For the uninitiated, Future Boston might be described as a political organization for people under 40 who are turned off by conventional politics. It successfully pushed for late-night service on the MBTA, and expanded access to liquor licenses in the city. For a while, the group was devoted to unseating Mayor Thomas M. Menino; Selkoe danced onstage at John Connolly’s mayoral announcement, months before Menino announced he was not going to run again.

Selkoe was the entrepreneur. He bankrolled the venture with the fortune he was making from his urban streetwear company, Karmaloop. Three years ago, he hired Lazu, a visionary community organizer best known as a founder of the voter participation group MassVote, to run it.

Just a blink of an eye ago, Greg Selkoe and Malia Lazu were the cool kids of Boston’s political scene, collaborators in an innovative nonprofit called Future Boston Alliance.


Last spring, Boston Magazine ran a striking picture of Selkoe and Lazu, included on a list of “thought leaders” who were transforming Boston.

Besides pushing political initiatives, Future Boston was busy throwing fabulous parties that sought to bring the city’s creative class together and running an incubator to help new companies get their start. It was a rethinking of what a nonprofit’s mission could look like.

But things have gone sour quickly. First, Selkoe abruptly stopped funding Future Boston, for which he had been the sole benefactor, to the tune of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Then, last week, Karmaloop filed for bankruptcy protection, revealing to the world the extent of Selkoe’s financial woes.

Lazu seemed a bit stunned as she described watching Selkoe’s empire unravel.

“The past couple of days I’ve been feeling exposed,” she said last week. “It’s like here’s our benefactor’s struggles on the cover of Boston.com and the Wall Street Journal. I didn’t think it was going to affect me the ways that it did. But it’s definitely had me feeling emotional and exposed. One of the things Greg has done that has really worked is Future Boston, and there’s a loyalty there that I don’t want to get lost.”


Karmaloop’s bankruptcy filing says the company has $10 million to $50 million in assets, but up to $500 million in liabilities. A series of ventures, including a television station, went nowhere. Selkoe thought big and gambled big, as entrepreneurs are wont to do. By his own admission, he tried to do too much, too quickly.

What nearly killed Future Boston though, wasn’t just that he ran out of money for it. It was also that his exit came so suddenly there was little planning for it. Lazu stopped taking her salary for several months last year to avoid laying off her staff. Obviously, that isn’t a long-term financial model. The group is now casting a wide net for funding support. Turns out, the sole benefactor model has serious drawbacks.

As for Karmaloop, the company will be sold at auction, unless someone buys it first. Selkoe insists that the company will survive, and there have been hints that hip-hop moguls Kanye West and Dame Dash are interested in buying it. Whether that will happen is anyone’s guess.

Selkoe insists that someday he will return to Future Boston Alliance, once his other affairs have been sorted out. But for now, the revolution will need other backers.


“My focus is working 14 hours a day to get [Karmaloop] sorted out,” Selkoe said. He insists that Karmaloop’s core business is strong, though some creditors might beg to differ.

Selkoe and Lazu speak warmly about one another, but don’t actually talk much. It’s the rare corporate bankruptcy that feels a bit like a divorce.

Whatever happens with Karmaloop, Future Boston Alliance is moving on without Selkoe, and a collaboration that successfully brought disparate communities together is now on ice. “If I could have scripted it,” Lazu said, “I wouldn’t have scripted it that way.”

Adrian Walker is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at walker@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @Adrian_Walker.