Monday, February 8, 2010

The Bakery Analogy: Or, Why I'm Emily, Even Though My Name Is Rachel

A while back, someone who does not knit or spin asked me what I do. And I told him, but probably didn't do a very good job of explaining. Because I am not very good at talking about what I do to people who aren't involved in the fiber arts. Which is a thing I need to work on, but that's not the point right now. The point is, I explained to this person (who had never met a spinner before) that what I do for money is dye and blend unspun spinning fiber, and sell it to spinners who would like to turn it into yarn.

And he was confused. (And not just because he had never met a spinner before, but I'm sure that wasn't helping him any.) And he said to me, not in an unkind way, but in a truly baffled way, "But, isn't what you make available to your customers cheaper commercially?"

And I kind of froze for a second. And I said yes, and I tried to explain why there is still a place in the universe for the things I make. And he was still confused, and didn't look at all convinced, which is probably because I didn't do a very good job of explaining, because I am not very good at talking about what I do to people who aren't involved in the fiber arts. (Sigh.)

But today, long after the fact, I came up with the perfect analogy to explain to non-fiber folks why there is a place in the universe for the things I make, even though similar things are available cheaper commercially. Of course now I will probably never see this guy again, but that's okay, the analogy will still be useful. Because I get this question a lot.

Here's the thing. This would work a lot better as a comic strip, but I can't draw at all. So you're going to have to use your imagination. I know you have one, or you wouldn't be here. Ready? Awesome. Let's do this thing.

A guy walks into a small, independently-owned bakery. You know, the kind that is tucked away in a cozy little nook somewhere between a couple shops and owned by a friendly girl named Emily who does all the baking herself every morning and runs the cash register in the afternoon. The kind of girl who rides her bike around town with a loaf of French bread and a bouquet of red tulips in her bike basket.

The guy stands in front of the display case for a moment, taking in all the different breads for sale: white, wheat, sourdough, rye, oat, challah, baguettes, pan loaves, shaped and laminated breads, and he looks up at at Emily and says,

"Wouldn't it be cheaper for your customers to go buy a loaf of Wonder Bread at the grocery store?"

Emily blinks twice. There is a pause.

"Well, yes."

Another pause.

"But you can think of some reasons why they might not want to do that, right? They might want this instead."

The light bulb illuminates. He gets it. Because he is a person who has eaten bread before, he understands.

"You can't find as many kinds of bread at the grocery store. There are a lot of different brands, and they each have a white and a wheat, but they're all pretty much the same. And even when you do find a sourdough, it's flat and uninteresting. If you manage to find a challah, it'll be thick and gummy without much flavor. There's nothing at all that has a perfect crisp crackly crust like these rustic loaves. And none of it was baked this morning.

Of course, there are times when you want those store-bought breads. Sometimes you are flat broke and don't want to spend $4.50 on a loaf of bread. Sometimes you'll be using it for a purpose where it won't matter if it's the very best bread -- like making breadcrumbs for meatloaf, or feeding the ducks at the park. And if for some reason you were to find yourself needing 15 loaves of bread that were all perfectly identical, you'd probably want 15 one-dollar loaves, instead of 15 $4.50-loaves.

But sometimes you want the very best bread. Sometimes you want bread that was made this morning.

Sometimes you want bread that's not quite like any of the breads in the grocery store.

Sometimes you're allergic to an ingredient, and want a baker who can make a loaf just for you.

And sometimes you find a little bakery that makes a certain kind of bread just the way you like it, and you come back for it whenever you're in town, as a special treat for yourself. Sometimes you're happy to pay more for it, because it's your favorite and you can only find it at that one little place.

Sometimes you want bread from a grocery store. And sometimes you want bread from me."

That's why I have customers. That's why my little shop exists. That's why it's not stupid for me to think that anyone would ever buy something from me.

Because sometimes you want mass-produced spinning fiber. And sometimes you want spinning fiber from me.



p.s. -- It is probably a good thing I didn't try to turn this into a comic strip. Turns out, Emily is as wordy as I am! Who'd'a thunk? ;-)

p.p.s -- If you do want spinning fiber from me, of course you can always find it here.

1 comment:

  1. loving this post Emily... I mean Rachel! you are a fiberista to rub elbows with!

    Leslie

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