Why KinSoo
You didn’t know.
When you posted the first photograph of your child, no one told you where it would go — because, back then, the danger hadn’t been invented yet.
KinSoo was built by a mother who spent twenty years building the systems that do this — and who left to build the alternative.
You weren’t careless. You were a parent.
It started, for most of us, at two in the morning. A hospital room, a new weight in your arms, and the overwhelming need to tell the people you love. So you posted the photo. Then the first birthday. The beach at golden hour. The first day of school, the backpack swallowing those small shoulders.
In 2012, a photograph was just a memory. Facial recognition at scale, models trained on scraped faces, the very word deepfake — none of it had been built yet. There was no warning label to ignore, no setting you failed to switch off. You were doing the most natural thing in the world. You just didn’t know what it would one day become.
NOW YOU KNOW
The same photographs are now raw material.
Those images — the bath-time photo, the school gate, the cake with its single candle — are scanned for the faces inside them, folded into AI training sets, and, in the worst cases, rebuilt into things that were never real. It takes only a handful of pictures to fake a child’s face convincingly.
You were never asked. You were never told. And almost no one knew. When we surveyed parents, more than three in four had no idea any of this was happening. The phrase we heard again and again is the one that named this company: I didn’t know.
77% of parents had no idea platforms could do this
1M+ children reported deepfake images of themselves in 2025
0 times any platform asked your permission to keep it
SO HERE IS THE QUESTION
What if you could take it back?
Imagine reaching into every platform that holds your family’s photographs and bringing them home — into a vault only you can open. Encrypted so completely that no platform, no algorithm, no advertiser, and no AI can ever read them again.
Not “we promise not to look.” We can’t. No one can.
If you could regain control of your children’s photographs — so they are no longer there for any AI to find — is that something you’d want?
KinSoo takes its name from kintsugi — the ancient Japanese art of repairing broken ceramics with gold lacquer. Where others discard what is cracked, kintsugi treats the break as part of the story, mending each fracture with gold until the restored piece is more beautiful than it ever was before.
The technology built around our children’s lives was not built with care. Something precious was broken: the right of every child to own their own story, and the right of every parent to protect it.
KinSoo is being built for those who see that clearly — and who refuse to accept it as inevitable. We are not abandoning technology. We are rebuilding it, piece by piece, with intention and with gold, into something sovereign, something safe, and something worthy of the generations who will inherit it.
KinSoo Founder
Eugenia Makhlin Davis
Why I Built KinSoo
I have spent over two decades at the heart of Big Tech — at Google when it was organising the world’s information, at Meta when it was genuinely about connection, and at AOL. I helped scale the platforms that billions of people trust with their most personal moments. And then I became a mother.
When my children were born, something shifted immediately. I could not bring myself to post a single photograph of them. Not because I was afraid of being judged — but because I knew, from the inside, exactly what those platforms do with every image the moment it is uploaded. Facial recognition. Behavioural profiling. AI training datasets. The moment the photos was posted, it was currency for others. I had no right to post my child. It is my job to protect them.
I started looking for somewhere safe to keep my children’s digital lives — a place with the warmth of a childhood photo album but the security and sovereignty that Big Tech was never designed to offer. It didn’t exist. So I built it. KinSoo is the product I wished I’d had from the day my first child was born: a private, encrypted family archive that belongs to you, not to a platform — and that you hand back to your child, whole and intact, when they are ready to receive it.