HI. THIS IS STEVIE WEINBERG AND I'M WONDERING IF. . . .

Did You Receive My Letter?

I am shy. I can stand next to you in line for two hours and never say a word. I’m uncomfortable talking to strangers, and I dislike parties. I’m a joy to be around, right?

Knowing all that, what the hell possessed me to start a business that involved strangers, conversation, and fashion shows in my home?

In 2001, I launched “Worth for the Desert, dba Fancy Pants” a home-based business showcasing Worth New York, an upscale ladies’ ready-to-wear line. Worth didn’t sell in stores. It relied on women like me (like me?) to create an in-home boutique experience. Think franchise, but with your living room as the showroom.

Five times a year, Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and a bonus Holiday show, I’d receive a shipment of 200–300 clothing pieces, which I would unpack, steam if necessary, and hang on my hangers. I was independently wealthy in hangers.

But wait! Before you picture a neatly curated capsule wardrobe, let me clarify: each of those 200–300 pieces came in two, three, sometimes up to four colors, and sizes ranged from 0 to 20. I didn’t get duplicates. I received one of each item in whatever size the company sent. If a client tried on a pair of pants in her size and loved them, I’d show fabric swatches to show additional color options. Want a matching jacket? My sample might be two sizes too small, but that’s where my fitting skills kicked in. Guestimation was the name of the game.,

My living room, thankfully large, became a showroom. Furniture was pushed aside. I set up 8-foot metal grids, eight rolling racks, and one full-body mannequin. Displays told a story: elegant, casual, or office-ready. The hallway became a lovely display area, and my bedroom became a lush private dressing room.

Steve was always given adequate warning when I had appointments after 4:00 p.m. so he could sneak in through the back door, then hide. He grumbled a bit, but he knew I was having fun and making money.

The client’s orders were shipped to me. I took receipt of the items, inspected, and rehung every piece. I packed each one in a beribboned garment bag and hand-delivered it to my client’s doorstep. But, sometimes it wasn’t exactly their doorstep….one time it was in a grocery store parking lot. Another time it was in an alley next to a medical office. The client opened her trunk to put her order inside. I saw a pile (big pile!) of money in a box. She reached in, grabbed a handful, counted out the payment due, thanked me, and away she went. Nordstrom? Please, Nordies had nothing on my service!

Now, the real reason for this blog post.

As I mentioned, I’m shy. I’m uncomfortable around strangers. So naturally, it made perfect sense to start a business that required me to cold-call perfect strangers, invite them into my home (by appointment only), show them a clothing line they’d never heard of, ask them to undress, try things on, and trust me to guess their sizes.

To begin, I used several address/call lists and mailed a welcome letter, my business card, and a glossy brochure showcasing that season’s line. A week later, I followed up with phone calls. I’d ask if they’d received the brochure and whether they’d like to book a private appointment. I always invited the appointment to bring a friend, a great way to build my clientele.

Industry advice warned: for every 100 calls, expect 10-15 appointments. That meant I had to make 100 phone calls. One hundred calls to real, live women who might actually want to chat. Or worse, say no.

I was mortified. I’d lie awake at night, mentally rehearsing what to say. My palms would sweat. I created a word-for-word script and would not deviate from that path.

And wouldn’t you know it? My very first show brought in 35 appointments over five days. I was thrilled. I was also meshugah (crazy). And honestly, how could my friends have allowed me to do this?

When reality hit that I might actually succeed and be stuck making those phone calls five times a year until forever, I had more sleepless nights.

I forced myself through the calls for the first five shows, a full year of dialing strangers, putting on my friendliest voice, and hoping nobody yelled at me, asked too many questions, or worse, picked up the phone at all.

One call I’ll never forget was to a potential new client, Mrs. Somebody. A man answered. I gave my name and asked for the Mrs. Without missing a beat, he said, completely calm, totally matter-of-fact, “She’s dead.”

Not “She passed,” or “She’s no longer with us.” Just: “She’s dead.”

I nearly replied, “Oh, really?”, which would’ve been... less than ideal. Thankfully, I caught myself in time and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Goodbye.” I remember hanging up and staring at the phone. Given the ages of some of my clients, I wondered if that was going to be a regular “thing”.

After that first full year, I hired an assistant. She immediately became my best friend in the whole wide world, for the simple reason that she took over the appointment calls in exchange for a percentage from each of her booked sales.

Worth for the Desert, dba Fancy Pants, grew into a thriving little enterprise. I eventually hired a second assistant, and after five years, I sold the business to them.

I’m proud I forced myself to push through that first year, nerves, night sweats, awkward silences, all of it. Over time, small talk became easier. But that first year of cold calling? Utterly terrifying. I’m not sure I could ever do it again.

Oh-and how did I secure my client address/call lists? Message me here, let’s talk!