Last weekend I made another attempt at market selling. This time with even less success than the previous occasions. I didn't seem to be the only one though. There was a lady from a village the other side of Dundee who was selling wreaths of flowers who didn't seem to have much business all day, though she didn't seem too perturbed by this, and seemed to be having fun knitting despite the lack of custom.
When I went for a wander across the hall to find the bee-cushion lady who I had been placed next to on previous occasions it seemed she was also finding it heavy going. The bee-cushions themselves didn't sell as well as the prints. She told me that this was because people are less willing to pay as much for something which actually has a use.
Some people told me that they often found it difficult getting sales, and I began to wonder why they did it. When a woman from another stall selling wool products came over with her grandson in her arms and told me that she hadn't sold anything either, I asked her whether it was worth coming. Her outlook was quite sunny, much like the weather, which we both bemoaned for our lack of sales: "it's a day out" she told me. She was quite sure that if she took her family (she was with her daughter as well as grandson) on a family day out for the day they would have spent a lot more than the £25 fee for the table. In addition to the weather, she also blamed the venue, telling me that a higher class of clientèle would attend when the market was held in the local theatre.
Another lady selling £2 cards and £3 bags had made about £10 by the end of the day. She told me that when she had first started out a couple of years ago she often made even less! When I asked me why she carried out, her reply was that it was out of "stupidity".
Most of the stall-holders seemed to be in their late 40s and over, and I supposed doing this as a hobby. However, when I asked one woman who by the end of the day had literally only sold a couple of buttons if this was the case, she told me glumly that this was in fact her full time job. We commiserated, and told one another to keep going.
By the end of the day I went having sold nothing (selling wool products in April is perhaps a little optimistic), but having had a few nice chats.
Saturday 9 April 2016
Saturday 12 March 2016
Seating arrangements
Have you ever noticed how gendered seating arrangements are?
Last Thursday evening after we had been watching a film in the department library, I settled back down in my office to procrastinate over some work, when there came a knock at the door. My friend Luz, having missed her bus, asked me if I fancied a drink. As it was late, and I knew I'd be leaving soon anyway, I did the decent thing and agreed.
We popped down to The Central, and although I got the drinks for some reason I was the first to sit down, while Luz was still at the bar. I sat on the bench running alongside the window, which meant that Luz sat on the chair opposite me. For some reason instinctively I felt that I had crossed a line and acted in an ungentlemanly manner by choosing this seat rather than the chair. I asked Luz whether she minded sitting there, and whether she would prefer to sit on the (more comfortable) bench. She was not quite indignant, but told me that it was always the women who sit on the benches and the men and on the chairs, and she saw no reason why this should be the case. I looked around the pub, and realised that she was right. In every arrangement where were a man and woman sitting together, the man was sitting on the chair and the women on the bench. I couldn't stop looking around and noticing this for the rest of the time we were sitting together in the pub.
I was reminded of this when I saw a story about controversy over the seating arrangements on the BBC breakfast sofa recently. For those of you not abreast of the story, the male host is apparently always sat to the left of the female host of viewers see them, and this implies some kind of seniority. This may be partly because the male host is often older, and I guess, more experienced. However, when a young pup of a male co-host replaced the older male presenter recently, he was still sat in the (apparently) more senior position, on the left of the screen. You can read more about that story here: http://www.theguardian.com/media/2016/mar/16/bbc-breakfast-countryfile-louise-minchin-sofa-dan-walker
Last Thursday evening after we had been watching a film in the department library, I settled back down in my office to procrastinate over some work, when there came a knock at the door. My friend Luz, having missed her bus, asked me if I fancied a drink. As it was late, and I knew I'd be leaving soon anyway, I did the decent thing and agreed.
We popped down to The Central, and although I got the drinks for some reason I was the first to sit down, while Luz was still at the bar. I sat on the bench running alongside the window, which meant that Luz sat on the chair opposite me. For some reason instinctively I felt that I had crossed a line and acted in an ungentlemanly manner by choosing this seat rather than the chair. I asked Luz whether she minded sitting there, and whether she would prefer to sit on the (more comfortable) bench. She was not quite indignant, but told me that it was always the women who sit on the benches and the men and on the chairs, and she saw no reason why this should be the case. I looked around the pub, and realised that she was right. In every arrangement where were a man and woman sitting together, the man was sitting on the chair and the women on the bench. I couldn't stop looking around and noticing this for the rest of the time we were sitting together in the pub.
I was reminded of this when I saw a story about controversy over the seating arrangements on the BBC breakfast sofa recently. For those of you not abreast of the story, the male host is apparently always sat to the left of the female host of viewers see them, and this implies some kind of seniority. This may be partly because the male host is often older, and I guess, more experienced. However, when a young pup of a male co-host replaced the older male presenter recently, he was still sat in the (apparently) more senior position, on the left of the screen. You can read more about that story here: http://www.theguardian.com/media/2016/mar/16/bbc-breakfast-countryfile-louise-minchin-sofa-dan-walker
Monday 4 January 2016
The Christmas market
A couple of weeks ago, I attempted, for the second time, to sell alpaca scarves made by alpaca farmers I know in Bolivia, here in St Andrews. The market was a little more successful than the first, partly because it was inside rather than in the rain, so even if no-one bought anything I nonetheless remained dry.
This time I also had company. An American friend of mine, who had previously helped me to advertise by modelling the scarves, came to keep me company. I was also surprised to know that I already knew the woman at the stall next to mine. She had been selling cushions with pictures of bees and the local towns on them at the previous market. Previously her mother had also been with her, but she had found her mother to be lacking in the wiles of market-selling (she had not given the customers enough space to look at the goods) and had let her sit this one out.
The hardest thing was to know to what extent to try to engage with potential customers - whether to allow passers by to simply peruse the stall, or to actively try to sell to them. My friend tried to make chit-chat with those glancing at the stall by asking how they were. "Don't mind her," I told one potential customer, in a vain attempt to engage her in banter. "She's American - she doesn't realise that 'how are you?' is aggressively friendly to British people. Unfortunately the customer paid no attention, and this merely resulted in a lengthy conversation with my friend about transatlantic greetings. An English friend who came to the stall confirmed that she felt 'how are you?' to be a personal question, and one that would cause her to question the motives of any stranger's inquiry into her health.
Most of the people who did engage in conversation with us, told us how nice the scarves were, but without any intention to purchase. The bee-cushion woman told us she would like to implement a compliment box - like a swear box, which people would have to pay money into every time they told her how nice her things were but without buying anything. We did in the end sell some scarves, though mostly to people we already knew at university.
We weren't, in fact, the only ones selling alpaca goods at the market, though I don't think this affected sales, as the other stall only seemed to be selling balls of wool and jewellery (the necklaces were made of alpaca wool). At one point I got talking to the woman from the stall. She was rather snobbish about the quality of her wool (and British alpacas in general) compared to those from the Andes. "It's such a shame that there are people selling alpaca wool from South America over here, when alpacas from the UK are much better quality", she told me. It was difficult to tell how she intended for me to take this. Although she was giving barbed comments in the friendliest of manners, she had the appearance of a snarling cat warning fellow felines to keep out of its territory.
What she meant by British alpacas being of superior quality, she told me, was that British alpacas are bred for purity, whereas in South America, according to her, alpacas were bred with llamas. When I was in Bolivia I had heard that this happened, but my recollection was that it was nevertheless frown upon, and those who were serious about selling the wool of their alpacas tried to ensure purity of stock.
I was reminded of when I helped my friends to skin an alpaca for the first time. When I asked why we had chosen this particular alpaca I was told that it was because it wasn't suitable to have children. Looking back, this clearly seemed an allusion to the purity of its blood, and an attempt to improve the stock, by ensuring that particular alpacas had children and others did not. When I remarked on this to a lecturer in the department at his house over lunch a few days later he pointed out, very logically, that not being suitable to have children may simply have meant that it was too old.
This time I also had company. An American friend of mine, who had previously helped me to advertise by modelling the scarves, came to keep me company. I was also surprised to know that I already knew the woman at the stall next to mine. She had been selling cushions with pictures of bees and the local towns on them at the previous market. Previously her mother had also been with her, but she had found her mother to be lacking in the wiles of market-selling (she had not given the customers enough space to look at the goods) and had let her sit this one out.
The hardest thing was to know to what extent to try to engage with potential customers - whether to allow passers by to simply peruse the stall, or to actively try to sell to them. My friend tried to make chit-chat with those glancing at the stall by asking how they were. "Don't mind her," I told one potential customer, in a vain attempt to engage her in banter. "She's American - she doesn't realise that 'how are you?' is aggressively friendly to British people. Unfortunately the customer paid no attention, and this merely resulted in a lengthy conversation with my friend about transatlantic greetings. An English friend who came to the stall confirmed that she felt 'how are you?' to be a personal question, and one that would cause her to question the motives of any stranger's inquiry into her health.
Most of the people who did engage in conversation with us, told us how nice the scarves were, but without any intention to purchase. The bee-cushion woman told us she would like to implement a compliment box - like a swear box, which people would have to pay money into every time they told her how nice her things were but without buying anything. We did in the end sell some scarves, though mostly to people we already knew at university.
We weren't, in fact, the only ones selling alpaca goods at the market, though I don't think this affected sales, as the other stall only seemed to be selling balls of wool and jewellery (the necklaces were made of alpaca wool). At one point I got talking to the woman from the stall. She was rather snobbish about the quality of her wool (and British alpacas in general) compared to those from the Andes. "It's such a shame that there are people selling alpaca wool from South America over here, when alpacas from the UK are much better quality", she told me. It was difficult to tell how she intended for me to take this. Although she was giving barbed comments in the friendliest of manners, she had the appearance of a snarling cat warning fellow felines to keep out of its territory.
What she meant by British alpacas being of superior quality, she told me, was that British alpacas are bred for purity, whereas in South America, according to her, alpacas were bred with llamas. When I was in Bolivia I had heard that this happened, but my recollection was that it was nevertheless frown upon, and those who were serious about selling the wool of their alpacas tried to ensure purity of stock.
I was reminded of when I helped my friends to skin an alpaca for the first time. When I asked why we had chosen this particular alpaca I was told that it was because it wasn't suitable to have children. Looking back, this clearly seemed an allusion to the purity of its blood, and an attempt to improve the stock, by ensuring that particular alpacas had children and others did not. When I remarked on this to a lecturer in the department at his house over lunch a few days later he pointed out, very logically, that not being suitable to have children may simply have meant that it was too old.
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