About Dominic Grayson
My Story
I was born in Waco, Texas, to a mother who was still in college and a birth certificate with no father on it. My grandparents took us in, and life was small and close in the way family apartments are. I was a normal American kid, which meant I ate a lot of sugar — my grandmother, by her own admission, fed me chocolate on a near-ritual basis. No addiction appeared, fortunately. What did appear was fluoride. Or rather, the habit built around that.
When I was seven, my mom and I moved to Washington state. A friend dared me to stop brushing my teeth. I said okay — honestly, it was taking up too much of my morning anyway. That "okay" turned into four years. When we moved back to Texas, my grandmother clocked it immediately. She told me, over and over, "you're not gonna have any teeth." I just shrugged. She kept buying the family donuts. Her dentist told her cavity susceptibilities weren't genetic. She pushed Listerine. My yellow teeth became part of who I was.
Eventually my mom took me to the dentist. One cavity. Two years later, two. Then four. A lot was contributing to that — but my body was a map of how I was raised and what I did with it. My mom tried coconut oil pulling for a while. It felt good. But it was expensive and time-consuming, and eventually she told me I just needed to brush like everyone else. That was important.
When I graduated high school in May 2023 with a clear enough picture of where things stood, I cut sugar out completely. I started researching what actually goes into oral care and why. And I made a tooth powder for my own mouth, first. Not a product. A solution.
Niven's Tooth Powder became a product later. But what it's always been is a message: that the ingredient literacy, ancestral health knowledge, and cultural honesty we owe our kids is quietly disappearing — and that the consequences are showing up in their bodies and their futures.
Why Minimalism
Minimalism, to me, isn't deprivation. It's not about stripping life down to a bare floor and a single pan. It's about having a clear answer to the question: what actually matters here?
In personal care, that means starting with what your body genuinely needs — and then being honest about what counts as a need. Not just survival basics. The essentials that are personal to you. Your teeth, your skin, your daily rituals. When you hold that standard and look at the back of a toothpaste tube, the ingredient list stops making sense very quickly.
Four ingredients. That's Niven's. Calcium carbonate, baking soda, sea salt, diatomaceous earth. Each one is there for a reason you can look up, understand, and make your own call on. Nothing is there because it's cheap to add or because a focus group tested well on it. Minimalism isn't a design aesthetic here — it's a standard of honesty.
What I'm Actually Offering You
I have no dental degree. No nutrition certification. No lab coat. What I have is a formula I use on my own teeth, a sourcing process I trust, and a refusal to add anything I can't fully account for.
Niven's Tooth Powder is legally a cosmetic product. I'm not here to make medical claims or tell you what your body will or won't do. What I can tell you is why every ingredient is in the jar, where it comes from, and why nothing else made the cut. That transparency is the product, as much as the powder itself.
If you're the kind of person who reads labels, questions defaults, and wants to actually understand what you're putting in your mouth every morning — this was made for you. Not for everyone. For you.