as manager, she passed away suddenly. I was devastated, and angry at the universe for letting me get comfortable before pulling the rug out from under me again. But her loss opened a new door.

Needing to make ends meet while still chasing my dream of owning a shop, I ended up working at Pandora On The Hill and its sister shop, Soul Haus. I figured I’d stick around just long enough to learn the ropes, but I stayed much longer than planned. The place was its own little world—cool customers, a supportive crew, and bosses who genuinely cared. I watched middle schoolers grow into high schoolers and then college graduates, many of whom I still talk to today. But all the while, I was dreaming of a future where those folks would walk through my own shop door. The itch to answer that call kept growing.

I started doing pop-ups, selling jewelry and art I made alongside weird vintage religious kitsch I thrifted. It was satisfying, but I knew I needed more space. In the year leading up to the pandemic, I started putting a plan in place. My partner and I even began scouting cities where opening my shop would be affordable, with Pittsburgh high on the list. But then the pandemic hit, and everything was thrown into chaos. There was one day I spent in tears, convinced that everything I’d worked for would never happen.

I was lucky to have a job to return to after lockdowns lifted, and with fewer opportunities to spend, my savings grew. I started dreaming of my little shop again. One day, after a long conversation with a customer about my plans, my bosses pulled me aside and asked, “When are you going to open this shop you keep talking about?” I told them I’d love to, but they knew what I made—probably not anytime soon. That’s when they said, “Why don’t you buy this one?”

They explained that the lockdown made them want to scale back and just have one store instead of three so they could have more time, and they wanted to offer me the opportunity to take over the space before looking elsewhere. I immediately said yes, but sitting in my car that night, I was filled with doubt. I had no idea how I’d come up with the money. I faced rejection after rejection from banks and lenders, but each closed door led me to another open one, and eventually, the Colorado Enterprise Fund said they were willing to help. Nine months later, Revolte Goods came kicking and screaming into the world, baring its fangs and spitting bubblegum-flavored venom.

Revolte found its home in the old EZE Mop building on 17th and Lafayette, right on the line between Uptown and City Park West, depending on who you ask. I didn’t choose this place—it chose me when I took over from my old bosses, and I couldn’t have dreamed of a better fit. This space is pure magic. As a history nerd, I’m obsessed with the fact that this was Denver’s first movie theater. The floors still have that charming slant, and two of the original lobby pendant lamps cast a warm glow over the shop. You can feel the history here—the projectionist even lived in the big Victorian on the corner!

After its theater days, the building became a garage, and later, EZE Mop, where the first cone wringer mop was invented. My former bosses bought the building in 2008 to preserve its legacy, moving their shops, Soul Haus and Pandora On The Hill, into the space. When Revolte came along, it was like the next chapter in that story.

I’ve always had a soft spot for Uptown. It’s a neighborhood where people stay a while, with a sense of connection that you don’t always find in places like Capitol Hill or RiNo. I’ve watched it evolve over the years, especially through the challenges of COVID. The pandemic hit hard, and too many beloved businesses had to close, but there’s a sense of renewal now. New restaurants are opening up, and my new neighbor is transforming the old Victorian on the corner into something magical. It feels like a fresh chapter is beginning—my own personal Sesame Street reboot, and I have a feeling this version is going to be the best one yet.

I’ve been collecting kitsch for as long as I can remember. The candy-coated pastels of the ’50s and the rebellious, saturated hues of the ’60s are basically my lifeblood. Feeling off? A hit of Baker-Miller pink will fix you right up! I think the best thing anyone’s ever said about Revolte is that it’s like “Pee-Wee’s Playhouse directed by John Waters.” Honestly, that’s my dream aesthetic right there. 

When I first opened Revolte, I played it safe, trying to cater to the old crowd with “edgy” stuff. But the shop was turning into a graveyard of snarky cutting boards and raunchy bachelorette gifts, and I realized I wasn’t doing any of this for my people—I was curating for someone else’s.

It felt basic, and boring, and I hated it. So, I started really trying to listen to the folks I was doing this for, and took a few steps back to reassess and reprogram myself to trust my vision. Now, I don’t chase trends or try to please everyone. I ask myself if I am doing everything I can to put my customers first, and if something doesn’t light me up, and I couldn’t do a 5 minute kindergarten-style show and tell presentation on it, it doesn’t make it through the door. We’re all about indie artists, quirky vintage finds, and oddball treasures, not viral memes or pop-star merch (though it does sneak in every once in a while).

If Denver were a 90s video store, we’d be in the back, deep in the cult section, wedged between Pink Flamingos, Heathers, and The Toxic Avenger. We’re not for everyone. 

The best thing about Revolte is the people it attracts. We’re not just a shop—we’ve become this tight-knit, creative community full of folks passionate about making the world a better place. Some of the best moments here are the conversations sparked between strangers, brainstorming ways to lift each other up. Watching that blend of creativity and kindness collide? That’s what it’s all about.

And maybe that’s why people come to Revolte. We really don’t speak to just one type of crowd. Instead, we offer a refuge from the soul-sucking greiges of the outside world—that drab, lifeless mashup of gray and beige that feels like lukewarm water and smells like fake flowers at that craft store with terrible values. Greige creeps into everything: food, jobs, decor, even people.

But Revolte is a break from all that, like a candy store for your inner angsty teenage soul. And really, who doesn’t love candy?.

One of the few predictable elements at Revolte, especially during the holidays, is that you can count on a strong retro vibe. Halloween is hands down one of my favorite times of year for the shop, thanks to the endless supply of Halloween kitsch to draw inspiration from. This year, I’m channeling a classic monsters-meet-‘80s-and-‘90s nostalgia theme, with the paper cutouts we all adored as kids and things like earrings that pay homage to the iconic McDonald’s Boo Buckets.

Oh, and we just got in some amazing vintage-inspired vacuum-formed masks that are epitome of the Halloweens of the past when we didn’t come back from trick or treating until it was cold and dark, and and our pillow cases that we used as bags for our haul were overflowing with candy. I actually have a collection of masks like this on display year-round at home, and its been really hard to not hoard these for myself. 

One of the things I love about Denver is the sheer variety of unique businesses in our little cow town, making it making it impossible to narrow down my favorites. Mango House on East Colfax is high on my list—you can literally eat your way around the world while supporting other people’s small business dreams. I’m thrilled Domo is back, and on its own terms; just 15 minutes in their garden is enough to melt away any outside stress. Taco House on Federal feels straight out of a Tarantino movie. While the food might not be “authentic” Mexican, if you appreciate its mid-century Americana spin, it becomes a comfort food staple.

For odd antiquities and dead things, I head to my pals at the Learned Lemur. And when I need to decompress after work, you can find me at The Crypt. 

Denver’s evolution is endless, and I’m grateful to be part of it. Whether it’s enjoying a favorite spot or discovering something new, this city constantly inspires me, and I bet I could give you an entirely new list of my favorites every single day.

One of the most unexpected challenges I’ve faced as a business owner has been the intense self-discovery that comes with it. Overnight, I went from being a team player to the solo captain of this ship, wearing every hat imaginable. The initial thrill of ownership quickly faded as I realized I was juggling the responsibilities of three people while trying to keep loyal customers happy and pivot to a new concept.

Then, we still had the pandemic looming over us like a dark cloud, turning every day into a guessing game of survival. It felt like every time I opened social media, another local business was announcing its closure. That constant uncertainty weighed heavily on me, and I spiraled into burnout.

It took a big moment of reflection for me to realize I needed to address my mental health. After finding an amazing therapist, I was diagnosed with ADHD, and suddenly, things started to click into place. Treatment gave me a new perspective on navigating this chaotic journey, and I began to prioritize my well-being. That meant making tough decisions—like skipping social events or taking breaks when I needed them.

But that self-care has paid off. I’m reclaiming my enthusiasm for Revolte and feeling more optimistic about the future than ever. Embracing these challenges has made me more resilient, and I’m ready to tackle whatever comes my way.

The vibe in Denver has shifted hard over the years, but there’s still that raw, rebellious Wild West streak running through the city. It’s in the DNA here. Right now, it’s like two worlds colliding—people who’ve just landed, ready to reinvent themselves, and the families who’ve been here for generations, trying to figure out what the hell happened as everything sped up like a wrecking ball through their neighborhoods.

But that’s the thing about Denver—it thrives in the chaos. There’s this gritty, creative energy that fuels the clash. We’re blending old and new, rebellious and hopeful, into something totally unique. It’s punk at heart, a place where people are rewriting the script and building something fresh while still giving a nod to the past. The city feel alive with possibility, and there’s this sense that, despite all the madness, the future’s gonna be loud, colorful, and just as weird as we make it.

Revolte is hosting a seance to raise ‘old’ Denver on Thur 10/24 from 7-11 pm, featuring an ‘old’ Denver costume contest; dress up as your favorite ‘old’ Denver character, event, thing, place, etc – magic, conjuring, refreshments, and art!

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