South America was our home for six months. It took us in and guided us towards the people and places we were looking for. We developed our idea of finding artesans who used their hands to create unique items and we worked with them to develop a range of products to sell to the British market. We believed the combination of our knowledge of the market, our ideas and designs, along with other people’s skills and knowledge of materials and products, that we could create something special.
Several months on and sitting in our new London studio apartment surrounded by ripped cardboard boxes, piles of leather bags around our feet, stacks of felt hats on the wardrobe, little mountains of jewellery on the work-top and bundles of alpaca woolens obscuring the bed, we surprised ourselves by how far we had come in such a short period of time. We had really started something unique. Neither of us had studied design but the combination of my practicality and Mikaela’s eye for style had seemed to have worked.
We planned the initial days at the market, how to talk about our products, where they came from, who had made them etc etc; but foremost in my mind was the inevitable question, would anyone else like our designs or were we merely blinded by our own determination? We couldn’t prepare for being ignored but just accepted that it was always a distinct possibility.
Camden 7am Saturday 10th of September.
Eventually I was lead to my first stall and nervously set up as best I could. I sat and stared at the people milling around. People bought jewellery from my next door neighbour but she had an amazing setup. One stall with thousands of unique hand-made jewellery with bits of butterflies and earrings of orange peel but no-one bought anything from that stall. Her other was packed with fake pearls and other crap bought from the wholesaler down the road and she struggled to keep up with the demand. I don’t understand.
People admired my bags, nobody wanted to try them on. My alpaca wear was stroked by a thousand people. I sat and sat and smiled. I swallowed hard and tried to remain positive. I paid my £15 and went home. Tourists go to Camden Market to see Camden Market not to go shopping.
Spitalfields 8.30am Monday 12th of September
I was given a terrible spot surrounded by pretty much nobody. Empty stalls made the atmosphere eerie and off-putting. I thought the stall looked good and enjoyed some attention. I was given advise which I accepted gratefully and rejected in my head. I had a vision. I moved things around and chatted nervously to potential customers. I knew my products were quality, so it seemed did the aimlessly wandering shoppers. Why then did no-one want to buy anything? There was nothing wrong with the product, it was me that had to improve.
Thai girls came to check out the bags. Were they trying to steal my designs? I just have to sell a bag. Just one, any one. I talked a girl to boredom. I babbled on about Andean cultures. I got blank stares. Girls said they would have a look around and come back. Non did. Friends texted asking how many I had sold. What to do.
And then it happened. A girl came back. She came back and wanted to give me money for one of my bags. One of the bags I had painstakingly designed, packaged, imported, stored and displayed. I paid the stall's rent with the profit of the bag and went home happy.
Spitalfields 8.30am Tuesday 13th of September
A much better position saw me spend three hours trying to set up as a succession of potential customers bombarded me with questions. I talked and talked and found I had quickly become comfortable. I was not a born salesman but I believed in what I was selling and it was beginning to show.
'Hey Betty come and look at these amazing bags,' a repetitive compliment I lapped up. A crowd developed often, people attracted by the melee. Men were attracted by the Unisex Briefcase but sighed in disappointment at the limited size. Women agonized on whether to buy a briefcase or a larger leather bag. Three bags sold and The Treepot Tree was in profit. Well actually hugely in debt but in profit for today.
Men demanded a bigger sized bag. I must spend my day off developing the changes for a larger scale version. A Chinese man wants to sell the bags in his shop. An Irani man was impressed with the quality of the work and ordered a larger briefcase. A woman anguished over how many bags to buy. I sat with my neighbour and listened to him complain about what a desperate state the market was in. This time last year he would have sold twenty jackets he claimed. Today he had sold nothing. I sat quiet, shouting and jumping up and down inside. People liked our stuff.
Spitalfields 8.30am Wednesday 14th of September
A terrible spot again has brought me back down to earth. Hidden by mountains of cheap hats and overwhelming rails of Thai clothes. My products were overshadowed and ignored. Several women stopped to give praise but ran off before I could introduce myself. Its such a fine line between being welcoming and being imposing. The day passed slowly. Someone bought a scarf as a present, several bags found a new home and the stall is beginning to look a little thin in stock. Several stall holders bought other bags which made me happy. Its one thing to accept compliments but another to know they are heart felt when they hand over their money. Women on their way home from work stopped for a look and took a business card.
And on and on it went. The first week of ‘The Teapot Tree’ was over. I was really happy that customers were acknowledging our efforts to work with individuals and their families to improve their livelihoods.
