Alexandra Katherine Huggins

Dear friends and family of Allie,

This coming Sunday, November 23rd at 3 pm, we will be meeting at the intersection of Meserole and Leonard in Brooklyn to install a white bike memorial. White bikes are both memorial and protest; we hope that the bike will serve as a reminder to the community and lawmakers that cyclists remain underserved and vulnerable on nyc streets, and also be a bright corner that we can come together and beautify in Allie's memory.

Flowers are very welcome. If anyone has a lock/chain they would like to donate, please email me at janetleemail@gmail.com. I'll be bringing something warm to drink, some ribbons, and the bike itself, which was kindly donated by Time's Up, a biking coop and advocacy group in the Lower East Side.

We love and miss you Allie.

Here are my notes for the talk I gave at Allie's memorial in Orlando, Florida on October 25, 2025:

Matt’s Remarks
Memorial Service for Allie Huggins
October 25, 2025

I was putting together some notes for a message I wanted to send out to family and friends after Allie’s death. I was looking for her graduation dates and I thought I might save some time by pulling up her LinkedIn profile. Here is what I found:

Alexandra Huggins
Orlando, Florida
Student at the University of Florida
Starbucks
Two connections (Mom & Dad)
Experience:
Barista
Starbucks
2013-Present
12 years, 10 months
Marketing Intern
Channel Intelligence
June 2012-Present
13 years, 5 months
Student
University of Florida
2011-Present
That’s it.
End of profile.

Now, I am not going to accuse my daughter of lying on her resume, but a few clarifications would seem to be in order. One might say she remained a student all of her days–her too few days–but this profile does leave out some key details.

It reminds me of a car that she might have abandoned at the side of the road, still running. Most likely because it wasn’t going to take her where she wanted to go.

Allie chose another path. And, when I consider Allie’s LinkedIn profile, and all that it doesn’t tell us about the life she lived, I am inclined to regard her LinkedIn profile as an emblem of a life well-lived. Here are some things you will not learn from Allie’s LinkedIn profile:

At the University of Florida, Allie excelled as a scholar. She immersed herself in film studies. She grew up with a house full of books and music. Her mother was an especially avid reader. She shared my love for rock ‘n roll. With film, she found her own medium and shared it with me and others. She worked in coffee shops and restaurants. She made music videos for her musician friends.

Allie moved to Brooklyn a couple years after she graduated from UF. A number of the friends she had made after the completion of her studies soon followed after. Allie started in the Bushwick neighborhood of Brooklyn, which I have come to view as the Ellis Island, through which America’s suburban youth make entry into NYC after fleeing the oppression of their suburban homelands. She spent a couple of years there before moving to Ft Greene and handing over her room to her younger sister, Sarah Elisabeth. She was there on Sarah’s graduation day from FSU, helping Sarah pack a uhaul and drive directly to Brooklyn.

In 2020, Allie was there to meet me on the stoop of my new apartment in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn, as I rolled up with all of my worldly possessions in my car to begin a new chapter of my life.

Allie was a curator of experiences, exposing others–myself included–to many great things NYC has to offer. She took her talents and discipline as a scholar and applied them to mastering the city. In the same way, she gained and shared her expertise in the world of film. And, in the same way, she would take those talents and discipline to mastering wine. In each case both in pursuit of her own curiosity and for the purpose of bringing joy to others through the curation of unique cultural experiences. Through these pursuits, Allie found community and purpose in Brooklyn.

Allie’s career took shape at Rucola in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn. After a time waiting tables, she took an interest in what went on behind the bar. She moved over to that side and took up the formal study of wine in NYC. She also took a job at Wine Therapy, a boutique wine shop in Nolita. She began to attend wine industry BYOB dinners in Chinatown. She got to know importers, She started to make trips to the wine-making regions of Europe. Not long after, she collaborated with Henry Rich, owner of Rucola and the other restaurants of the Oberon Group, to open Anais, a wine bar in Boerum Hill. There she truly made her mark.

Over the past few weeks, I was to gain a richer, deeper view of the impact Allie had in her professional world. Colleagues at the wine bar and in the wine industry gave a vivid picture of the community she found, and made, through her work.

One story captures much of this:

In September, she travelled to Les Davoche, a vineyard in the south of France, for the harvest. She was joined by colleagues in the NYC wine industry. A couple weeks before she died, she and Sarah Elisabeth and I were having dinner at Serbian restaurant in Alphabet City. Allie told us of the great time she enjoyed at the harvest, and rolled back her sleeve at one point to show us a small tattoo of two sardines she and others with her on the trip got at the vineyard. The image was an emblem of the vineyard. Following Allie’s death, we were at a gathering hosted at Anais for members of the team and family. I was introduced to the friends with whom she traveled. They shared stories about their time at the harvest, gave us a trove of pictures and video of Allie joyfully engaged in the wine-making process and showed us, on their arms, the tattoo of the two sardines. Just this week, when dining at Rucola, the restaurant where Allie’s passion for wine started to develop, a young member of the wait staff came up to me and rolled up his sleeve, revealing the two sardines he had tattooed there after Allie’s death.

At a more intimate scale, Allie brought joy to our lives by instigating little parties in parks and on stoops and rooftops.

I will conclude with an image from Allie’s early life we included in the program we put together for the celebration held in Brooklyn:

Into her elementary school years, Allie wore hand-smocked and embroidered dresses lovingly sewn by her mother. To her mother's chagrin (and admiration), Allie would slip rocks into the hem of the dresses in order to achieve dervish-level flaring when she twirled. She conjured fun wherever she went. No matter what she was wearing.

It’s a true moment from a life that is very real to me and to many here. I would not have it reduced to a theme or a metaphor. But I would suggest that one of the things it tells us about Allie is that she took what was given to her, that dress, her education, the community and experiences she received as a child, all of which shaped her and outfitted her for the life she was to make for herself, and she transformed them to her own purposes. She would slide some rocks into the hem of her life. And she made it twirl. It was a dazzling spin.

I met Allie in college through Cru at UF in 2015. She was full of life, creativity, and a love for experiencing everything to the fullest. I cherished the hours we spent in the library or at coffee shops, talking with our friends about nothing in particular. We had classes in the same part of campus, so we’d often run into each other in Turlington—she was always a breath of fresh air during those stressful moments.

At our big graduation on the field, a bunch of us found each other and sat together to take it all in. It was one of the most important days of our lives, and I’m so grateful we got to share it—laughing and remembering all those times we talked about nothing.

God would have me meet Allie through our time as leaders at CRU at UF. For 3 years of school, Allie was a key part of my community and rhythm of life as a student.

Allie had charm, charisma, mystery and trademark authenticity. Though, all of those qualities are unmistakably true - I will remember Allie by her kindness and the joy she pulled out of others.

Allie understood whimsy and the idea that any event could be more fun, better curated, and approached with more enthusiasm. This wasn’t accomplished with a hurried spirit but an inward turning and conscientiousness towards the opportunity of joy.

During hard seasons and life transitions of college, Allie was a constant friend and encourager.

A regret I have is not being in close relationship with Allie during her wine passion era as I’m sure there would be many verbal jousts around my lack of appreciation for her detailed explanations and as always an encouragement from her to be slow, still and present in the moment.

Allie is a treasure. The active word of “is” in that the memories, lessons, and encouragement to bring out the authenticity of others will live on and be cherished.

I will miss you friend. And I’ll always listen to “marry me Archie” and think of belting out tunes with you and trying to catch up to your impeccable taste in all things music, food, and experience.

Rest easy.

Allie was someone incredibly special. A thinker, passionate, loving, smart, loyal, and fun. In college I remember hanging out and having great laughs and then the next moment getting into really intellectually engaging conversations. Hearing about her passions and those chats made me feel more at home when I transferred to UF and was meeting all new people. Whenever we got to hangout I always walked away feeling good. She was a person who cared about others feeling valued and included.

It was amazing getting to visit Allie shortly after she had moved to New York. She toured me around the city, and took me to an incredible bakery and the weather was perfect. I remember so clearly thinking this is truly the place she was meant to be. She found a place that valued her personality, interests, curiosity, and passions. It was so rewarding to just observe and see her thriving.

Even though life doesn’t always have us cross paths with our friends enough. I am so grateful for her influence in my life and the fun times we were able to have.

I’m really gonna miss her. She made that bar what it is, and I’m so grateful to know her, as a friend and as a manager.

It’s hard to believe that I’m writing these words. It doesn’t seem fair, trying to articulate with words Allie’s life, the impact she made on mine, or even a fraction of the light she brought to this world. But It also doesn’t seem fair not to try, even if though to say words will fall short is an understatement. But Allie loved words. That was one of the many things we had in common and bonded over as high schoolers, geeking out over Latin roots, or as college students, debating about meaning found in life, God, or friendship. The last time we spoke, we talked about books. And family.

I remember when we were at UF, visiting Allie in Pascal’s coffee shop after hours to “study” while she practiced making latte art. And again, doing the same thing- just an excuse to hang out and philosophize- in Curia, her next coffee employer. Different environment, same friendship. Somehow, our parallel lives led us from Orlando, to Gainesville, to Brooklyn, all places where we found each other and knew we would find sameness with one another. A sense of home. Allie and her family are my family. To try to explain what only the other could know to anyone else just wouldn’t work. Once, Allie made a comment about us coming from “Reformation Land”- the amount of meaning, memory, and experience contained in that simple joke carries more shared experience than anyone else could imagine. I still think of that joke, followed by Allie’s laugh, often.

Allie introduced me to some of my closest and dearest friends at UF. She was the connecting piece, a girl from my past introducing me to the community of my future. And then, through everything, she remained. We were never friends out of convenience or family history. It is almost like we didn’t have a choice, we were the same. Funnily, it was our differences that propelled us to the same places and our likeness that kept drawing us together. We would go years without contact, and then find ourselves sharing neighborhoods. And every gap of time spent apart never mattered, because we were family and right back into it we would jump.

Allie got it. She understood the nuances and blunt realities of life. I loved seeing the world through her eyes. Dissecting “The Usual Suspects” together, following her philosophy course recommendations in college, asking for her latest book suggestion, seeking her opinion on wine selection. She cut through the bullshit and extended tenderness and kindness. She just wanted to laugh. She just wanted to get to the crux of it all. She just wanted to be the best big sister. She just wanted this world to be fair and just. And the fact that I’m writing this and you’re reading it proves how unfair and unjust it still is.

I tried really hard not to make these words about me and I think I’ve struggled because Allie always made me feel the most myself. When I think of her, I have overwhelming gratitude for the friend she has been to me, from preteens going to volleyball games to adults splitting a bottle of wine. She was one of the first people to accept all of who I am and with whom I felt no shame. She was both a reflection and acceptor of my soul. Sounds cheesy, but she would laugh and agree. And I’m sure I’m not the only one of Allie’s friends who feels that way.

To the Huggins family- I can’t imagine your grief. This has to be the worst thing in the world. Nobody should experience loss like this. You are my family. I’m so proud of the piece of Allie that lives in my own life and that I get to carry with me for the rest of it. I will bear those memories with joy and care. I love you all so much.

With grief and gratitude for my dear friend Allie,
Janzen

It’s taken me a lot of say this but in 2019 while working at Rucola with Allie, I had to have a very personal medical procedure that brought on a lot of challenges. I found immediate solace in Allie’s cool and collected way of making me feel like I was in no way alone in my experience. She made me feel completely understood and normal at a time when I felt so estranged from others—even friends I’d know for many more years than I’d known Allie. Two years later, after not being sure that I’d get pregnant, I found out I was pregnant and Allie was with me through every single step, perhaps second to my own husband and mother just in terms of the sheer amount of time we spent together. In September of 2021 I threw a baby shower at a bar my husband had opened in Philly a few years back. Allie had told me she couldn’t come because of work, but to my surprise, she got her shift covered and showed up to the bar with an absolutely hilarious stuffed bird in hand. I still have the bird and I still have the memory of not only that day, but a two year journey of ups and downs wherein Allie became one of my mainstay companions. Her ability to see a friend through to the end will never be lost on me. When my son Wylie was just six weeks old, I made sure to bring him to Rucola to meet Allie. I will never forget that day and I will never forget how Allie managed to be there for nearly every step of the process. What can I say about losing a friend so pivotal, so crucial, so funny, warm, snarky, and real? Every time I look at that silly bird, I’ll remember her. She’s imprinted into so many things—Ethan Hawke films, every bottle of wine I drink, pretty much anything French. I just want to thank her for being there, for seeing our friendship through.

Why are there hierarchies when it comes to friends? Sure, some people feel closer than others. But my close friends, my best friends—each one holds a micro-universe. A constellation of glances, smirks, half-whispered jokes, and memories. Each one is intimate in a way the world cannot duplicate. So I will speak plainly:
My best friend died on my birthday. I still can’t believe it. Every breath reminds me of her, and every breath aches.
Allie Huggins and I met through another best friend, Rose, doing what we did best back then—making art. She was camera B on my “Medicine” video shoot in Gainesville, a small-ass town where too many people know too much about you, because you all live too close to each other to escape. At that moment, I knew only that she was funny, fearless, and a silly bitch.
A decade later, and we live blocks apart in Brooklyn, a city where time is currency and seeing someone takes scheduling. And yet, I got to see Allie on a whim. Coffee. Wine. Parks. Stoops. Leftovers in each other’s kitchens. It felt like the small town caught up to us.
I called her my little big sister. Allie was a big sister to Sarah Elizabeth. And as an older sibling, there’s an unspoken “I know better” vibe they all carry. I, the little sister of someone, always had a mischievous bone to pick. We “tilt-a-whirled” back and forth on who knew better—me in logic, Allie in care.
We played and worked and made magic together. Allie and Rose have built my visual aesthetic for the past decade. She participated in, if not outright directed, every music video I’ve made since 2017. Covered me in feathers, jello, and enough coconut oil to fry in the sun. She imagined visions of me that I could not fathom. Made me a goddess, a siren, in ways I’m not sure I’ll ever inhabit. We even have a video project coming out this winter, and she’ll never see it—never lean over my shoulder to laugh at a take or shake her head at my ideas—but I can feel her in every frame anyway.
Allie saw so much beauty in the world. She wasn’t deluded by it, but she embraced it with a chic, chaotic love that made everything feel alive.
And now she’s gone, and it feels impossible that the world still exists without her. I keep thinking it's a mistake. The news got her name wrong at first, so it must not be true. Or maybe I am dreaming, and Sarah just called me on my birthday to say Allie ran off to Europe for a lover, and she is sitting among grapes, taking in the romantic beauty of a harvest life.
It’s strange, this grief, how it feels so total. I have lost too many young, close friends these last few years, and each one still hurts uniquely. This one feels particularly deep. This pain is insistent. It is in coffee cups, in leftover wine, in pollen stuck in your nose, in songs you never heard before, or feel like you’re hearing them like new again. The world moves on, but I am caught in waves of paralysis, rage, sadness, and emptiness folding into each other. There is a hole where her laughter should be, and its loudness ripples in its absence.
I keep thinking about how she celebrated life as if it were edible, as if it could be tasted, savored, and bottled. How she made you feel seen, even when you didn’t know you needed it. I keep thinking about the small rebellions we shared, the ridiculousness we leaned into, the chaos we somehow choreographed. That energy—the one that made everything feel possible—now lives in memory, and in the strange spaces between memory and imagination.
And so, on my birthday, I grieve. I may not celebrate another one; instead, I’ll just take to remembering her as she was: untamed, brilliant, mischievous, fierce, ridiculous, radiant. I’ll remember the little big sister who could argue you into nonsense, but love you into giggling and forgetting what you were even talking about in the first place, so we could both feel right. I remember the collaborator who saw me more radiantly than I ever could.
Allie Huggins, I miss you in every breath, girly. You are everywhere I look. In the light, in the chaos, in the fog of the dancefloor, in the warmth stuck to the edge of a sunbeam. Even after the world has said goodbye, I bury you again and again in my heart. Each memory is folded into grief that blooms like fire in the quietest moments. Loss is not a single day; it is a lifetime of funerals, of placing you gently in the soil of my chest over and over. Placing you in every song, every sip, every moment we made together, carrying you with me, always.

Nearly every photo I have of you is blurry. Through no fault of my own, but because you moved with such determination, wit and courage through everything you did. You were always in motion, propelling yourself from one passion and endeavor to the next with a force that blew away everyone who met you. Being in your presence was like standing in the sun, a jolt of light, energy and joy.

Everything you pursued you did with this intense, drive, thoughtfulness, humility and self awareness. From Rucola to Anais to June, the historical society and so much more.

It was the privilege of my wine career to help as you opened Anais. To spend time with you while you built something that was yours. You put so much of yourself into that space it made me feel lucky to get dirty and dusty and open bottles with you while you built it up. The sweat, early mornings and late nights were worth every moment I got to spend with you.

You had more energy and insight than people twice your age, or three times your experience. You spoke and people listened. Your opinions and teachings about wine, relationships, movies, music, politics and life always echo in my mind. When you spoke it came from this immense depth of experience and knowledge of human nature and the world around you. I wondered when you slept because it felt like you managed to sneak more hours into your day than other people. You were just too powerful for your own good.

There aren’t sufficient words to describe how much you were looked up to and how much you meant to so many of us. We all just wanted to make you proud and spend time with you. I miss you so much.

I met Allie in Cru at UF our freshman year. We grew alongside each other in our community group for the next few years. I lost contact with Allie, but I will always remember her as a strong woman of faith who loved Jesus and cared deeply for others. Allie was a bright spot in the life of everyone she knew. I feel blessed to have had her in my life, even for a few years.

Allie was so smart and pretty and strong. I was in awe at her ability to get things done and to have fun. She danced, she lived, she laughed and she was never scared. She was stubborn and challenging and helped all of us become better versions of ourselves. She was so cool.

"Sometimes I see something so moving I know I'm not supposed to linger. See it and leave. If you stay too long, you wear out the wordless shock. Love it and trust it and leave."

-Don DeLillo, Underworld