I was working as a copywriter at a wig catalog when I got the opportunity I’d always wanted: To work as an editor at a women’s magazine. I took the job—along with a $15,000 pay cut.
I needed a side hustle. So while attending a jewelry party at a friend’s home, I watched the saleswoman closely. She encouraged people to try on bracelets while sipping a glass of wine and filling out orders, and I thought, I could do that.
Boom. Less than a month later, I had my full starter kit—a show-ready collection of silver jewelry, stacked into long black boxes that fit slid into a metal case so I could zip in and out of houses like a pro.
My friend Megan was kind enough to host the first party. I painstakingly set up the display as I’d been shown: Velvet backboards like phantom necks strewn with chains, stacks of silver cuffs, rows of hoops and studs. A dish of chunky silver rings adorned with every kind of stone. I was in business.
And then you know what I did? Not a goddamned thing. I left my gorgeous display standing there in the corner all dressed up like a neglected prom date. Why? I was afraid. Afraid I’d look like I was trying to “sell” people. I wanted my friend’s friends to like and trust me for ME and not think I was trying to pull one over on them. I was going to pretend I was just there for the margaritas, and not at all concerned about my rent.
It was a great product. Sterling silver, moderately priced, an easy impulse buy, something for everyone. We had all been given signs to prop up on our displays that said, “Your husband called. He said to get anything you want!” I thought, well, here it is; if they want something, they’ll make that decision.
I committed one of the greatest sins of sales and marketing that I rail against to this day:
I believed that if something were that good, it would sell itself. It didn’t.
I sold one thin silver chain and a pair of hoops that night. It was a bust. I felt lousy and less than as I packed all that jewelry up into the black velvet boxes, fastened the clasp, and rolled home. I knew I hadn’t done my job, and it was clear that things did not sell themselves; that was my job.
It wasn’t until I had a few parties under my belt that I had a breakthrough moment: A stunning silver haired woman in her 50s? 60s? slid the show piece of the night around her neck, a multi-layered necklace called the Silver Cascade. She looked in the mirror.
“Oh, isn’t that beautiful,” she said, running her fingers along the chain. “But, no, no. I can’t wear this. My sister could, but not me.”
“But you are wearing it,” I said. “You have a neck. That’s really all it takes.”
She turned back to herself in the mirror. She wanted that necklace. No question. I looked at her looking at what she could be.
“Who says you can’t wear that?” I asked.
That’s when I realized that this wasn’t about ME and what I wanted — to sell more jewelry, to earn money, to get people to want things because I wanted them to.
This was about HER! It had literally nothing to do with me. That was secondary. This was about who she wanted to be that night, as a person, as a woman. This was about how she wanted to appear to the world.
Was she a woman who could wear the Silver Cascade Necklace? Of course she was. My job wasn’t to tell her why I wanted her to buy that (it was $150!). It was my job to show her that she could have what she wanted, that she could be what she wanted to be.
She bought the necklace, and a lot of other people bought stuff, too. That’s when I found my groove. I recognized that these were people with their own needs to fill, things I couldn’t guess at, and my job was to help them see how this necklace, these earrings, played a role in solving a problem, whether I knew what it was or not.
What a powerful lesson in entrepreneurship. When I realized that, I was unstoppable. I sold so much jewelry I earned the free, all-expense-paid trip to St. Thomas. I not only was able to sell jewelry, but I sold careers—I built a team of other sales reps who saw what I was doing, and wanted to do it too.
I took home an award for one of the top rookie recruiters that year.
I remember walking up to receive my award at the annual conference. I got all stupid the way people do when they’re called up on stage and they can’t find the stairs.
The CEO said, “This surely isn’t the last you’ve heard of her.”
And yet, they never heard from me again.
Because once I understood what this was and what I could do, I didn’t even need the jewelry anymore. While I had been selling jewelry, the magazine I worked for was selling itself hard to Martha Stewart. And she bit.
Having Martha as the new owner of our magazine brought with it a whole new set of demands and opportunities, and I lost interest in the parties, which I didn’t have time for anymore. I dove whole heartedly into my magazine career, and rather than selling jewelry, I sold myself—as a senior editor, as a radio host, as on-air TV talent, and soon I was doing regular national TV appearances, and hosting my own daily radio show. I didn’t sit there and wait for someone to notice. I had to tell people that I wanted to do it. I had to believe I could pull it off, even if I worried that I couldn’t.
Later, I got laid off. The magazine closed shortly thereafter. I used those same skills to launch and grow my own business as a content and branding pro. As a speaker and contributor. I sold my skills to countless clients and businesses, to TEDx and then another TEDx. And then as a TEDx coach.
My job (and yours, no matter what you do) is to keep giving people reasons to let me do what I do best. In the case of entrepreneurship, you have to come up with it, create the need…and then deliver it.
Please—jewelry is easy compared to that! It comes ready to wear! Entrepreneurs start with zip: It’s like you create the occasion, sell the idea for the outfit, and then sew the clothes from scratch.
I still get nervous about selling things sometimes, the old fears creep in. But I just remind myself that when it comes down to it, they’re not looking at you when you think they are; they’re looking at their own reflection.
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