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This isn’t easy for me to say. Growing up in Washington, DC, I was born and bred to hate the Yankees, and I’ve spent the first 98.5% of my life thus far doing so. But after 12 years of living in New York City, I’ve turned a corner. Some may call me a bandwagon fan. That’s fair, but, in truth, they’ve won several World Series since I’ve lived here, and my affinity toward them started in the beginning of the 2009 season.
You’ll remember, they spent much of the first few weeks of this season in last place and struggled all the way up to the All-Star Break. I laughed out loud at how miserable they were, but I began to take an interest in them. So why am I not surprised that, despite that start, they’ve played their way into their 40th Pennant win? And, very possibly, to their 27th championship title? (Sorry, Philadelphia.)
I’m not an avid baseball fan, so I can’t really comment in-depth on the Yankees history, but watching them from the eyes of a fan this year, rather than foe, I have come to really admire some of their big-picture traits. The Yankees, after all, like every other professional sports team, are also a business, and there are key attributes that contribute to the success of their franchise that can’t be ignored. Every individual field has different contributors to success, and this list is by no means all-inclusive, but this is what stands out to me:
The Money – While not an attribute, per se, you can’t mention the Yankees’ success without also mentioning their payroll. The Yankees are the richest team in the MLB and can afford to pay the highest salaries. Blah, blah, blah. I’m not going to argue for or against revenue sharing and salary caps, but it’s worth noting that Steinbrenner manages the money masterfully. Sure, sometimes he’s bet big and lost (Jose Contreras? A-Rod until this post-season?), but he bought the Yankees in 1973 for $10 million, and turned them into a $1 billion team. He is a good owner (arguably the best), and that goes beyond just having money, it’s what he does with it. Because, in the end, money doesn’t always equal success—just ask the Knicks or Dan Snyder and the Redskins.
They Don’t Panic – The Yankees never seem to lose their cool. OK, maybe some of Girardi’s calls seem panicky, but the Yankees, as a team, have composure. Have they seen the post-season so often it doesn’t mean as much any more? Maybe it still means as much, but experience gives them perspective. They have lost games. They have gone through slumps. They have lost playoff series. But the next game/week/season they always come back with a “why shouldn’t we win this?” attitude and then actually do win. Any one of us who has suffered setbacks in our personal or professional lives knows this is not easy to do, but the fact that they do this so well is the reason why you never count them out.
Everyone on the Team Plays His Position – No, I am not talking about field position. I’m talking about the if-you-were-to-make-a-movie-of-these-guys positions: The Fan Favorite (Jeter), The Bad Boy Headliners (A-Rod, Johnny Damon), The Veteran Workhorses (Posada, Pettitte, Matsui), The Exciting Underdog (Melky Cabrera). Assembling a team (athletic or otherwise) that not only understands their actual responsibilities, but also the emotional roles each one plays, is fundamental to group success. It’s a diverse collection of personalities, but they mesh together and (mostly) support each other, and that’s what makes an “assembly of players” into a team.
They Know the Haters Will Hate – In any competitive industry the most successful team/company/figure will have haters. Competitors hate you for being so tough to beat. Contrarians hate you for being the perennial favorite. Sometimes your fans even hate you because you’ve set their standards so high. But deeply rooted within all this hatred is respect. Those who are least respected are typically pitied, not hated. The Yankees seem to get this, and they let criticism and jeering just roll off their backs. It’s taken me 33 years to be able to say this, but the Yankees (as a brand, not always individually) have a lot of class.
Being “the Yankees” of any field is a lofty goal to shoot for, but thinking about these contributors helps give me some perspective on their achievements. One day I hope to have assembled a team and built a brand that emulates this kind of success and class. In the mean time, will the Yankees win the title again this year? Soon we’ll see. Will they continue to be the #1 dynasty in baseball? Fuggedabout it.
posted by Rachel @ 9:56 AM 0 Comments 
In New York City foodie circles, Locanda Verde is kind of a big deal. One of the hottest new restaurants of the spring, those who are lucky enough to get reservations have been raving about it. Located on a prime corner in Tribeca, in Robert De Niro’s new Greenwich Hotel, Locanda fits in perfectly with the neighborhood scene—stylish 30- and 40-somethings in creative industries intermixed with bankers and lawyers trying to look like creative-types.
However, a year ago people were singing a different tune. The restaurant that the hotel opened with, Ago, did not fair so well. It was much anticipated, with LA chef Agostino Sciandri at the helm. A large, fancy Italian restaurant, it was sure to attract investment bankers with (dwindling) expense accounts, but there wasn’t much of a lure for other types.
Last May, my husband and I decided to go to Ago with some friends. We joked about the one review we found that said the huge bar was filled with, “high-fiving, martini-drinking Wall Street types.” This is not a compliment. Sure enough, we walked into a huge, loud space with lots of pre-bailout suits spending to impress. The six of us were seated at a table about 8-feet wide. My Bolognese sauce tasted watered down. That’s about all I remember of the experience. We left in no rush to return.
It wasn’t a surprise, then, when we heard Ago was being closed. De Niro pulled the plug before it ever had the chance to warm up or go down in flames, though it’s easy to guess in which direction it was headed. The hoteliers and partners brought in new talent—new managers, new chefs (including my favorite pastry chef in the city, Karen DeMasco.) They made subtle changes to make it more cozy—adding shelves to break up the large space and smaller tables for intimate conversation.
On a recent Saturday, my husband and I went to Locanda and ate at the bar (not a single high-fiving Wall Streeter in sight, though, granted, they don’t have much to high five about anymore.) We had an excellent meal—fresh ricotta served with grilled bread, fava bean crostinis, lamb meatball sliders, fig and arugula salad, fried artichoke hearts and asparagus ravioli. It was casual, not that expensive, and tasty.
The next day, our neighbors brought Locanda’s fresh ricotta to a block party. I still couldn’t get enough. Wednesday night, we were back there again with some friends—one of the couples who we originally dined at Ago with. Our friend Samantha turned to us and said, “way to go, De Niro, for calling ‘do-over!’ and turning things around so quickly!”
It’s true, to use a golf analogy, it’s like they shanked the ball with Ago, called a mulligan, and hit a 300-yard drive before anyone could linger on the initial embarrassment. In terms of business, this may be decidedly less easy for those of us with shallower pockets than Mr. De Niro, but there are still some lessons to be learned here:
Don’t let your pride get in the way. People make mistakes. Even successful business people. Sometimes they are expensive mistakes, but you have to own up to them. Figure out what went wrong or why your idea didn’t work. Then do something about it—before it’s too late.
Know your customers. It’s not just about who you’ll attract in your first few months, but who will be the long-term, loyal customers that will make your business sustainable? What is it that THEY want or need?
Don’t get greedy. Sometimes it’s a matter of starting off smaller and working your way into success more slowly. In this example, when Locanda reopened, they took a large back part of the first restaurant and closed it off to reserve for private parties. They may not be able to seat as many covers per night as Ago did, but they created a more intimate, but crowded and lively, atmosphere. Once they’ve picked up enough traction, then they can decide to open the back room for diners, if the demand is there.
Make it quick. Be decisive. My father used to say, “a boat is just a hole in the water you pour money into.” For better or for worse, I think that quote applies to small businesses as well. Some people continue to throw more and more money at their business hoping that will make it stay afloat, when really there’s a fundamental problem. Problems have to be dealt with quickly and decisively, or else your business will sink.
Especially in the current economic climate, nothing is more important to your success than having happy customers. If and when you do make mistakes, the way you react will make or break your business. Second chances can be hard to come by, especially in competitive industries, but by telling your customers, “I hear you, and we’re doing something about it” you’ll get your chance for a do-over.
However, a year ago people were singing a different tune. The restaurant that the hotel opened with, Ago, did not fair so well. It was much anticipated, with LA chef Agostino Sciandri at the helm. A large, fancy Italian restaurant, it was sure to attract investment bankers with (dwindling) expense accounts, but there wasn’t much of a lure for other types.
Last May, my husband and I decided to go to Ago with some friends. We joked about the one review we found that said the huge bar was filled with, “high-fiving, martini-drinking Wall Street types.” This is not a compliment. Sure enough, we walked into a huge, loud space with lots of pre-bailout suits spending to impress. The six of us were seated at a table about 8-feet wide. My Bolognese sauce tasted watered down. That’s about all I remember of the experience. We left in no rush to return.
It wasn’t a surprise, then, when we heard Ago was being closed. De Niro pulled the plug before it ever had the chance to warm up or go down in flames, though it’s easy to guess in which direction it was headed. The hoteliers and partners brought in new talent—new managers, new chefs (including my favorite pastry chef in the city, Karen DeMasco.) They made subtle changes to make it more cozy—adding shelves to break up the large space and smaller tables for intimate conversation.
On a recent Saturday, my husband and I went to Locanda and ate at the bar (not a single high-fiving Wall Streeter in sight, though, granted, they don’t have much to high five about anymore.) We had an excellent meal—fresh ricotta served with grilled bread, fava bean crostinis, lamb meatball sliders, fig and arugula salad, fried artichoke hearts and asparagus ravioli. It was casual, not that expensive, and tasty.
The next day, our neighbors brought Locanda’s fresh ricotta to a block party. I still couldn’t get enough. Wednesday night, we were back there again with some friends—one of the couples who we originally dined at Ago with. Our friend Samantha turned to us and said, “way to go, De Niro, for calling ‘do-over!’ and turning things around so quickly!”
It’s true, to use a golf analogy, it’s like they shanked the ball with Ago, called a mulligan, and hit a 300-yard drive before anyone could linger on the initial embarrassment. In terms of business, this may be decidedly less easy for those of us with shallower pockets than Mr. De Niro, but there are still some lessons to be learned here:
Don’t let your pride get in the way. People make mistakes. Even successful business people. Sometimes they are expensive mistakes, but you have to own up to them. Figure out what went wrong or why your idea didn’t work. Then do something about it—before it’s too late.
Know your customers. It’s not just about who you’ll attract in your first few months, but who will be the long-term, loyal customers that will make your business sustainable? What is it that THEY want or need?
Don’t get greedy. Sometimes it’s a matter of starting off smaller and working your way into success more slowly. In this example, when Locanda reopened, they took a large back part of the first restaurant and closed it off to reserve for private parties. They may not be able to seat as many covers per night as Ago did, but they created a more intimate, but crowded and lively, atmosphere. Once they’ve picked up enough traction, then they can decide to open the back room for diners, if the demand is there.
Make it quick. Be decisive. My father used to say, “a boat is just a hole in the water you pour money into.” For better or for worse, I think that quote applies to small businesses as well. Some people continue to throw more and more money at their business hoping that will make it stay afloat, when really there’s a fundamental problem. Problems have to be dealt with quickly and decisively, or else your business will sink.
Especially in the current economic climate, nothing is more important to your success than having happy customers. If and when you do make mistakes, the way you react will make or break your business. Second chances can be hard to come by, especially in competitive industries, but by telling your customers, “I hear you, and we’re doing something about it” you’ll get your chance for a do-over.
posted by Rachel @ 9:18 AM 0 Comments
When my daughter, Marin, was just 36 hours old, I sat in the lobby of the hospital waiting for my husband to pull the car around, so we could take her home for the first time. An older man turned to us and started chatting about my adorable 6-pound bundle. “Are you planning on raising her in the city?” he asked. I nodded. He laughed and said, “Then I guess you better start looking at kindergarten!”
Four years later, our daughter is looking at kindergarten for fall 2010, and the floodgates of private school admissions competition are just beginning to open.
A key piece of that admissions process is “the ERB test,” or ECAA—Early Childhood Admissions Assessment. You see, in an effort to make the application process less grueling for the children, the schools accept one centrally administered standardized test as part of their evaluation. Of course, this makes the process more grueling for the parents. There are no re-dos. Your child gets to take the test once and only once a year, and that score, that one score, is passed around to all the schools you apply to. No pressure, right?
“We” took the ERBs this morning. We didn’t hire a tutor or do any kind of prep work, as some parents suggested. My daughter loves school and is interested in her work, so I figured that as long as we didn’t make it a big deal, she would sail right through. Besides, it occurred to me, what does a 4-year old know about tests? She doesn’t know about passing or failing. She doesn’t know about being evaluated. What does she have to be nervous about? Right? I promised myself I would curb my own anxiety.
I did everything right getting ready. She got a good night’s sleep. I didn’t fight her getting dressed. We went to the coffee shop for a special breakfast. I left ample time for subway delays. I made sure she used the bathroom on the way in. So why was I getting so nervous?
As if she could sense this, the barrage of questions began. “Will the teacher be a boy or a girl?” “What’s his or her name?” “Will you come in and do work with me?” “Why do they want you to wait in the waiting room?” “Will there be other kids with me?” “Why won’t there be other kids?” “How long will I be in there for?”
We entered the test center, and I was completely surprised by the reception area. Somehow I was picturing a sparse, modern space filled with educational toys. But it was more like the reception area for a law firm, with oriental rugs and leather wingback chairs. There were financial periodicals and news magazines on the coffee table, and only two small chairs and a little shelf of kids books to suggest that the children even belonged. There was another father and son waiting to be tested as well. Our kids eyed each other shyly. The father and I avoided eye contact all together. (Out of nerves? Competition?)
We checked in, and the agonizing began, though I tried to remain outwardly calm as I surveyed our surroundings and chatted with my daughter. A tester came out and introduced herself to the boy. “See, the teacher’s a girl,” Marin said.
“Well that’s his teacher—yours will be different, remember?” I pointed out.
The boy went in very reluctantly. This had been one of the things I was nervous about. If Marin sensed anxiety from the other kids, would that rub off on her? Fortunately, her tester came out shortly after. (Sigh of relief when I saw it was a woman.) She left me willingly, and I heard them chatting as they went down the hall.
I opened the book that I brought, but each minute that followed was excruciating. I texted my husband updates. It was cold in there. Shoot. Her sweater was next to me on the chair. What if she got cold in the room? Would they come out and get it? Should I let the receptionist know and see if she would take it to her? The boy in the other room started excitedly shouting his answers. I tried to eavesdrop to figure out if they were things Marin would know. Then the shouting started to get annoying. Could she hear it in her room? Would it be a distraction?
After 32 minutes, she had to come out for a potty break. (Doh!) Do they take points off for this? Alone with her in the bathroom, I asked how it was going. “Good. Fun,” she said. Then, cryptically, “I only have three left.” I was dying to grill her, but then I began to worry that the bathroom was bugged to prevent cheating. I stayed quiet and hurried her back to the room.
14 minutes later, the boy came out. The father immediately looked at his son and said, “did you build a good rapport??” (Is this seriously something you ask a kid?!) He looked up at the tester. She smiled and said, “we worked very well together.”
Another 7 minutes and Marin appeared once again. It took her a long time to pick which sticker she wanted on her way out. (More points off?) I looked at the tester, hoping for some wink or nod that said, “your daughter is the smartest kid who’s ever been through these doors.” But she smiled and said, “we worked very well together.” Hmph.
With 3-4 weeks to wait for results, I started to realize that, as parents, we all want the world to see our children as the wonderful, adorable and smart little humans that we see, and having some kind of data point out there that might suggest otherwise is unnerving. What if she’s not as smart as I think she is? What if she is, but because some kid was shouting answers in the room next door, she didn’t show it? I know all the controversy about standardized tests regarding their bias and rigidity, but to me the experience was almost too variable.
On the way back to the subway, I watched my daughter walking along, swinging her arms and working on her whistling. All of a sudden I felt glad that, at least four years into the game, she is completely unscathed by my parental angst. Ask me again when she’s 16.
Four years later, our daughter is looking at kindergarten for fall 2010, and the floodgates of private school admissions competition are just beginning to open.
A key piece of that admissions process is “the ERB test,” or ECAA—Early Childhood Admissions Assessment. You see, in an effort to make the application process less grueling for the children, the schools accept one centrally administered standardized test as part of their evaluation. Of course, this makes the process more grueling for the parents. There are no re-dos. Your child gets to take the test once and only once a year, and that score, that one score, is passed around to all the schools you apply to. No pressure, right?
“We” took the ERBs this morning. We didn’t hire a tutor or do any kind of prep work, as some parents suggested. My daughter loves school and is interested in her work, so I figured that as long as we didn’t make it a big deal, she would sail right through. Besides, it occurred to me, what does a 4-year old know about tests? She doesn’t know about passing or failing. She doesn’t know about being evaluated. What does she have to be nervous about? Right? I promised myself I would curb my own anxiety.
I did everything right getting ready. She got a good night’s sleep. I didn’t fight her getting dressed. We went to the coffee shop for a special breakfast. I left ample time for subway delays. I made sure she used the bathroom on the way in. So why was I getting so nervous?
As if she could sense this, the barrage of questions began. “Will the teacher be a boy or a girl?” “What’s his or her name?” “Will you come in and do work with me?” “Why do they want you to wait in the waiting room?” “Will there be other kids with me?” “Why won’t there be other kids?” “How long will I be in there for?”
We entered the test center, and I was completely surprised by the reception area. Somehow I was picturing a sparse, modern space filled with educational toys. But it was more like the reception area for a law firm, with oriental rugs and leather wingback chairs. There were financial periodicals and news magazines on the coffee table, and only two small chairs and a little shelf of kids books to suggest that the children even belonged. There was another father and son waiting to be tested as well. Our kids eyed each other shyly. The father and I avoided eye contact all together. (Out of nerves? Competition?)
We checked in, and the agonizing began, though I tried to remain outwardly calm as I surveyed our surroundings and chatted with my daughter. A tester came out and introduced herself to the boy. “See, the teacher’s a girl,” Marin said.
“Well that’s his teacher—yours will be different, remember?” I pointed out.
The boy went in very reluctantly. This had been one of the things I was nervous about. If Marin sensed anxiety from the other kids, would that rub off on her? Fortunately, her tester came out shortly after. (Sigh of relief when I saw it was a woman.) She left me willingly, and I heard them chatting as they went down the hall.
I opened the book that I brought, but each minute that followed was excruciating. I texted my husband updates. It was cold in there. Shoot. Her sweater was next to me on the chair. What if she got cold in the room? Would they come out and get it? Should I let the receptionist know and see if she would take it to her? The boy in the other room started excitedly shouting his answers. I tried to eavesdrop to figure out if they were things Marin would know. Then the shouting started to get annoying. Could she hear it in her room? Would it be a distraction?
After 32 minutes, she had to come out for a potty break. (Doh!) Do they take points off for this? Alone with her in the bathroom, I asked how it was going. “Good. Fun,” she said. Then, cryptically, “I only have three left.” I was dying to grill her, but then I began to worry that the bathroom was bugged to prevent cheating. I stayed quiet and hurried her back to the room.
14 minutes later, the boy came out. The father immediately looked at his son and said, “did you build a good rapport??” (Is this seriously something you ask a kid?!) He looked up at the tester. She smiled and said, “we worked very well together.”
Another 7 minutes and Marin appeared once again. It took her a long time to pick which sticker she wanted on her way out. (More points off?) I looked at the tester, hoping for some wink or nod that said, “your daughter is the smartest kid who’s ever been through these doors.” But she smiled and said, “we worked very well together.” Hmph.
With 3-4 weeks to wait for results, I started to realize that, as parents, we all want the world to see our children as the wonderful, adorable and smart little humans that we see, and having some kind of data point out there that might suggest otherwise is unnerving. What if she’s not as smart as I think she is? What if she is, but because some kid was shouting answers in the room next door, she didn’t show it? I know all the controversy about standardized tests regarding their bias and rigidity, but to me the experience was almost too variable.
On the way back to the subway, I watched my daughter walking along, swinging her arms and working on her whistling. All of a sudden I felt glad that, at least four years into the game, she is completely unscathed by my parental angst. Ask me again when she’s 16.
posted by Rachel @ 10:57 AM 2 Comments
Last night, on my way home from work, I encountered my first lemonade stand of the summer. It’s pretty unusual to see one in New York, and something about the city atmosphere made me scream inside “don’t take food from strangers!”, but, of course, I stopped.
The proprietors were two ‘tween-age boys. One of them was attracting attention of passersby (no easy feat in New York) by spinning a dish on a magic wand. Once hooked, customers were asked “small or large” and directed to a sign that listed small for $1 and large for $1.50. (Yeesh!) I ordered one small and was told I could buy two and get one free. I complimented their strong sales pitch, but since I didn’t want to be triple-fisting lemonade for the rest of my walk, I took the one and left.
One sip of the “lemonade” and it went in the garbage. Seriously, I’ve had ice water with a lemon wedge that tasted more like lemonade. Not that I ever expect much out of the product—I think I can safely say I’ve made a purchase from every lemonade stand I could feasibly stop at (what can I say, I like to support budding entrepreneurs), and I’ve never reacted with, “wow, that is good lemonade!”
Why is that? For one, kids know that the quality of the product is irrelevant to the sale. It’s mostly about location and sales pitch. I mean, on a hot day, who can really resist a squeaky, “wanna buy some lemonade?” Or, in the case of these boys (who were probably too old to be considered “cute” anymore), they had the magic trick gimmick. Attracting repeat customers is not a concern, because by the time most people might consider going back, the kids have probably already packed up shop.
Most importantly, I think, there’s rarely head-to-head competition. Even if there were head-to-head lemonade stands set up, I’m sure the quality of product would still be irrelevant. You would probably stop at the first one you saw, or maybe both. Can you even imagine if you stopped at one, and another adult approached you and said, “don’t stop here, there’s another stand with much better lemonade down the road”? I mean, really? You’d have to be a real jackass to do that.
In most industries, this is far from reality. The food and beverage industry, in particular, is extremely competitive and largely quality-driven. In fact, this summer, one of our direct (and bigger) competitors is moving into the neighborhood (though I won’t say who or where). I would be lying to say I wasn’t nervous. It makes me feel like an 8-year old lemonade stand proprietress watching older kids set up shop down the street. Their signs are fancier, their cups are bigger, and they’ve been around the block a few times before.
If we really were talking about lemonade stands, the smart thing for me to do would probably be close up shop and find another corner. But that’s the short-term lemonade stand world. In real life, we have multi-year leases, employees, equipment, etc., so we have to look the older, wiser, bigger competition in the eye and say, “look, I can take you.”
It won’t be easy. But, then again, I’ve learned that nothing about owning your own business is easy. However, as long as we have a superior product and friendlier service, I think we’ll come out ahead. Also, we can use our size to our advantage, and more nimbly react to our market’s demands. I love a challenge, and my mind is racing with ideas. That’s what being an entrepreneur is all about. I think we will fare well—I just wish I had more practice facing competition when I was eight.
So, kids, let this be a lesson to you. And, parents, if you see me at your kids’ lemonade stand orating about the reality of competition—please hand me a cup, and send me on my way.
The proprietors were two ‘tween-age boys. One of them was attracting attention of passersby (no easy feat in New York) by spinning a dish on a magic wand. Once hooked, customers were asked “small or large” and directed to a sign that listed small for $1 and large for $1.50. (Yeesh!) I ordered one small and was told I could buy two and get one free. I complimented their strong sales pitch, but since I didn’t want to be triple-fisting lemonade for the rest of my walk, I took the one and left.
One sip of the “lemonade” and it went in the garbage. Seriously, I’ve had ice water with a lemon wedge that tasted more like lemonade. Not that I ever expect much out of the product—I think I can safely say I’ve made a purchase from every lemonade stand I could feasibly stop at (what can I say, I like to support budding entrepreneurs), and I’ve never reacted with, “wow, that is good lemonade!”
Why is that? For one, kids know that the quality of the product is irrelevant to the sale. It’s mostly about location and sales pitch. I mean, on a hot day, who can really resist a squeaky, “wanna buy some lemonade?” Or, in the case of these boys (who were probably too old to be considered “cute” anymore), they had the magic trick gimmick. Attracting repeat customers is not a concern, because by the time most people might consider going back, the kids have probably already packed up shop.
Most importantly, I think, there’s rarely head-to-head competition. Even if there were head-to-head lemonade stands set up, I’m sure the quality of product would still be irrelevant. You would probably stop at the first one you saw, or maybe both. Can you even imagine if you stopped at one, and another adult approached you and said, “don’t stop here, there’s another stand with much better lemonade down the road”? I mean, really? You’d have to be a real jackass to do that.
In most industries, this is far from reality. The food and beverage industry, in particular, is extremely competitive and largely quality-driven. In fact, this summer, one of our direct (and bigger) competitors is moving into the neighborhood (though I won’t say who or where). I would be lying to say I wasn’t nervous. It makes me feel like an 8-year old lemonade stand proprietress watching older kids set up shop down the street. Their signs are fancier, their cups are bigger, and they’ve been around the block a few times before.
If we really were talking about lemonade stands, the smart thing for me to do would probably be close up shop and find another corner. But that’s the short-term lemonade stand world. In real life, we have multi-year leases, employees, equipment, etc., so we have to look the older, wiser, bigger competition in the eye and say, “look, I can take you.”
It won’t be easy. But, then again, I’ve learned that nothing about owning your own business is easy. However, as long as we have a superior product and friendlier service, I think we’ll come out ahead. Also, we can use our size to our advantage, and more nimbly react to our market’s demands. I love a challenge, and my mind is racing with ideas. That’s what being an entrepreneur is all about. I think we will fare well—I just wish I had more practice facing competition when I was eight.
So, kids, let this be a lesson to you. And, parents, if you see me at your kids’ lemonade stand orating about the reality of competition—please hand me a cup, and send me on my way.
posted by Rachel @ 12:14 PM 0 Comments
I JUST DON’T GET THE BIG DEAL WITH SUSAN BOYLE. I watched the video on YouTube. In case you haven’t seen it (but almost everyone I know has), it’s a clip from the British TV show Britain’s Got Talent (which is, from what I can tell, just a televised talent show, with Simon Cowell as the head judge.) It starts with the pre-performance interview showing a small-town, homely 40-something woman, mentioning that she’s never been kissed—Susan Boyle.
She waddles out on stage, in a frumpy, awkward-length dress. For the next few minutes, Simon Cowell and the other two judges make snarky remarks about how simple and unattractive she is (most of which seem to go over her head). It’s uncomfortably obnoxious. She mentions she wants to be like some singer, who I can only assume is a famous British soprano, and states that she’s going to sing “I Dreamed a Dream” from Les Miserables. (Although, with her Cockney accent, I didn’t realize what she said until she actually started singing.) The mere fact that I was viewing this on YouTube made me certain her performance would either end in Will Hung notoriety or she would do an excellent job.
She did an excellent job. Susan Boyle has a beautiful voice. So? Nothing about this performance compelled me to forward the video to all my friends or join her Facebook fan page (which has over 1.4 MILLION members).
Yes, I thought she was really good, but even as I watched the reaction of the judges and audience, I thought surely I was missing something. The audience members are visibly moved. The female judge gives her a standing ovation. (Ostensibly, just to show off how comparatively well-dressed and attractive she is.) Even stone-cold Simon Cowell is brought to tears. So what’s the big deal? What am I missing? Are unattractive people not supposed to be able to sing?
So I went to her Facebook fan page (which many of my friends have joined—more than I care to admit), to figure out what some of her fans were saying:
“You gave the world a wake up call.” – Really?
“Please don’t let yourself and your wonderful personality be spoiled by the TV giants.” – I agree, she has an endearing, happy-go-lucky personality, but she’s the phenom she is right now because the TV giants put her on TV in the first place!
“You give us old gals inspiration.” - OK, this one I get. I’m sure there are a lot of women (and men) out there who would love to get up on stage, belt out their favorite show-tune, and really stick it to Simon Cowell. It takes a lot of courage. It takes more courage for those of us who have average or below-average singing voices. Don’t you think Susan Boyle had an inkling of an idea of the kind of voice she has? How much courage does it really take if you have a voice like that?
“The best I have ever heard.” – Best what? Best singer? EVER? If you heard her on the radio, I’m sure you would love her voice, but I challenge that you’d deem her the BEST SINGER EVER. What about Aretha Franklin, Barbara Streisand, or Bette Midler? (Whose Facebook fan pages have only 15,000, 3,600, and 3,000 members, respectively.) They are all lovely women, but none of them are “classic” beauties, and I’m guessing each of them could sing the pants off Susan Boyle.
It’s really Simon Cowell and his co-producers that are the geniuses behind this. Don’t you think they knew what they were doing when they played down her stage makeup, didn’t pluck her eyebrows or do her hair, encouraged the judges to let loose on her with their questioning? They wanted to set her up to fail, so that everyone would be “shocked” when she didn’t. This led to the viral marketing campaign, her millions of fans, and, I’m sure, countless new viewers who will tune in to see how she fares in the rest of the competition. Which all mean one thing: BIG bucks for Britain’s Got Talent.
I still don’t get it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she had the courage to follow through with one of her dreams. That’s an important message, but there are many people who inspire me to do that all the time. Isn’t the real message here to always under-promise and over-deliver? She was “packaged” in a way that makes you assume mediocrity at best. So good for the producers who masterfully exploited her looks and our emotions! And shame on us for being surprised that someone who looks like that could have a nice voice.
She waddles out on stage, in a frumpy, awkward-length dress. For the next few minutes, Simon Cowell and the other two judges make snarky remarks about how simple and unattractive she is (most of which seem to go over her head). It’s uncomfortably obnoxious. She mentions she wants to be like some singer, who I can only assume is a famous British soprano, and states that she’s going to sing “I Dreamed a Dream” from Les Miserables. (Although, with her Cockney accent, I didn’t realize what she said until she actually started singing.) The mere fact that I was viewing this on YouTube made me certain her performance would either end in Will Hung notoriety or she would do an excellent job.
She did an excellent job. Susan Boyle has a beautiful voice. So? Nothing about this performance compelled me to forward the video to all my friends or join her Facebook fan page (which has over 1.4 MILLION members).
Yes, I thought she was really good, but even as I watched the reaction of the judges and audience, I thought surely I was missing something. The audience members are visibly moved. The female judge gives her a standing ovation. (Ostensibly, just to show off how comparatively well-dressed and attractive she is.) Even stone-cold Simon Cowell is brought to tears. So what’s the big deal? What am I missing? Are unattractive people not supposed to be able to sing?
So I went to her Facebook fan page (which many of my friends have joined—more than I care to admit), to figure out what some of her fans were saying:
“You gave the world a wake up call.” – Really?
“Please don’t let yourself and your wonderful personality be spoiled by the TV giants.” – I agree, she has an endearing, happy-go-lucky personality, but she’s the phenom she is right now because the TV giants put her on TV in the first place!
“You give us old gals inspiration.” - OK, this one I get. I’m sure there are a lot of women (and men) out there who would love to get up on stage, belt out their favorite show-tune, and really stick it to Simon Cowell. It takes a lot of courage. It takes more courage for those of us who have average or below-average singing voices. Don’t you think Susan Boyle had an inkling of an idea of the kind of voice she has? How much courage does it really take if you have a voice like that?
“The best I have ever heard.” – Best what? Best singer? EVER? If you heard her on the radio, I’m sure you would love her voice, but I challenge that you’d deem her the BEST SINGER EVER. What about Aretha Franklin, Barbara Streisand, or Bette Midler? (Whose Facebook fan pages have only 15,000, 3,600, and 3,000 members, respectively.) They are all lovely women, but none of them are “classic” beauties, and I’m guessing each of them could sing the pants off Susan Boyle.
It’s really Simon Cowell and his co-producers that are the geniuses behind this. Don’t you think they knew what they were doing when they played down her stage makeup, didn’t pluck her eyebrows or do her hair, encouraged the judges to let loose on her with their questioning? They wanted to set her up to fail, so that everyone would be “shocked” when she didn’t. This led to the viral marketing campaign, her millions of fans, and, I’m sure, countless new viewers who will tune in to see how she fares in the rest of the competition. Which all mean one thing: BIG bucks for Britain’s Got Talent.
I still don’t get it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she had the courage to follow through with one of her dreams. That’s an important message, but there are many people who inspire me to do that all the time. Isn’t the real message here to always under-promise and over-deliver? She was “packaged” in a way that makes you assume mediocrity at best. So good for the producers who masterfully exploited her looks and our emotions! And shame on us for being surprised that someone who looks like that could have a nice voice.
posted by Rachel @ 5:01 PM 3 Comments
How often have you had an experience as a customer that was SO awful your immediate reaction is “I have to write them a letter!”?
Last week I had, hands-down, the worst experience I’ve ever had with air travel. My husband, two daughters, and I were coming back to New York from San Diego. Without getting into too much detail, our debacle started with our 6:00 a.m. Delta flight being overbooked (a business practice I begrudgingly understand). An abrasive, chip-on-his-shoulder gate agent apathetically “tried” to get us seats on the flight. When he finally did, he wouldn’t print them, because my husband (who had returned the rental car and was behind us in security) was not with us and, “how did we even know he would show up at all?”—a comment that the implications of which did not escape my 4 year-old daughter.
After not getting on our flight, the same agent made a meager effort to rebook us—at best we would arrive 48 hours later having traveled through who-knows-how-many cities to get home. We ended up purchasing full-fare tickets on Continental and eventually arrived only 12 hours later than expected. Of course, our luggage did make it on our original flight, but since we took a different airline home, Delta was in no rush to get it to us. Another 24 hours, 14 phone calls and $33 later we had our bags. Which, of course, we paid $60 to check in the first place.
So the first thing I did was sit down to write The Letter. I haven’t gotten very far. Even as I sit and write this, I am procrastinating on The Letter. It’s not easy to take all your passionate anger and put it succinctly on one page.
Instead, I started thinking about a major difference between big and small businesses. Anonymity vs. Accountability. I could write “to whom it may concern,” but have no guarantee that it actually concerns anybody. I will send it off to Delta’s “Customer Care Center”, but the sheer fact that they have people whose specific job it is to sort through these letters somehow makes my letter already feel less important.
On the other hand, when one of my customers has a complaint, whether by phone, email or in-person, it comes straight to me. Sometimes it stems from a one-time mistake, and I am grateful to hear about it so we can prevent it from happening again. Sometimes we get feedback that results in us tweaking a product or service for the benefit of all future customers. Sometimes people complain just because they are complainers. Occasionally, it’s a scam—someone looking for a freebie.
About a year ago, we got an email from a man who said he had been visiting New York and loved our cookies. He wanted to bring some chocolate peanut butter cookies home to his mother, but when he arrived at her house he saw that they were chocolate caramel, which she could not eat with her dentures. Could we please ship the proper cookies to the following address in Las Vegas? I was upset about the mistake and apologized, asking for a few more details to identify how to fix it. I didn’t hear back.
Six months later, we received another email from a man saying how much he enjoyed visiting our store on his last business trip. His fiancée is a huge fan of our chocolate caramel cookies, and he bought some to bring home to her, but when he arrived home he realized they were the wrong cookies. Could we please ship the proper cookies to the following address in Las Vegas? I couldn’t believe I wasted time worrying about this scammer. Now all emails go through my manager before they get to me.
I wonder if I will reach a point where I’m totally jaded by these scams and the people who complain for the sake of complaining? Right now I subscribe to the philosophy of Danny Meyer at Union Square Hospitality Group: “the customer may not always be right, but he or she should always be heard.” At some point, do you no longer have the time to “hear” your customers? Or maybe there are just too many layers for the customer to get through to be heard?
As someone with a legitimate complaint, it makes me feels disheartened. When push comes to shove, how much power does The Letter really have? What do I want my letter to Delta to accomplish? Reimbursement? I seriously doubt they will send us a check that covers our incremental cost, and a few crappy travel vouchers are no good if I’m never going to fly Delta again. Retribution? Yes, that would be nice, but doubtful. Therapy? I have a blog for that.
Who knows if The Letter will actually get written? I’m sure I’m not alone in this boat—all fired up and then drained of all effort when it actually comes down to it. It’s a lot easier to just complain to my family and friends and tell them to never fly Delta again. I recounted our story to my mother, and she shook her head the whole time. When I finished, she sighed, “you know, you should write them a letter.”
Last week I had, hands-down, the worst experience I’ve ever had with air travel. My husband, two daughters, and I were coming back to New York from San Diego. Without getting into too much detail, our debacle started with our 6:00 a.m. Delta flight being overbooked (a business practice I begrudgingly understand). An abrasive, chip-on-his-shoulder gate agent apathetically “tried” to get us seats on the flight. When he finally did, he wouldn’t print them, because my husband (who had returned the rental car and was behind us in security) was not with us and, “how did we even know he would show up at all?”—a comment that the implications of which did not escape my 4 year-old daughter.
After not getting on our flight, the same agent made a meager effort to rebook us—at best we would arrive 48 hours later having traveled through who-knows-how-many cities to get home. We ended up purchasing full-fare tickets on Continental and eventually arrived only 12 hours later than expected. Of course, our luggage did make it on our original flight, but since we took a different airline home, Delta was in no rush to get it to us. Another 24 hours, 14 phone calls and $33 later we had our bags. Which, of course, we paid $60 to check in the first place.
So the first thing I did was sit down to write The Letter. I haven’t gotten very far. Even as I sit and write this, I am procrastinating on The Letter. It’s not easy to take all your passionate anger and put it succinctly on one page.
Instead, I started thinking about a major difference between big and small businesses. Anonymity vs. Accountability. I could write “to whom it may concern,” but have no guarantee that it actually concerns anybody. I will send it off to Delta’s “Customer Care Center”, but the sheer fact that they have people whose specific job it is to sort through these letters somehow makes my letter already feel less important.
On the other hand, when one of my customers has a complaint, whether by phone, email or in-person, it comes straight to me. Sometimes it stems from a one-time mistake, and I am grateful to hear about it so we can prevent it from happening again. Sometimes we get feedback that results in us tweaking a product or service for the benefit of all future customers. Sometimes people complain just because they are complainers. Occasionally, it’s a scam—someone looking for a freebie.
About a year ago, we got an email from a man who said he had been visiting New York and loved our cookies. He wanted to bring some chocolate peanut butter cookies home to his mother, but when he arrived at her house he saw that they were chocolate caramel, which she could not eat with her dentures. Could we please ship the proper cookies to the following address in Las Vegas? I was upset about the mistake and apologized, asking for a few more details to identify how to fix it. I didn’t hear back.
Six months later, we received another email from a man saying how much he enjoyed visiting our store on his last business trip. His fiancée is a huge fan of our chocolate caramel cookies, and he bought some to bring home to her, but when he arrived home he realized they were the wrong cookies. Could we please ship the proper cookies to the following address in Las Vegas? I couldn’t believe I wasted time worrying about this scammer. Now all emails go through my manager before they get to me.
I wonder if I will reach a point where I’m totally jaded by these scams and the people who complain for the sake of complaining? Right now I subscribe to the philosophy of Danny Meyer at Union Square Hospitality Group: “the customer may not always be right, but he or she should always be heard.” At some point, do you no longer have the time to “hear” your customers? Or maybe there are just too many layers for the customer to get through to be heard?
As someone with a legitimate complaint, it makes me feels disheartened. When push comes to shove, how much power does The Letter really have? What do I want my letter to Delta to accomplish? Reimbursement? I seriously doubt they will send us a check that covers our incremental cost, and a few crappy travel vouchers are no good if I’m never going to fly Delta again. Retribution? Yes, that would be nice, but doubtful. Therapy? I have a blog for that.
Who knows if The Letter will actually get written? I’m sure I’m not alone in this boat—all fired up and then drained of all effort when it actually comes down to it. It’s a lot easier to just complain to my family and friends and tell them to never fly Delta again. I recounted our story to my mother, and she shook her head the whole time. When I finished, she sighed, “you know, you should write them a letter.”
posted by Rachel @ 11:49 AM 0 Comments
Earlier this week, I was surfing through my Facebook friends’ status updates, and I noticed a former classmate had attended our high school’s career day. She mentioned that it had quickly spiraled into an intense debate as to whether or not one can “have it all.”
By way of background, I went to a stereotypical, ultra-competitive, over-achieving private all-girls school in Washington, D.C. At the age of nine, we were taught that we can and should be anything we want to be. Because it was an all-girls school, it was all girls who were the star athletes, valedictorians, student government leaders, yearbook and newspaper editors. We had an annual “Women in Power” day. In short, we were taught that with the right combination of hard work, social responsibility and, of course, good grades, there was no reason we couldn’t have it all.
No one ever told us that we were chasing an impossible dream. Having it all is an illusion. Life is all about making choices—sacrifices—leaving roads untaken, and anyone who says you “have it all” demeans the sacrifices you’ve made in life. But many women are too caught up in envying the greener grass and don’t take the time to appreciate the decisions they’ve made for themselves.
Some women spend so much time focusing on their career they may miss out on marriage, kids, or just raising their own kids. Other women step off their career path to have kids, and when they go back to work their jobs often take second fiddle when it comes to child-rearing responsibilities. Then, of course, many women choose child-rearing as their career, but sometimes complain of boredom or worry about their lack of economic independence.
All women envy each other at times and typically focus on the missed opportunities in life. Many drive home the impossibility of “having it all,” or if a woman claims to have it all she is resented by peers. The high school seniors at our school hear this debate and sit slack-jawed as all the hope is drained from their little feminist minds.
This made me rethink my opinion on believing I can never “have it all,” I would never complain about the path I have taken in life. So I took stock in what I do have.
I have two beautiful, smart daughters who are blessed with a late-sleeper gene. I have a husband who’s willing to change diapers, bring me dinner at work late at night, and be an endless source for blog fodder. He has yet to don a fudgy brownie suit to hand out Tribeca Treats postcards or become a Redskins fan. But that’s neither here nor there.
I have two parents, three sisters, a huge extended family and great friends, all of whom have helped me follow my dream. I get to make cakes for a living, and I have a business that’s showing early signs of success.
I have a wonderful dentist (Dr. Saul Pressner) and amazing movers (Personal Touch Movers). Don’t underestimate the value in this.
Of course I don’t have it all. Among other things, I don’t have a lot of sleep; I rarely have time for myself; I could use more vacation time, or at least work-free vacation time. When I’m at work, I miss doing things with my daughters. When I’m with my daughters, I’m often worrying about work. I could have better hair. Or a favorite football team that’s won a Superbowl in the last 17 years.
But I am content. No, not content—content implies that you are not going to continue to strive for things, and I have plenty to still strive for, but I never look longingly at another’s life. Sure, I would love to be able to take spontaneous trips to Morocco and have a personal trainer that comes to my home or a closet full of Christian Louboutins, but I am surrounded by the rewards (and, of course, challenges) of the choices I have made, and this makes me happy. I chose to have kids; I chose to start my own business. I may not have control of the Redskins’ win-loss record, but I do choose to put on my burgundy and gold jersey year after year.
Looking at it that way, I realize I am lucky to have one of the most important things in life--opportunity. It may be impossible to have it all, but as long as I have the ability and means to make my own choices? Then I have enough.
By way of background, I went to a stereotypical, ultra-competitive, over-achieving private all-girls school in Washington, D.C. At the age of nine, we were taught that we can and should be anything we want to be. Because it was an all-girls school, it was all girls who were the star athletes, valedictorians, student government leaders, yearbook and newspaper editors. We had an annual “Women in Power” day. In short, we were taught that with the right combination of hard work, social responsibility and, of course, good grades, there was no reason we couldn’t have it all.
No one ever told us that we were chasing an impossible dream. Having it all is an illusion. Life is all about making choices—sacrifices—leaving roads untaken, and anyone who says you “have it all” demeans the sacrifices you’ve made in life. But many women are too caught up in envying the greener grass and don’t take the time to appreciate the decisions they’ve made for themselves.
Some women spend so much time focusing on their career they may miss out on marriage, kids, or just raising their own kids. Other women step off their career path to have kids, and when they go back to work their jobs often take second fiddle when it comes to child-rearing responsibilities. Then, of course, many women choose child-rearing as their career, but sometimes complain of boredom or worry about their lack of economic independence.
All women envy each other at times and typically focus on the missed opportunities in life. Many drive home the impossibility of “having it all,” or if a woman claims to have it all she is resented by peers. The high school seniors at our school hear this debate and sit slack-jawed as all the hope is drained from their little feminist minds.
This made me rethink my opinion on believing I can never “have it all,” I would never complain about the path I have taken in life. So I took stock in what I do have.
I have two beautiful, smart daughters who are blessed with a late-sleeper gene. I have a husband who’s willing to change diapers, bring me dinner at work late at night, and be an endless source for blog fodder. He has yet to don a fudgy brownie suit to hand out Tribeca Treats postcards or become a Redskins fan. But that’s neither here nor there.
I have two parents, three sisters, a huge extended family and great friends, all of whom have helped me follow my dream. I get to make cakes for a living, and I have a business that’s showing early signs of success.
I have a wonderful dentist (Dr. Saul Pressner) and amazing movers (Personal Touch Movers). Don’t underestimate the value in this.
Of course I don’t have it all. Among other things, I don’t have a lot of sleep; I rarely have time for myself; I could use more vacation time, or at least work-free vacation time. When I’m at work, I miss doing things with my daughters. When I’m with my daughters, I’m often worrying about work. I could have better hair. Or a favorite football team that’s won a Superbowl in the last 17 years.
But I am content. No, not content—content implies that you are not going to continue to strive for things, and I have plenty to still strive for, but I never look longingly at another’s life. Sure, I would love to be able to take spontaneous trips to Morocco and have a personal trainer that comes to my home or a closet full of Christian Louboutins, but I am surrounded by the rewards (and, of course, challenges) of the choices I have made, and this makes me happy. I chose to have kids; I chose to start my own business. I may not have control of the Redskins’ win-loss record, but I do choose to put on my burgundy and gold jersey year after year.
Looking at it that way, I realize I am lucky to have one of the most important things in life--opportunity. It may be impossible to have it all, but as long as I have the ability and means to make my own choices? Then I have enough.
posted by Rachel @ 2:06 PM 0 Comments
