I'm in a state of mourning. The quilt shop inMiami, where I've worked since day 1 of its existence, is going out of business. The last day is Saturday, which owners, employees and customers expect to spend partying, but which I'm sure will also include some tears. No sobbing, I hope. All of which makes me think about the general health of quilting, something I've worried about for a while anyway. In the interest of full disclosure, I admit that I have a personal conflict of interest. I've worked and taught in the above-mentioned quilt shop for almost 22 years, as well as occasionally at another inTexas. I also sell patterns and books online and sometimes shop there, so I'm either biased in both directions or uniquely qualified to see both points of view—you decide.
I learned early in my career as a quilt shop employee that I would never want to be a quilt shop owner. I saw that once you stepped over the ownership line, you rarely had time to make a quilt, the love of which was probably the inspiration for buying the shop in the first place. Every mistake your employees make, and even the best ones make mistakes, comes out of your pocket. (The reason so many quilt shops are also sewing machine dealers is that it's very difficult to earn enough to stay in business without at least an occasional large infusion of cash—if a quilt shop owner is taking a ski vacation inSwitzerland, s/he probably won the lottery.) You're working about 60 hours a week—still not making a quilt—but that might be more a function of running a small business than of a quilt shop in particular. And don't forget a major challenge of working retail: keeping your customers happy.
Independent quilt shops are at a disadvantage in comparison to both internet and large chain fabric stores when it comes to rent. Internet businesses need only a warehouse, or even space in the owner's home, and large stores have an advantage when it comes to negotiating terms of a lease. A small independent quilt shop is often paying more rent per square foot than its larger competitors, which explains why so many of them are off the main drag. The same holds true for many other aspects of retail: phone systems, credit card fees, the cost of fabric, patterns and books—all are often cheaper if you buy more.
All of the above may be an explanation, but it doesn't keep "my" quilt shop in business and it doesn't really address the human cost of its closing. There are no other quilt shops in the county where I live. The closest one is now about 45 minutes away, which probably seems normal to many of you. The closest two that I actually want to visit are an hour and almost 2 hours away. Obviously I have been spoiled by having had a key to a quilt shop that I am allowed to visit at any time of any day or night, and by living close enough to exercise the privilege. But I never realized how much being around fabric inspired me until we stopped getting much of it.
Sometimes it's hard to justify spending a bit more to buy in an independent shop instead of in a chain store or on the internet, but think about the difference in service. I personally know at least 200 customers by name, and if you're a frequent customer, I bet some of the employees at "your" shop know yours. In addition, you get personalized service, often to the point that the employees know to call you when certain fabric lines arrive in the shop, as well as information on the latest books, gadgets and time-savers. And how is it even possible to purchase certain items without them being in front of you? I recently attempted an online purchase of borders for a quilt I'm working on. Now I have 2 pieces of fabric, each 2 1/2 yards, that I can't use.
I know it's difficult to pass up the half-price rotary blades at the J-word store, but if we want shops that are devoted entirely to quilting, where the employees will actually help you select fabric as well as determine how much you need, if we want human interaction with our quilting purchases, if we want classes, then we need to support independent quilt shops by spending there whenever possible. It's too late for my shop, but it might not be too late for yours.
©2011 Jane Hardy Miller
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Posted by Nancy Ovelmen on October 4th, 2011 at 12:31 p.m.This month's blarticle was short and sweet, but succeeded in prompting me to scroll back to the the beginning of your blarticle journey looking for a healthy dose of your dry wit - mission accomplished! And I hadn't heard about your son's wedding - congratulations.