An exercise

Last spring, when I was starting to plan my one-necklace-at-a-time takeover of the world, I took a brief crash course in business called Fasttrac New Venture, which was kindly offered by the City of New York.  It was basically a two-week bootcamp for would-be entrepreneurs who, for the most part, couldn’t tell a profit and loss statement from a cupcake.  I still don’t really have a clue about accounting; my soul glazes over at the thought of figuring out what exactly is meant by the term “doing the books.”  (Arranging them?  No.  Reading them?  No.  Ahem…)

But I really enjoyed the marketing part—far from being boring, it was actually inspiring.  It made me want to get out there and put the fantastic ideas we were coming up with into practice.  Of course, I didn’t do that.  At the time my business wasn’t yet up and running, so there wasn’t much I could do.

Now that it is, however—yay, website up and first orders in!!!—I’m trying to figure out how to market it.  Getting noticed, introducing people to your work, is everything.  Well, you do have to have good, interesting, well-executed work.  But these two things are crucial.  One without the other will yield nada.  I’ve been planning the next few steps, trying to create an intelligent order to things.  (First step: put the pudding line on Etsy.  Second step: get into a few stores.  Third step: reach out to blogs.  There are many reasons for this order, which I’ll write about at a future date.)


Today was glorious, one of those early spring days that are sunny and mild and that inspire half of New York City to leave apartments and offices to go for a walk.  It’s the novelty of it—everyone is just so relieved that spring has finally arrived.  Anyway, I was out this afternoon and the beautiful weather and crowds of people walking around inspired me to try one of the marketing exercises we talked about back in Fasttrac.  The exercise is to…sell on the street.  To sell your item to strangers, ask them what they think of it, see what their response is.  The benefits of doing this can range from market research (do teenagers go nuts for your do-hickeys?) to increasing your comfort with selling.

I guess you don’t know me very well just yet, but the thought of selling on the street terrifies me.  I’m an intensely private person.  When I need to change something in my Facebook profile, I make sure to delete the announcement so that no one is alerted to the change.  I never share vacation photos online.  I stay “invisible” on Gmail chat.  Really, the fact that I’m now starting a blog (!) is testament to how much I want this business to grow.  So the thought of selling my jewelry to strangers on the street—not strangers who have sought out an artsy fair, mind you, just strangers walking along doing whatever they do—makes my blood run cold.  It’s the stuff of my nightmares, along with getting up to teach with nothing prepared and being naked in public.

For some reason that escapes me, I challenged myself to do it.  Crazy, right?!  All of a sudden I felt that I needed to try it, and I needed to try it this afternoon.  Maybe it was the confidence boost from making three sales in the morning, but I went home, gathered a couple of handfuls of simple earrings, printed out a sign with a steeply discounted price on it, packed a little cloth to display them on, and walked down Fifth Avenue to the Met.

You’re going to have to imagine me, heart sort of racing, forcing myself to put this plan into action.  At first I’m not sure where to set up—there are lots of vendors right around the Met, but I don’t have a table, and I don’t want to be asked any questions.  There are also lots of vendors at the Guggenheim, but the same issues apply.  The stretch between them seems perfect: a few blocks filled with happy people on their way home from one of the museums or just exiting the park.

I spy an ideal bench, the first one on the block just north of the Met.  But alas, it’s taken!  I wait, nonchalantly, sending a text message and then pretending to send a text message.  The Asian family gets up; they have been waiting for the bus.  YES.  But the old man doesn’t budge.  Why?!?  Isn’t he waiting for the bus too?  No, evidently not—he has nowhere to go, he’s just parked on the bench and enjoying the afternoon.  Damn him!  I wait five minutes and then walk further north.

I see another well-positioned bench, and the family sitting on it is almost done with their snack.  I wait, trying not to be creepy.  Two minutes later they get up, I casually walk over and sit down, and—finally!—I have an excellent perch for my micro-pop-up-store.  But what’s this??  Before I can pull anything from my bag, two teenage girls come running over and sit down right next to me!  They’re young tourists and impossibly giggly, chattering away in Chinese on their cell phones (all I can make out is “Times Square”).  Damn them too!!!  I pretend to fiddle with my phone and think about obstacles, and how one just needs to work around them or outlast them.  I think about outlasting the loud teenage girls.  I think about this for about 3.5 minutes, and then I don’t outlast them.  I get up and find a truly empty bench on the next block north.

I have this one to myself, and before I can think about what I’m doing I force myself to set up my sign and my wares.  I’ve tucked the sign into a New Yorker, and now I’m grateful that I have it to read.  I try to read, but I can’t stop thinking about what I’m doing, and in particular, what I’m doing wrong.  Are you supposed to look at people and make eye contact, or seem occupied with some task?  Maybe looking at them makes them uncomfortable.  But not looking at them lets them ignore you so easily.  How do I not know the answer to this?!  Clearly I have precisely 0% of the peeler man’s talent.

I try to focus on the reading.  There’s an article by David Grann, one of my very favorite NYer writers, on a murder in Guatemala.  Thank God!  I try to focus on Grann.  Lots of people are walking by, reading my sign, and walking on—simple lack of interest.  That is ok, I tell myself.  I read.  I wonder if I’ll be stopped by the police, and my earrings confiscated.  I’m a regular law-abiding person and the prospect strikes me as truly horrible.  It has been ten minutes now with no bites, and I’m certain that this third-tier bench is doomed.   All the lingering, apparently, happens around the two museums, and none of it happens in between them.  I might as well be in Alaska.

OH MY GOD, someone is walking over to my bench!  “Are you sitting here?  Oh no, you’re selling!” the woman says.  The first sign of interest, and it’s a mistake.  Lovely.  I tell her she’s welcome to sit down, and we talk about the weather until her bus arrives.

I’m getting cold.  I’ve taken off my coat because for some reason I think it will make me look more approachable, but it’s an early spring day, not exactly warm, and the sun is no longer hitting my side of the street.  Could this get any worse?  Probably not, I think, unless I was trying to sell to strangers in murder-filled Guatemala.  But I resolve to sit there coatless until my hour is up.  I even make an effort not to slouch.  This had better be building SO MUCH character.

The time passes slowly.  Two women do come over to look at my offerings, and then walk away.  Two people sit down on the other end of my bench and say nothing.  16 minutes left…10 minutes…4 minutes…and YES!  I’m done!

Grand tally:

People who walked past and glanced at my sign: about five thousand
People who looked at my items: 2
People who sat next to me but didn’t look at my items: 2
Sales: 0

Selling was not really the point of the exercise, and anyway, I was set up so unprofessionally that I would have been shocked had anyone wanted to buy anything.  I don’t take this indifference at all personally.  The setting, the presentation were all wrong.  I wouldn’t have paid me any attention.  But even in other respects it was a disaster: the spirit of the exercise is to engage people, and I didn’t do that at all—I was far too passive.

But all of this is ok.  I’ve done something that, to the bodily fiber, I dreaded and loathed, and nothing more than temporary discomfort came of it.  I feel a tad stronger.  I feel grateful that my business model does not include selling to random strangers in front of tourist destinations.  And I tell myself that with another 19 episodes like this, I’ll have enough material for a memoir.