It’s been a few years since I experienced the direct-sales experience with customers purchasing something I have made. I’ve done both art fairs, marketplace booths, and worked in a gallery featuring some of my work. In all cases, I learned that the thick skin I grew in college art class critiques is quickly pierced by the careless words and actions of the general public.
It is a unique challenge to sell a handmade product in a WalMart world. Many of today’s consumers have a mentality of disposable items; this comes with a side order of price-cuts and return-itis. In other words, perspective is skewed. They are now used to cheap stuff made in China and the prices that come along with that, as well as the generous return policies of large stores capable of absorbing ruined or damaged items and fickle minds. They want free samples and threaten to take their business elsewhere when they have no intention of doing actual business at all.
This past weekend’s Street Fair was a refresher course in Thick Skin 101. I had several kind things said about my cupcakes (“I’ve been to the Magnolia Bakery in New York and these are better!” was a top one); this post is not for or about those people. It is, instead, about how the kind or even impartial actions were quickly forgotten amidst negative moments, like the woman who snickered at my price and promptly called her friend on her cell phone right outside of the booth.
“You would not believe what she’s charging for just a cupcake with a swirl of frosting,” I heard her say. “You put frosting and a small fondant decoration on it for much less!” She neglected to mention that mine were jumbo-sized and completely homemade with no box mix or canned frosting to speak of, as well as the fact that each was individually packaged in a very nice box. I’m willing to bet her friend couldn’t say the same of her product.
And, speaking of box mixes and canned frosting, passive-aggressive insult number two came from a woman who griped at the price and said to her friend that “that was a lot to pay for a Betty Crocker cupcake.” I informed her gently that everything was homemade, to which she responded, while quickly leaving the tent, that she “hadn’t meant to offend.”
Oh, but she did.
More than once I’ve been horrified to be browsing in an artisan’s tent only to hear people inside comment that they could do the same thing cheaper, or make fun of something they didn’t like, never once considering that the person who made it was standing right there. This is not the same as pointing out an ugly candle in a Hallmark store. This is the creation of another person who is listening.
The third disappointment came from the many people who either carelessly knocked cupcake boxes over, or picked them up and flipped them over to read absolutely nothing on the bottom of the box. I never cease to be amazed at the lack of ability to read a sign; no matter what I did to note the price, people still picked the box up and flipped it over (thereby completely destroying the cupcake inside) to look for something on the bottom. The worst thing, however, was that once they realized they’d ruined the cupcake they…put it back and either walked quickly away, or picked up an unruined one of the same variety to buy. Or, as happened twice, they ruin two cupcakes looking at the bottom before they realized there really was nothing there to see, and buy another. My father suggested that I put a rude message on the bottom of the box for people who do this.
What to say?
Each $3 I’m tallying up in my head, subtracting the cost of ingredients and packaging and trying to be polite. When people not only insult the product, but carelessly treat it like it’s some cheap junk in a store that can absorb the loss, I stand there in a state of distress.
This is my rent, we’re talking. This is my visit to the dentist, or the eye doctor. This is my grocery money. This is my vehicle’s gas. This is my electric bill. This is regular life for me, just like you, and you’re way too casual about it. This might be your day out with friends on your way to lunch, but it’s much more important to me.
How did the street fair go, Julie? I was asked by friends and family.
OK, I guess. I didn’t sell as much as I had hoped. Like any other street fair. It was pretty much the experience I remembered. Win some, lose some. Not sure if I’ll bother next year. And so forth.
Like just about every other artisan there, I stayed up for hours many nights in a row. I invested piles of money in packaging and product. I pulled nearly a 20-hour day during the start of the fair, and stood in blazing 90-degree heat and smiled at people who complimented and people who insulted. I felt grateful for friends and customers who bought cupcakes and said supportive things. I felt a little embarrassed at being aggressive in suggesting people buy. I realized the old adage of counting chickens before they were hatched was very true and began to re-adjust my plans for my street fair profits to less exciting things like savings or a much-needed dental check-up. I mentally gamed whether the amount of work I put into it was worth it all.
During the tear-down phase upon completion of the fair, an older man and woman inquired about using the restroom. I informed them that we had no public restroom. It wasn’t feasible to be allowing thousands of people to traipse in and use a restroom when there were portable facilities intended for that purpose, and I wasn’t about to start now. As they walked away, they loudly said something about rudeness and stores not wanting their business and that they’d take their business elsewhere.
Since I am not in the business of wiping the backside of customers, and am certainly not interested in kissing it either, I highly doubt any business I was interested in keeping was lost in that moment. Call me a bad capitalist or a foolish business woman; it was a long day and I was done with selling myself to people as a verbal punching bag for $3 a hit.
If you go to an art fair and don’t like the work, don’t buy it.
If it’s too expensive, don’t buy it.
If you break or destroy something made by an artisan, pay for it.
If you or a friend could do a better job, keep it to yourself.
We are all people and treating a person who is behind the counter as if you own them or that standards of common courtesy don’t apply simply because they are offering to sell you something is sickening.
Simple things.
And that’s pretty much how it goes.
Julie,
I have been blogging this week about loving and embracing our present culture and you have succeeded in painting a picture of insensitivity that was painful to read and for you to experience. A consumer’s cruel and selfish heart is not a beautiful thing.
At my wifes school homemade cupcakes are no longer allowed for safety reasons, sad, for a cupcake is just right for personal enjoyment of a treat.
May God grant you recovery from your efforts, recompense in your spirit, and money to pay the bills.
Don
I admire those earn their living by selling directly. I had to learn that it wasn’t for me. I appreciate art and have bought quite a few things, especially if they were authentic art. You have seen them displayed here at home, when I look at them I think of the person that made them, some people I knew and others I only saw someplace. Today, I mostly see it as an opportunity to encourage someone. Most recently I was at an event near home and there were artists there. One person was spinning, and I sensed that she really desired to do something with it, for me it was an opportunity to encourage her in what she was doing. To tell her of others she could network with in her desire to succeed.
For you, I thank you for being willing to be transparent enough to tell what it was like. I prayed a lot for you during those days, and even if you didn’t sell like you would have liked to have sold, you came away with something you could share, something you could tell some thing you had learned.