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JENNIFER TZAR AND SCOTT BARNHILL on barefoot escapes, misogynistic bros and owning the light
Photography by DAVID MACKE Words by Brooke Williams
THE
GUARDIAN
OF THE
MUSHROOM
I live in Brooklyn, more specifically Williamsburg,
where new high-rise condos, coffee shops and expensive retailers seem to pop up at such a dizzying speed that I honestly can’t keep track any more. But recently, right around the holidays, I noticed a slightly different, sophisticated, almost old-fashioned-looking sandwich board suggesting that I head off the main drag, towards the river, to a place called Dagmar. Was it a carefully curated vintage boutique, or a mysterious tea house where bohemian intellectuals played mahjong? The sign stood out enough to get me to pause for a minute, and when I took a closer look, I was surprised and intrigued to discover that Dagmar is in fact a weed dispensary.
Obviously I had to check it out. And when I learned that the owner is Jennifer Tzar, a science major turned model turned stylist turned photographer turned bar owner, and the first woman to land a legal license to sell cannabis in the state, I knew I was heading into someplace special.
I wasn’t disappointed. Walking into Dagmar is like entering a parallel universe. The retail space feels like a salon from The Great Gatsby, with wooden display cases, art deco-style furnishings and natural light streaming in from the storefront windows. An employee’s band was shooting a video in a back room as we settled around a table in a cavernous space with raw wood floors that reminded me of Williamsburg in the 1990s, or even SoHo in the 70s. There was a creative buzz that felt, dare I say it, like hope, and I drank it in as I sat talking with Jennifer and her co-conspirator, fashion icon and musician Scott Barnhill, about war zones, navigating bro culture, staying open and curious, and the resilience of those who refuse to be erased.
I live in Brooklyn, more specifically Williamsburg,
where new high-rise condos, coffee shops and expensive retailers seem to pop up at such a dizzying speed that I honestly can’t keep track any more. But recently, right around the holidays, I noticed a slightly different, sophisticated, almost old-fashioned-looking sandwich board suggesting that I head off the main drag, towards the river, to a place called Dagmar. Was it a carefully curated vintage boutique, or a mysterious tea house where bohemian intellectuals played mahjong? The sign stood out enough to get me to pause for a minute, and when I took a closer look, I was surprised and intrigued to discover that Dagmar is in fact a weed dispensary.
Obviously I had to check it out. And when I learned that the owner is Jennifer Tzar, a science major turned model turned stylist turned photographer turned bar owner, and the first woman to land a legal license to sell cannabis in the state, I knew I was heading into someplace special.
I wasn’t disappointed. Walking into Dagmar is like entering a parallel universe. The retail space feels like a salon from The Great Gatsby, with wooden display cases, art deco-style furnishings and natural light streaming in from the storefront windows. An employee’s band was shooting a video in a back room as we settled around a table in a cavernous space with raw wood floors that reminded me of Williamsburg in the 1990s, or even SoHo in the 70s. There was a creative buzz that felt, dare I say it, like hope, and I drank it in as I sat talking with Jennifer and her co-conspirator, fashion icon and musician Scott Barnhill, about war zones, navigating bro culture, staying open and curious, and the resilience of those who refuse to be erased.
:quality(80)/media/Jennifer-Scott/BrownstoneCowboyScottandJennifer3-1.webp)
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GIEVES & HAWKES shirt and trousers, Tom Wood chain necklace.
GIEVES & HAWKES shirt and trousers, TOM WOOD chain necklace.
:quality(80)/media/Jennifer-Scott/BrownstoneCowboyScottandJennifer3-1.webp)
GIEVES & HAWKES shirt and trousers, Tom Wood chain necklace.
:quality(80)/media/Jennifer-Scott/BrownstoneCowboyScottandJennifer2-1.webp)
GIEVES & HAWKES shirt and trousers, TOM WOOD chain necklace.
BROOKE WILLIAMS You grew up in the Midwest dreaming of being a scientist. How did you first find your way to New York?
JENNIFER TZAR I grew up in Minnesota. I was very analytical, very focused. I went to school for science. I grew up thinking I’d be a scientist, and then I came to New York for a summer and I was waiting tables on the Upper East Side, and I just got picked up for modelling work but I never felt comfortable in front of the camera. So when I got pregnant with my daughter I needed a job. I started assisting the stylist Patti Wilson and then started getting my own styling work right away. I styled for eight years – David Bowie, Björk – and then I started shooting. I was a photographer for a long time. I started shooting for Scientific American and Discover and Condé Nast Traveller – underwater photography and archaeological digs. I wanted the truth, not the gloss. I went to 59 countries just wanting to see the world and have experiences and not worry about money.
BW That hunger for truth eventually led you to sneak across the border into a war zone. What were you looking for in Kosovo?
JT I spent my 20s in the fashion industry, and I had this idea that I wanted to be around substance. I wanted to learn and to grow. I was definitely creative and visual, and when I first started shooting I got sucked into fashion, but then I just walked away from it. I needed something real. There was a mass genocide happening in Europe… and no one was really talking about it. I wanted to experience it and to understand what was going on. So I approached Bob Guccione Jr. (he started Spin and had a magazine called Gear at the time, and was known for adventure and good journalism) and then I snuck across the Albanian border into Kosovo while Nato was bombing.
I was snuck in by the KLA, the Kosovo Liberation Army. They weren't letting journalists in because it was too dangerous. I saw mass graves and rape camps and dead bodies – pieces of dead bodies with dogs chewing on them. There was no infrastructure; everything was bombed, burnt, fucked, gone. I didn't bathe for three weeks. I was there when the peace agreement got signed and when the refugees started coming back in, old people and children and women. They came back to find their dead husbands’ bodies in the field, and their homes completely destroyed. It was a nightmare. I saw first-hand how dark it can get.
BW Speaking of things getting dark, your home state of Minnesota is currently a major political focal point. How are you processing what’s happening there right now?
JT My sisters and my daughter are all there. They’re outside all day long participating in the protests and the movement. They said it's like a war zone, which
I would know something about. It’s intense to watch the place you grew up become this epicentre of such a massive cultural and political shift. It’s getting weirder and weirder.
BW Weird feels like an understatement! But back to your own journey. After Kosovo, you were living an artist’s life in SoHo, still travelling and working as a photographer while singlehandedly raising a daughter without child support or family help. How did that era begin and end?
JT I was dating my photo assistant from California. He wanted to go off the grid somewhere and build a house, and I was like, sure, why not? I was flying back and forth to the West Coast for my jobs anyway. So we were out there, in Mendocino, and we had nothing to do with cannabis, but all my neighbours were growing it.
I just kind of got sucked into supplying people. I was living in a rent-stabilised apartment in SoHo for 21 years, and I was doing this for three or four months, and it just blew up. I was getting about 40 pounds [of weed] a week and counting cash – I was making $40,000 a week. It was crazy. Then the building catches fire in the middle of the night. I ran out of the apartment with a laundry bag with $200,000 cash in it, barefoot, no ID, in a tank top. The next morning I go over there, I put my name on a list to go back in and get my toothbrush or whatever, and 30 minutes later, when they call my name, I saw the police standing there. So I just walked out with my hands behind my back and they escorted me to the car and I was locked up. Four days in Rikers.
BROOKE WILLIAMS You grew up in the Midwest dreaming of being a scientist. How did you first find your way to New York?
JENNIFER TZAR I grew up in Minnesota. I was very analytical, very focused. I went to school for science. I grew up thinking I’d be a scientist, and then I came to New York for a summer and I was waiting tables on the Upper East Side, and I just got picked up for modelling work but I never felt comfortable in front of the camera. So when I got pregnant with my daughter I needed a job. I started assisting the stylist Patti Wilson and then started getting my own styling work right away. I styled for eight years – David Bowie, Björk – and then I started shooting. I was a photographer for a long time. I started shooting for Scientific American and Discover and Condé Nast Traveller – underwater photography and archaeological digs. I wanted the truth, not the gloss. I went to 59 countries just wanting to see the world and have experiences and not worry about money.
BW That hunger for truth eventually led you to sneak across the border into a war zone. What were you looking for in Kosovo?
JT I spent my 20s in the fashion industry, and I had this idea that I wanted to be around substance. I wanted to learn and to grow. I was definitely creative and visual, and when I first started shooting I got sucked into fashion, but then I just walked away from it. I needed something real. There was a mass genocide happening in Europe… and no one was really talking about it. I wanted to experience it and to understand what was going on. So I approached Bob Guccione Jr. (he started Spin and had a magazine called Gear at the time, and was known for adventure and good journalism) and then I snuck across the Albanian border into Kosovo while Nato was bombing.
I was snuck in by the KLA, the Kosovo Liberation Army. They weren't letting journalists in because it was too dangerous. I saw mass graves and rape camps and dead bodies – pieces of dead bodies with dogs chewing on them. There was no infrastructure; everything was bombed, burnt, fucked, gone. I didn't bathe for three weeks. I was there when the peace agreement got signed and when the refugees started coming back in, old people and children and women. They came back to find their dead husbands’ bodies in the field, and their homes completely destroyed. It was a nightmare. I saw first-hand how dark it can get.
BW Speaking of things getting dark, your home state of Minnesota is currently a major political focal point. How are you processing what’s happening there right now?
JT My sisters and my daughter are all there. They’re outside all day long participating in the protests and the movement. They said it's like a war zone, which
I would know something about. It’s intense to watch the place you grew up become this epicentre of such a massive cultural and political shift. It’s getting weirder and weirder.
BW Weird feels like an understatement! But back to your own journey. After Kosovo, you were living an artist’s life in SoHo, still travelling and working as a photographer while singlehandedly raising a daughter without child support or family help. How did that era begin and end?
JT I was dating my photo assistant from California. He wanted to go off the grid somewhere and build a house, and I was like, sure, why not? I was flying back and forth to the West Coast for my jobs anyway. So we were out there, in Mendocino, and we had nothing to do with cannabis, but all my neighbours were growing it.
I just kind of got sucked into supplying people. I was living in a rent-stabilised apartment in SoHo for 21 years, and I was doing this for three or four months, and it just blew up. I was getting about 40 pounds [of weed] a week and counting cash – I was making $40,000 a week. It was crazy. Then the building catches fire in the middle of the night. I ran out of the apartment with a laundry bag with $200,000 cash in it, barefoot, no ID, in a tank top. The next morning I go over there, I put my name on a list to go back in and get my toothbrush or whatever, and 30 minutes later, when they call my name, I saw the police standing there. So I just walked out with my hands behind my back and they escorted me to the car and I was locked up. Four days in Rikers.
:quality(80)/media/Jennifer-Scott/BrownstoneCowboyScottandJennifer5-1.webp)
BW Well, that was a big change.
JT It was another experience – part of the scrapbook of life. I’m glad it happened. And I’m glad it wasn’t any longer than it was. But I saw it, first-hand.
BW Scott, you and Jennifer have a history that predates the legal dispensary. How did your involvement in this world start?
Scott Barnhill We have a story before she got arrested. I’m so proud of her, seeing what she’s done. It’s inspiring, it really is. I get emotional just thinking about it.
JT We were in Scotland on a shoot 15 years ago. I was shooting this jewellery campaign and we stayed to shoot a music video for one of Scott's songs. He said something about all this money we’re spending, and I just mumbled under my breath, “I'll just go back to New York and sell more weed.” He goes, “I could help you with that.” So it’s like, OK, now I'm more interested. I came back and just kind of dived in head-first. It’s ironic that right now we’re legally back at it. Life is weird and serious and beautiful
SB And circular. And hard. But as long as you can accept it and be open to it, there’s a beautiful sense of humour to it all.
BW OK, so then how did you turn that criminal record into a legal business?
JT It decimated my career because it made the news everywhere. I ended up moving up to Hudson, New York, and I opened a bar. I was up there for five years kind of bored out of my mind, so I moved to LA and opened another bar and five days after we opened, the Covid shutdown order happened. We got through that and the bar was successful, but I hated LA and was like, what’s next? Then a friend sent an article in the New York Times saying they were legalising cannabis in New York
Life is weird
and serious
and beautiful.
State and they were giving the first licenses to women who had run a profitable business and had a prior cannabis arrest. So I started looking into it and imagining how I could actually stomach it, and as soon as the idea started coming together I jumped on a plane back to New York and went straight to the Supreme Court to get the proof that I got arrested, because they’d expunged everyone's record and it got really hard to get the proof.
BW Scott, you and Jennifer are back in each other’s lives, and now you’ve jumped in and are currently helping to launch the cannabis delivery service here in Williamsburg. You're world-famous as a model and musician, but you clearly have some operational tricks up your sleeve.
SB I went back to university and have a solid degree in IT with software design and programming. And I’m learning the OCM (Office of Cannabis Management) regulations and things that are in place so we can implement a really strong foundation for a Dagmar delivery service. I just do what I do, and she does what she does. I'm just here to support her and have her back. I trust that Jennifer knows what she’s doing. It won't interfere with what we have, because what we have goes way beyond what any of this is.
BW Well, that was a big change.
JT It was another experience – part of the scrapbook of life. I’m glad it happened. And I’m glad it wasn’t any longer than it was. But I saw it, first-hand.
BW Scott, you and Jennifer have a history that predates the legal dispensary. How did your involvement in this world start?
Scott Barnhill We have a story before she got arrested. I’m so proud of her, seeing what she’s done. It’s inspiring, it really is. I get emotional just thinking about it.
JT We were in Scotland on a shoot 15 years ago. I was shooting this jewellery campaign and we stayed to shoot a music video for one of Scott's songs. He said something about all this money we’re spending, and I just mumbled under my breath, “I'll just go back to New York and sell more weed.” He goes, “I could help you with that.” So it’s like, OK, now I'm more interested. I came back and just kind of dived in head-first. It’s ironic that right now we’re legally back at it. Life is weird and serious and beautiful
SB And circular. And hard. But as long as you can accept it and be open to it, there’s a beautiful sense of humour to it all.
BW OK, so then how did you turn that criminal record into a legal business?
JT It decimated my career because it made the news everywhere. I ended up moving up to Hudson, New York, and I opened a bar. I was up there for five years kind of bored out of my mind, so I moved to LA and opened another bar and five days after we opened, the Covid shutdown order happened. We got through that and the bar was successful, but I hated LA and was like, what’s next? Then a friend sent an article in the New York Times saying they were legalising cannabis in New York
Life is weird
and serious
and beautiful.
State and they were giving the first licenses to women who had run a profitable business and had a prior cannabis arrest. So I started looking into it and imagining how I could actually stomach it, and as soon as the idea started coming together I jumped on a plane back to New York and went straight to the Supreme Court to get the proof that I got arrested, because they’d expunged everyone's record and it got really hard to get the proof.
BW Scott, you and Jennifer are back in each other’s lives, and now you’ve jumped in and are currently helping to launch the cannabis delivery service here in Williamsburg. You're world-famous as a model and musician, but you clearly have some operational tricks up your sleeve.
SB I went back to university and have a solid degree in IT with software design and programming. And I’m learning the OCM (Office of Cannabis Management) regulations and things that are in place so we can implement a really strong foundation for a Dagmar delivery service. I just do what I do, and she does what she does. I'm just here to support her and have her back. I trust that Jennifer knows what she’s doing. It won't interfere with what we have, because what we have goes way beyond what any of this is.
:quality(80)/media/Jennifer-Scott/BrownstoneCowboyScottandJennifer8-1.webp)
:quality(80)/media/Jennifer-Scott/BrownstoneCowboyScottandJennifBrownstoneCowboyScottandJennifer4-1.webp)
BW Jennifer, you got deep into the legislation during the rollout. What did you see on the inside?
JT It was a shitshow. It’s still a shitshow. I started going to all the board meetings and any event that had anything to do with cannabis in New York State. My attorney is Axel Bernabe, who worked for Andrew Cuomo to write the legislation. So I got involved in reading through the regs while they were writing them, being a sounding board. I kept thinking of the line, building the plane while they're flying the plane, you know? I was definitely part of that.
BW You were the first woman to get a license in New York State. What is it like being one of so few in that universe?
JT (Laughs) It’s totally funny. There are not a lot of women who’ve gotten licensed at all. I got surrounded by a lot of “bro dudes”. There's a lot of men in the business who are super misogynistic. They think they know everything, and they don't. They keep trying to give me advice. They open these massive spaces and all these employees. I just kept my head down. I already knew enough opening two bars. I thought, I'm going to keep a very small team and be really methodical and run a really tight ship. But I did make some good friends.
BW Dagmar has a very specific aesthetic – teal tones and 1920s art deco. Why was it important to rebel against the typical dispensary look?
JT I named it Dagmar because it sounds like a cool, glamorous woman. And then it just came to me, you know? I’ve done so many shoots over the years, and a brick-and-mortar business is just like a set. I was thinking about the 1920s in New York – old-school New York when it was deco, right after prohibition. Prohibition is over, so what's next? That kind of feeling.
And then, everyone else is picking green because it's like grass. Green is a really ugly colour unless it's grass. I went with teal and deco because I wanted to do something opposite, to make it stand out. I just always want to create spaces where people can feel good and be happy and see beauty everywhere.
BW What is the bigger vision for this world you're creating?
JT So many different people come through here. We get celebrities, finance people, models and so many old ladies! I want to create wombs where people feel good energy. I want to take the name and go into women's fashion accessories –sustainable and heirloom pieces that you take care of. I crave a world where things become precious again. And then maybe hotels where people can feel good energy. I like to make worlds where people want to be.
SB Also getting back to when you mentioned a lot of hard times going on… I think a lot of what we do has to be introspective. We have to work on ourselves before we can fix what’s outside, right? I’ve spent a lot of time doing that and Jennifer has as well. So now you’re ready to go. You’re ready to share your knowledge to help others to own the light you've gained through your experiences.
It’s about building a culture and world that is not disposable, that has meaning, that has substance, that is shareable across different groups of people. I think what Jennifer has planted here has grown beautifully. We’ve both been through so much. Now we’ve both arrived in a place that's just kind of Zen. It’s like we’re just two weirdos doing things we love, following our dreams and not giving up.
:quality(80)/media/Jennifer-Scott/BrownstoneCowboyScottandJennifBrownstoneCowboyScottandJennifer4-1.webp)
As the legal cannabis industry in New York continues to find its footing, moving through what is, according to Jennifer, the “shitshow" of early regulations, Dagmar stands as a rare beacon of potential and creativity in a world of fluorescent lights and “dudes” telling you how to go about your business. More than just a place to get weed, it's a business built on a deep understanding of the importance of community. If the space feels good, so will the people in it.
Jennifer’s story is one of radical resilience and continuous curiosity. It's the realisation that the “scrapbook of life", with all its arrests, war zones and fires, eventually comes full circle. In a city that's becoming increasingly more corporate and disposable, Jennifer and Scott are building something precious. They aren’t just selling a product. They're reclaiming and reinventing a culture that welcomes the misfits and the mavericks, the people who don’t give up, proving that the most interesting people in the room are usually the ones who have seen the most darkness and decided, finally, to own their light.
As the legal cannabis industry in New York continues to find its footing, moving through what is, according to Jennifer, the “shitshow" of early regulations, Dagmar stands as a rare beacon of potential and creativity in a world of fluorescent lights and “dudes” telling you how to go about your business. More than just a place to get weed, it's a business built on a deep understanding of the importance of community. If the space feels good, so will the people in it.
Jennifer’s story is one of radical resilience and continuous curiosity. It's the realisation that the “scrapbook of life", with all its arrests, war zones and fires, eventually comes full circle. In a city that's becoming increasingly more corporate and disposable, Jennifer and Scott are building something precious. They aren’t just selling a product. They're reclaiming and reinventing a culture that welcomes the misfits and the mavericks, the people who don’t give up, proving that the most interesting people in the room are usually the ones who have seen the most darkness and decided, finally, to own their light.
It’s about
building a culture and world
that is not disposable,
that has meaning,
that has substance,
that is shareable
across different groups of people.
It’s about
building a culture and world
that is not disposable,
that has meaning,
that has substance,
that is shareable
across different groups of people.