Several months ago, my friend Debbie Dusenberry told me she was going to be the subject of a New York Times series about the challenges of running a small business. More accurately, the challenges of running her small business, Curious Sofa, in Kansas City. While I understood how this series would benefit the author (terrific visibility, an audience, and a paycheck), I also understood what Debbie was about get in the deal-—not new customers or more foot traffic, but instead, her heart and soul laid naked for a world of total strangers to judge.
Those of you who own a retail store know about the basketful of fear that goes home with you each night. Fear about shrinking sales. Fear about paying the bills. Fear your best vendors will go under. Fear your best vendors will revoke N30 terms. Fear that someone, somewhere will figure out your business isn’t in robust, healthy condition, and that you’re gulping for air in hopes some will appear. Debbie is no different.
Rather than cower in the corner or sugar coat reality, Debbie did the ballsiest thing imaginable. She told the truth. Unvarnished, painful, and raw, from the nitty gritty details of her financing and cash flow to the emotional balancing act known as “having employees.” Nothing was off limits. Nothing was held back.
And everything struck a familiar chord with small business owners from coast to coast. This was their story, wearing someone else’s name.
One of the heaviest weights on Debbie’s shoulders this past year has been the number of people (retailers) who view her as “retail royalty,” a wise sage incapable of making mistakes or taking wrong turns. It’s not hard to see how they came to that conclusion. Curious Sofa is magnificent, her marketing is well honed, and her artistic eye is among the best in the business. Still, no one was more painfully aware that she was a struggling, overwhelmed, emotionally drained business owner than Debbie.
By spring, the weight of the unsought
adulation was tearing her apart. The greater the praise, the worse she felt, aware that things looked divine from afar, but from her vantage point, the royal castle was cracked, creaking, and crumbling.
Is Debbie perfect? Brilliant? Rolling in dough? Hell no (yes, Debbie, I heard you burst into laughter). What she is, is the real deal. Salt of the earth. More comfortable in baggy jeans, beer in hand, slouched on a sofa with a couple of close friends than standing in the bright glare of the retail world spotlight with a scepter close by.
Which is what made her public admissions all the more remarkable.
So take heart, fellow retailers, and know you aren’t alone. Read the Times series, keeping a couple of thoughts in mind: (a) everyone is capable of retooling, and (b) no one is perfect, rich, blowing items out the door, or in control of the game.
To Debbie (who I know is cringing as I complement her publicly , but hey, this is what friends do): It’s your imperfections, your mistakes, and the guts it took to admit them that make you one of strongest women I know. You’re beloved and believed in, no matter what happens, kid, and someone who gets my vote. Every time.
June 23, 2009 – The Dusenberry Diary: When Passion Meets Math
July 2 – The Dusenberry Diary: Who Needs Customers Like This?!
July 17 – The Dusenberry Diary: To Buy or Not To Buy?
July 21 – The Dusenberry Diary: More of the Dangers of Playing It Safe
Nov 10 – The Dusenberry Diary: Living the Dream, or Just Living?
Photos: Curious Sofa
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I do not mind baring it all when other retailers are the recipient. My story has hit home to more business owners than I ever imagined. (And I do try and keep this info from my customers.) My situation may make others breathe easy knowing they are not struggling as much -or- breathe a little easier because they are also in the same boat. Regardless, things have changed this year and I, like most small boutiques, was not prepared. I hope some lessons can be learned from reading the NY Times articles. Small independent retail needs to get smart and survive tough times like these. With the help of honest, diligent and continued education from masters like Cinda, we can survive. Onward (and upward!) to all of us!