Very Sage, where have you been?

Nearly a year without a post? Absurdity!

I have kind of a good excuse, though. Not long after I posted my last update I became a real, live attorney. Like, the kind with a job.

The pros: A salary (it's nothing like what you're thinking. I'm not that kind of lawyer). Learning new things. Meeting new people (also sometimes a con). Health insurance!

The cons: long commutes all over the City (sort of a pro, although my yarn sheds all over my suits and I look like I have a multicolor dog), not enough sleep, working nights and weekends waaaaay too often, and not enough time to design new things. But still -- a salary! Health insurance!

In other good news: I went in for a 6-month check up and had a chest x-ray, and the pneumonia was fully resolved. Let's hope that never, ever happens again.

On to more business-y things. Very Sage has been resurrected for the holiday season. Things have been quiet so far. I'm having a hard time standing out in the crowd (see previous post on "made in China"). I'm having an even harder time with the realities of business: to succeed, you have to make what the people want. And the people want...baby booties.

Baby booties. It started as a way for me to give a homemade, heartfelt gift to the bazillion people in my life who are reproducing. It became a monster. Sure, they're cute. But they fit for 10 minutes, and they take way too long to make. I only have one design that I really like (suitable for boys and girls, not too fussy) and I haven't perfected my technique yet for speedy production. It's often more difficult to make something small than it is to make something large because of the detail involved.

It comes down to this: hats are fun. Booties are work. Just like children, right? So...what do I do now?

My New Year's Resolutions, or, Blogging from my Deathbed

Okay, so I have a flair for the dramatic. I am not actually on my deathbed. I am, however, on my sickbed. For those of you keeping track at home, I've been griping about Death Cold 2010 since mid-December. I found out two weeks ago that Death Cold 2010 had morphed into Inconvenient Pneumonia 2010-2011. I found this out when my inability to breathe landed me in the ER on Boxing Day. I spent the afternoon with an IV in my arm, imbibing a tasty cocktail of cough syrup, albuterol, and antibiotics.*

It took an extra week at my parents' house for me to be well enough to travel, but I finally got the go ahead to travel back to Brooklyn. I still have to rest non-stop, but now that I'm no longer sleeping 22 hours a day I have some time on my hands to think about things that I would like to accomplish in the new year.

Very Sage's Totally Attainable With a Little Work New Year's Resolutions

1. Unravel the mystery that is New York State's destination-based sales tax system

Since New York prides itself on making things as difficult as possible, it shouldn't be surprising that this fair state's system for online sales tax is a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in bureaucratic red tape. I'm not tax expert, but I know that I am supposed to charge people sales tax. Since my shop is an online entity based in New York, I am supposed to charge my customers tax based on their location. This means that I cannot act as though they've walked into my quaint little imaginary shop in Brooklyn; we have to pretend that I have traveled to the buyer's political district (yep, we can't use something simple like a zip code) to make the sale. Paypal lets you set up a tax rate for your own location, but as far as I can tell there is no way to automatically add tax based on the buyer's location. The only way to handle this is to process each transaction twice: the buyer purchases the item without actually paying, then I send the buyer an updated Paypal invoice that includes the tax amount, THEN the buyer actually purchases the product. Or doesn't, because maybe she's changed her mind during all this dilly-dallying. For a more cogent and less whiny explanation of this system, check out this great blog entry at Go to Great Panes.

Like everyone else in New York, I live in fear of the Tax Man. The last thing I can afford right now is to owe him money in April. Thus, I am officially going Nancy Drew on the System to figure out what I should be doing and when I have to do it. Also, wouldn't the powers that be be better off going after all those rich people who haven't paid income tax since the 80s?

2. Design fabric labels for my products to increase brand recognition

I know, it's funny to think that something I crochet on my couch qualifies as a brand. Be that as it may, tags communicate a message -- and I don't just mean nuts and bolts information like materials and place of production. A tag makes a handmade item look more professional, and thus more desirable. Maybe if your grandma had sewed a fancy tag with a brand name like Granny Millicent's Couture into your sweaters you wouldn't have given them all to the Goodwill.

There are a few obstacles to my label goal, the main one being that I am very, very cheap. I don't want to spend loads of money on something that probably won't generate much income. I also have very specific ideas about how I want my labels to look -- the last thing I want is to be stuck with the templates and fonts that the company offers.

I think that my best bet is to invest in some satin ribbon and iron-on transfer paper. It will be a hassle to make them one at a time, but I haven't found any pre-made woven labels for the right price.

3. Streamline the Inventory

I enjoy making lots of different styles of hat, but I definitely have two styles (ear flap hats with ties and jaunty newsboys) that are most popular. I like making both of them, and I hate the thought that I will get tired of them, but it makes sense for me to make these two styles in lots of colors and hold off for a while on other items. I initially started making pins, fingerless gloves, and small purses in an effort to introduce different price points into the shop. The fact of the matter is that they are not selling very well. I always thought it was a strength to have a lot of different items, but I'm starting to think that it is hurting my shop. I've done some research on other, considerably more successful shops that offer crocheted items. They tend to offer a few designs in many colors. Maybe if I made a dozen pairs of fingerless gloves in different colors I would be able to appeal to more people. I get the sense that if shoppers do not see the color that they want, they cruise off to another shop rather than going through the process of placing a custom order.

So from now on, I'm holding off on making anything other than hats. I want to spend some time perfecting a few core styles and widening my color offerings. The good thing is that I'm my own boss on this -- if I decide I hate making the same thing over and over again, I can change things up.

One good thing on being on pneumonia-induced modified bed rest is that I have plenty of time to crochet. My sweet mom was kind enough to restock my yarn stash for Christmas, and then to supplement it again as a "We're really sorry you have pneumonia" present before I left the nest, so at least I have a lot of great materials to work with.

4. Write It Down

People often ask me if I work from patterns. All of my work is based on patterns that I design myself (once you learn to crochet a basic hat crown in the round, the world of hatting is your oyster). But here's the thing -- I've never written any of my patterns down. On occasion I'll make something I really like, sell it, and then get a request for an identical item. The last thing I want to say is "Oops, I made that hat 3 months ago and have no idea how I did it." So far I've muddled through by looking at pictures of the original hat, but it would be really helpful to have it all written down -- especially the patterns for my tried and true designs so I can make sure I'm achieving uniformity.

This will be especially helpful when I develop amnesia from trying to teach myself NY sales tax law.

Happy New Year!

*A word to the wise: if you don't have health insurance, don't even think about getting pneumonia.

Too Much, Not Enough: Competing with "Made in China"

"Why does this cost so much?"

People ask me that question all the time, both about my own work and at my retail job. When I sell my work at craft shows, many people express dismay at my prices. After all, why should they buy a handmade Jaunty Newsboy hat from me for $31 when they can buy what they think of as a comparable item from Target for $14.99?

Before I explain my pricing, I would like to revisit an important and oft-forgotten event in American history.

On Saturday, March 25, 1911, five hundred women reported to work at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory on the eighth, ninth, and tenth floors of the Asch Building in New York's Washington Square. Most of the garment workers were young immigrant girls who worked 9 hours a day to help support their families. The girls worked for very low weekly wages in unsanitary conditions and were often locked in the factory during working hours. When a fire broke out on the eighth floor the flames quickly spread throughout the factory, with the textiles acting as an accelerant. Terrified workers swarmed the one unlocked staircase and crowded the building's single fire escape, which twisted and collapsed under their weight; dozens of girls fell eight stories to the ground. Some workers were able to escape to the roof or by freight elevator to the ground floor, many with their clothing still on fire. When these exits became inoperable, the girls began to jump from the windows. Passersby initially thought that the owners were throwing bolts of cloth from the windows. Only when they drew closer to the building did they realize that they were watching young women jump to their deaths to avoid being burned alive. Firemen later discovered bodies melted together against the locked door. One hundred and forty-six people died in the fire, and seventy-one escaped with injuries.

The Triangle Fire was one of the most gruesome workplace disasters in American history. In addition to inspiring industrial regulations, wage and hour restrictions, and fire safety standards, the Triangle Fire also gave rise to a class action law suit brought by survivors and family members of the deceased young women. (For a riveting account of the Triangle Fire and the labor reforms that followed, see David Von Drehle's Triangle: The Fire That Changed America.)

Let's look at modern day American labor and employment law. The federal minimum wage is $7.25. Non-exempt American workers receive overtime when they work more than 40 hours per week. The United States also has laws to control family and medical leave, prevent child labor, and provide for unemployment insurance. (For more information on all of these topics, visit the Department of Labor website.) While the laws are not perfect (you'd be amazed how many employers are exempt from compliance with basic employee protections, and there are still numerous sweatshops in operation in the US) labor laws make a huge difference in our collective working life.

Now, let's examine the labor practices in the country the provides most of our cheap imported goods: China. Activists for the global garment industry have documented the working conditions of Chinese garment workers since the early 1990s. At present, the average hourly wage in Southern China is about $0.75 American cents thanks in part to an unlimited supply of cheap labor. Despite American companies' highly publicized promises to avoid buying sweatshop goods, lax enforcement encourages the maintenance of the status quo. Furthermore, many factories have simply become more adept at concealing their practices. Chinese factory workers are frequently locked in the facility, forced to live in prison-like dormitories, and denied access to food or restrooms during the 14-hour work day. (Again, these practices are by no means exclusive to China. If you do a little digging you will encounter sweatshops right here in New York City, where manufacturers benefit from an unlimited supply of illegal immigrant laborers that are often both unaware of their rights and fearful of deportation.)

Why is this allowed? Because we Americans are accustomed to cheap stuff. We are used to buying our food, especially our protein, at inflation-proof prices supported by government subsidies to factory farming operations (everyone who eats should read Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer). And thanks to foreign sweatshops that handily avoid American labor restrictions, we can buy that hat for $14.99. Who cares how it was made, as long as it's cheap?

As you may have guessed, it is all but impossible for an artisan to compete with prices like that. I strive to appeal to my customers on the grounds of quality, uniqueness, and conscience, but I almost always have to sell myself short to make a sale. Let me give you a breakdown of my own costs for making a hat like my Charcoal Gray Eco-Wool Ear Flap Hat:

Cute, right? The first thing you should know is that I do not work from other people's patterns. I design ALL of my products myself. But for the sake of this analysis, we will ignore the time spend in the design process and stick to production costs.

1. Materials: I work almost exclusively with natural fibers. I do this for a few reasons: acrylic, while considerably cheaper, irritates my hands if I work with it too much. Plus, wool is a renewable resource and acrylic yarn is made from petroleum. Yuck.

This hat is made of eco-wool, which is a very high quality wool yarn at an economic $15 per skein. The skeins (units in which yarn is sold) are quite large, so I was able to make this hat from a single skein.

2. Labor: It takes me about 4-5 hours to make a hat like this. Twisted cables look great, but they slow down the production process considerably. Still, this style of hat is very popular this year so I like to include some of them in my shop at all times. Let's say I'm working very quickly and I finish this hat in 4 hours. If I were to pay myself minimum wage ($7.25) that would amount to $29.

3. The Math: You've probably figured this out already. To recoup my investment and pay myself a fair wage, I would have to charge $44 for my hat. In order to stay competitive -- even in the Etsy marketplace, which is supposed to be devoted to handmade goods -- I'm charging $31, for the simple fact that no one will pay me what the hat is worth. Even if someone buys this hat (and there are no guarantees that will happen), I will still lose money.

If you've made it this far into my manifesto, I applaud you. I'm not trying to throw a pity party for myself, because I really enjoy the crafting process. But I also think it's essential that we think more critically about the work that goes into our purchases.

It comes down to this: shoppers are asking the wrong questions. Rather than looking at the handmade item and asking "why does this cost so much?" they should be looking at the mass-produced item and asking "why does this cost so little?"

They might not like the answer.

Fantastic Ways to Annoy an Artisan: A Holiday Shopping Guide

Working for a successful artisan has taught me that, while many potential customers possess an uncanny god-given gift of saying rude, annoying things about even the most beautiful handmade items, most of you have a little work to do if you want to achieve a truly irritating level of offensive customership. "But Very Sage," you might ask, "how can I be as annoying as the gifted people of whom you speak?" Look no further! Here is a handy-dandy little guide that I call Fantastic Ways to Annoy an Artisan. Make the most of your holiday shopping by taking this guide to your local craft fair/gallery shop/trunk show. Within minutes, you too will be as irritating as an experienced looky-loo.

1. Grab fragile items off of displays without asking for help. Don't bother with being stealthy; if you want to be truly annoying, stealth is not your friend. Try garments on in a way that stretches, snags, or otherwise compromises the material (bonus points if you leave a smudge of Wet 'n' Wild lipstick on something white). Then, if you're really interested in an advanced level of annoyance, cough on the garments before placing them back on the rack. Whatever you do, never return the item to its proper place. If you have the gift of annoyance, you can easily mess up 3 or 4 other items in the process.

2. Select a beautiful and complicated item, preferably made of  a costly material like cashmere. Try it on (see above), then loudly inform the artisan that you have something just like it. Open your absurdly large handbag and pull out a sweatshop-made, petroleum-based, mass-produced eyesore from Forever 21 that bears little to no resemblance to the item. Watch as the artisan tries to maintain a level of friendly decorum. If you look really closely, you can usually see a piece of her soul die. Bonus points: say "And this only cost $14! Why is yours so much more expensive?"

3. Everyone loves children, especially when they have little jam-covered fingers! Many artisans truly enjoy children and welcome them into their shops. Take advantage of this goodwill as a form of free babysitting. If you are able to engage in some advance planning, encourage your offspring to touch everything they can. Watch your child from afar -- not for the sake of supervision, but for the sake of determining whether your child has an innate talent for annoying artisans. You will know as soon as you see a little finger go up a nose before touching hand-dyed silk. If you have been careful in your selection of the artisan that you wish to annoy, you have chosen one that feels bad about criticizing your parenting style and tries to bring your attention to your child in a polite and roundabout way. Bellow something about taking your business to a more family-friendly establishment as you storm off, preferably knocking down a display on your way out.

4. Five simple words: "I could make this myself." This phrase is most effective when cheerfully uttered in front of something that took at least 5 days to complete. Throw in a comment about how you learned to garter stitch from grandma/made a clay pot at summer camp when you were 11/once held a crochet hook in 1973. This shows the artisan that you two have so much in common! You will no doubt become lifelong friends.

Remember, truly annoying an artisan takes work. Don't expect success on your first attempt. However, with study and practice, you may one day be able to combine all of these techniques in one shopping expedition!

My Second Shift, or Why My Hair Looks So Bad Right Now

If you're like me, you got home from work today and you were so tired that you accidentally shampooed your hair with lotion (yes, I work on Saturdays, and no, I'm not kidding about the lotion).

Since I am an unemployed lawyer, I am spending the holiday season working a temporary retail job. The work is hard, but I'm lucky enough to be working for an amazing textile designer (honestly, she's so talented it's almost scary). It is a pleasure to work alongside her and help to sell her amazing designs. It's also very inspiring to see a crafter who has really made it as a professional artisan. Designing, creating, and marketing her work are her full-time job. She sells at craft shows, boutiques, and museum stores all over the United States and in several foreign countries. I don't expect to turn my work into a full-time job any time soon, but it gives me hope that I may be able to do so in the future.

As much as I love to crochet it's a struggle not to collapse into bed as soon as I get home from work. Like most crafters, selling the things that I make isn't my only job. Here's a snapshot of an average day for me right now:

I do my best to get up by 8:00 even though I don't have to be at work until noon. I spend a good amount of time looking for a law job online, then turn to managing my Etsy shop. On a good day I'll have made a sale, which leads to gift wrapping, receipt printing, coupon coding, and a brisk walk to the post office with my cute little parcel. I try to post a new item on Etsy every day, but it's very hard to keep up. The next best thing is reposting an item or two in hopes of bumping that item (and consequently, my shop) closer to the top of a few people's searches. I try to squeeze in some photo editing for items that are in the pipeline, or maybe even pre-write a product description or two. By 11:00 I'm usually crocheting away on the subway while precariously wedged between a few large businessman. I try to work on something, whether it's a hat, flower pin, or pair of booties, whenever I have a long train ride (as a bonus, crocheting booties might make people think I'm pregnant so I have a better chance of scoring a seat). I arrive at work at 12:00, ready to spend the next 6 hours engaged in non-stop selling, smiling until my face hurts, and wishing there were a painless way to be on my feet all day. The evening commute provides another good opportunity to crochet. I stumble through the door a little after 7:00 and make an appointment with my dear friend and lovely model, Emily, to take some photos during a few precious weekend daylight hours. By 8:00 I've settled in for more job searching, blogging, business planning, designing, and crocheting.

Sounds busy, right? Don't worry, I still find time for plenty of eating and dawdling. Probably a little too much of both, actually.

"So, what do you do?"

Is there anyone who actually enjoys being asked that question? How did it become a staple of polite conversation? I lost all fondness for the what-do-you-do line of conversation when I joined the legions of unemployed law school graduates.

Right now the answer is simple: I crochet. A lot.

I have spent most of my time since taking the bar exam in July working a variety of jobs, some of them fairly demeaning, while looking for a "real" job. When you're sending out enough resumes each day to wallpaper an Upper East Side co-op, sometimes you need to do something that makes you feel good about yourself. I crave activities that make me feel productive. If it involves using my hands to create something beautiful, then it's more likely to help me forget the stressful thoughts that are dancing around in my brain.

While I'm still actively seeking a law job, I am also working hard to make the transition from hobby crafter to professional artisan. As far as I can tell, this transition is largely mental. I've always made art of one kind or another. I majored in it in college and have even had some pieces in small exhibitions. However, my artwork never became compatible with my tiny-apartment lifestyle (let's just say that the term "studio" apartment is a complete misnomer). When a friend first taught me to crochet, I sniffed a bit: I was an artist. This was craft. Make something that people would use and wear? How perfectly plebeian.

But something must have stuck, because I have been crocheting with increasing regularity and (I hope) skill for eight years. When I started making hats as gifts, friends and coworkers encouraged me to start selling them. I opened an online shop on Etsy.com, a marketplace for handmade and vintage items, in January 2009. Like many new Etsy sellers I expected the sales to roll in. I mean, my friends loved my stuff, right? And my prices were reasonable, right? And I always got compliments when I wore my hats around New York City, right?

Well, it turns out that none of those things is enough to create a successful online craft empire.

Etsy is enormous. As of today there are 271,433 active shops, and new shops open every day. Doing business on Etsy boils down to one simple fact: if your work doesn't stand out, you don't make sales. While blogs like the hilarious Regretsy.com poke fun at lackluster Etsy items, most of the work on Etsy is impeccable. Furthermore, gone are the olden days of posting a few dark pictures of your friend wearing that cute necklace you made -- many Etsy sellers now hire professional photographers, models, photo editors, copy writers, and graphic designers to make their shops stand out. Online crafting is big business.

Where do I fit into this? Well, I'm still muddling through nearly two years after opening my shop. With the exception of sending my very patient boyfriend on occasional trips to the post office, I do everything myself. I'm still waiting for that magical morning where I wake up to 100 sales in one day. I get excruciatingly frustrated at finding my items buried beneath 10 pages of other hats within minutes of posting them, but I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet. That's one of the reasons I started this blog. Hopefully by writing about my experiences as an aspiring professional artisan I can figure out what I'm doing right and where I'm going wrong. If I'm lucky, maybe people will even read my ramblings and talk about their own experiences. You know, kind of like a virtual stitch and bitch club.

Next time I post I'll bring a box of wine.