Miss Jessie's

by Miko Branch

  Within a few weeks, sales had blown up, and for a while Christine was reordering as many as two thousand units from us each month. She had become an entrepreneur, making a good living at something she loved.

  HIGH SCHOOL REUNION

  A year later, in 2010, Titi and I decided we should go back to Atlanta to do a hair event with a local salon. The idea was people could come to us to try out samples and have us demonstrate some techniques, then make their purchases with the salon.

  That Saturday the salon opened and it was like one big party, with the deejay we hired playing dance music, and trays of snacks and refreshments all laid out along with product samples, to give our visitors a taste of the Miss Jessie’s spirit. We liked people to leave us with smiles on their faces.

  Even though they’re a lot of work, Titi and I love doing these events, because they allow us to really connect with our customers and see all the different hair types and get feedback on the Miss Jessie’s stylers and conditioners that work best for them. We give away samples because we know they will be loved, and we demonstrate our products on a section of hair, wetting it down and styling it to show the before and after.

  During the event, I could feel someone watching me. It was my old high school sidekick, Neal, who’d seen some news item about us online and decided to come and surprise me at the show. He hadn’t changed one bit, except that he had his young son by his side.

  MARKETING THROUGH MUSIC

  As we caught up, Neal told me about all the other work he’d been doing in promotions. Ever since he’d been on the road with his rapper sister, Sweet Tee, he’d maintained his connection to the music industry, earning his living organizing huge concerts in Jamaica, Queens, as well as events for the Super Bowl and Mardi Gras. Neal understood the value of hitting the streets and building up personal contacts when you wanted to promote something. He used to do block parties in Queens long before the Internet existed.

  It got me thinking about how, every time we did a hair show or ran an ad, our competitors followed our lead. We kept changing up our marketing approach, but we did not see the benefit of swimming in an overcrowded pool. But Neal was someone who could get our name out in spaces far beyond the naturally-curly-hair marketplace. I brought him in as a consultant.

  Neal started by leveraging his music connections, getting our products out at jazz festivals and old-school concerts. He wanted to get samples in the hands of customers in the thirty-plus demographic who were going somewhere to have fun. Meanwhile, he was brazen about handing out Curly Pudding and Curly Buttercreme to celebrities. He’d spent his life around entertainers like Whitney Houston, Bobby Brown, the Housewives of Atlanta, and all the other entertainers who lived in his area, and he had no problem walking straight up to Jill Scott with a Miss Jessie’s goodie bag.

  When everyone else goes right, go left. Unconventional paths to promotion will keep the competition guessing and potentially broaden your customer base.

  Using his urban-music marketing training, Neal also got us in the news. When India Arie was making headlines based on allegations that she was bleaching her skin, he handed her a Miss Jessie’s bag at the Phoenix Jazz Festival, and the press took pictures that landed on the website Media Take Out. Time and again, he made our product visible in the mainstream.

  GRAB-AND-GO

  This kind of promotion helped put our consumer product on the radar in a way that’s much more organic and cost-effective than straight advertising. While we have never relied heavily on celebrity endorsements, mentions in the entertainment press get us into a broader national conversation.

  But we were never starstruck. Titi and I were too busy to get caught up in the celebrity scene. While we understood the benefits of getting endorsements from high-profile people and handing out gift bags at red-carpet events, that task had its own potential hazards.

  Our first such event, WEEN (Women in Entertainment Empowerment Network), held at the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City, was a case in point. We’d set up a gift suite with bags of Miss Jessie’s products to give to the stars as they were leaving. We had created a beautiful display table with vases that my mother had given me for good luck, and filled them with flower arrangements. My assistant Antonio was with me. We were being gracious to all the celebrities, making sure they got loaded up with Miss Jessie’s gifts, when my assistant noticed that one of my son’s favorite personalities, Lil Mama, a hip-hop recording artist from our beloved Brooklyn, was helping herself to not just the gift bags but also several of the vases. Though she could have had no idea what those vases meant and who had given them to us, she had her arms full of about four of them and was heading for the door. I asked Antonio to please apologize to her for the confusion but to get them back.

  “Um, excuse me, Lil Mama,” he said, catching up to her. The poor guy looked terrified.

  “Yeah?” she said, turning around to face him.

  “Uh, sorry, but those vases are just our props, not giveaways,” he stammered.

  “Nah, they were on the table with the other stuff left out, and they’re mine now,” she said.

  Antonio came back empty-handed.

  Although I would have loved to let her keep them, I just couldn’t—my mother had given me those vases. I had to do a lightweight sprint to catch up to her, because she moved fast. I said, “Hi, I’m sorry—those were not the giveaways, so I need to get them back for our table.”

  “What are you gonna do?” she asked me. “Fight me for it?”

  Before I knew it, I found myself gathering the vases from her arms and placing them behind me on a table. In that moment, I caught a look of pure mischief in her piercing green eyes. Clearly, she’d been joking. I was relieved that things were on a harmonious note, because I did not want my son to be disappointed if she were anything less than the classy young lady she turned out to be in that brief encounter.

  FIRE-TESTED

  At that point in my life, I was prepared to say no to anyone. After what I’d been through with Titi, my most formidable foe, nothing could scare me anymore. The noncompete that had forced me to work away from the tristate area, leaving my son behind during the week to build up a client base all over again, was rough. But it taught me a valuable lesson: No matter what happens, even if I lose everything, I will always have my two hands and my God-given talent. Take away from me everything I have built, and I will always be able to feed and support myself and my son. Knowing what I was capable of—on my own, without anyone’s help—was incredibly empowering. It meant that I would never have to sell out. This freedom of entrepreneurship was the reason I’d gotten into business on my own in the first place. It was the source of my success, self-respect, and happiness. I could always be true to who I was and maintain the integrity of the Miss Jessie’s name.

  Don’t be afraid to say no to an opportunity. As long as you can cover your bills and be self-sustaining, there’s no reason to accept what you know is less than you deserve.

  As the brand grew in popularity and profits, we were repeatedly approached by major retail chains that wanted to carry the Miss Jessie’s products. The natural instinct is to say yes to every opportunity. But, by now, experience—not instinct—had taught me better. It seems odd, but doing business with certain chain stores, under certain conditions, would not add much value—at least not to me. After we calculated all the additional expenses and reviewed the chains’ terms, it was clear profits would have been reed-thin and the frustration level would have been mile-high. If I could not get my terms—the terms that allowed me to run my business smoothly, then I would pass. I stood firm, refusing to compromise, not because I wanted to be difficult or demanding, but because I did not know any other way to run my business successfully. I do not doubt that others might have agreed to certain terms or found a way to make the deal work, but I could not and would not pretend otherwise. So, I just said no and passed. Looking back, I see there must have been times when I left money on the table and missed out on good opportuniti
es, but I do not have much, if any, regret at all. I am learning and growing more confident with each passing successful year that the truly good opportunities will present themselves again. And I will be ready to accept them.

  Many young businesses are tempted by the large amount of up-front cash that can be one of the immediate benefits of doing business with a large distribution partner. But you have to consider the longer-term costs of such short-term gains. Those percentages could ultimately kill a business. Besides, there’s power in saying no. It frees you up for the next opportunity. You just have to believe that something better will come along; if you continue to work hard to build your brand, it almost always does.

  Eleven

  BULL’S-EYE

  I’m a success today because I had a friend who believed in me and I didn’t have the heart to let him down.

  —ABRAHAM LINCOLN

  It was the kind of email we tended to ignore. By 2009, we were used to getting all kinds of calls or emails with someone soliciting something. Most of them were nonsense, and very few materialized into anything, so if it was an address we didn’t recognize, we routinely dismissed it. Our thoughtful staff got excited over every single proposition made to us, so it required Titi and me to determine which ones were real or fake. We were so busy rebuilding our brand that we had little time for foolishness.

  A third party, not a distributor but one of those middlemen who act as coordinators for the big retailers, had written to us saying that Target was holding meetings for potential product companies. They were thinking about creating a new category for their shelves. Since it wasn’t Target that was the source of this information, we hit the delete button.

  We thought these emails were classic solicitations designed to get our attention. We had neither the time to invest in such foolishness nor the stomach for the disappointment of a bait-and-switch routine. In any event, we had our eyes on other, somewhat smaller partners, like Sephora, Ulta, or perhaps a few upscale department stores—not Target, the mega-chain store with some of the best branding in the business, which had somehow made bargain shopping cool. Why would a mass retailer like Target even want a boutique brand like Miss Jessie’s, anyway?

  Weeks passed, and a few more emails were ignored, before we got a phone call. It was the third-party company again. This time they spoke to one of our customer service reps, an older Southern woman. She swung in the office that Titi and I shared and announced: “Umm, I got Target on the phone, and they say they want Miss Jessie’s! Y’all better get on the phone with them.” Of course we took the call. As we were about to push the connect button, Titi said, “It would be funny if this really were Target.”

  “We have been trying to reach you for some time. Is everything okay? This is a big opportunity for you,” the voice on the other end of the phone stated with equal parts concern and enthusiasm. “Target’s taking meetings tomorrow, and they want to see you.”

  We wanted to be sure it wasn’t just another sales pitch, so we decided to call his bluff. “Oh yeah, and where is this meeting?”

  “Minneapolis.”

  When we got off the phone, there was a moment of silence. Anybody who knows anything knows Target’s headquarters is in Minneapolis. It really was Target after all. In the next moment we made up our minds to change our tone and position on this now important matter. Everyone in the office just stared at us in wide-eyed disbelief. My assistant, who’d seen the initial emails, was especially nervous, clucking around us like a mother hen.

  Investigate before you dismiss. Don’t assume you know everyone’s motives. When you filter too much, you risk overlooking a golden opportunity.

  “Is this really happening?” he asked me. “I mean, Target is this huge machine. They don’t just invite little companies like ours to come over.”

  Then it dawned on us. We were standing on the verge of a total game changer.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” we screamed. “This is real! We need to go!”

  Not that we were in any way ready. We had no information or contacts to help us prepare for this whole new world of mass retail. My assistant rushed to put together products and brochures and whatever he could find to make us seem at least halfway knowledgeable. He was on edge the whole day, fussing and fretting. “This is going to be like a giant standing over two little people. Shouldn’t you bring a lawyer, at least?” he asked.

  “We think we’re done with lawyers,” we told him. “Besides, there’s no time.”

  “Shouldn’t you do some more research?” another employee asked.

  We prepared makeshift sales sheets on each product, created an order sheet, and gathered as much information as we could on our brand, including our most impressive press—the O double-page spread, Allure, Essence, and Elle write-ups—and practiced recounting our story of how Miss Jessie’s came about and how important our products were in the natural-hair community. We were scrambling and didn’t have time to feel anything. We just wanted to get there to see what they were talking about. But we were confident that we knew more about natural hair than any other brand, and we remained equally confident that our products were among the best on the market. That confidence had carried us a long way, and now we needed it to take us all the way to Minneapolis.

  Titi and I booked last-minute flights to Target’s headquarters for the next day, which cost a fortune. That night I thanked God for putting this opportunity in front of me, and I prayed that no matter the outcome of the meeting, I would have the wisdom to understand it. Just as I drifted off, I realized that I needed to start dreaming a bigger dream for me, my son, and Miss Jessie’s.

  The next morning, I did not need the alarm clock. I was ready and eager to get on the six-forty-five flight to Minneapolis. Titi and I rode in the cab together, and we strategized what we would say and exactly how we would say it all the way from New York to Minneapolis. We agreed that I would chime in when necessary, but Titi would take the lead. That decision brought me an instant sense of relief. All my life, I had admired my big sister’s aptitude for words, her rich deep voice, and her precise diction. Titi spoke with authority and commanded respect in all situations.

  When we reached our destination, we were not alone. There were other people—indeed, teams of people—in the waiting area. In contrast to Titi and me, they looked comfortable and seemed at ease. We imagined that their teams consisted of lawyers, accountants, and consultants, and we guessed that their folders and briefcases were stuffed with pie charts, graphs, and sales sheets. We had none of that. We had each other, as always, as well as our products and our nerves.

  A pleasant and pretty young blond woman, Carrie North, walked right up to us and said, “Hi, Miss Jessie’s, I am so glad you were able to make it!” Carrie was so familiar and friendly, we knew she was trying to put us at ease. But we were starting to feel butterflies in our stomachs while we were waiting for our turn to be seen.

  When we finally entered the conference room, the first thing we did was apologize for our lack of preparedness. Other than the small amount of product my assistant had packed for us, we had none of the things people typically present to lobby for product on the shelves. We had no posse of sales representatives. It was just the two of us and our story. Titi and I sat side by side as we always do, grabbing each other’s hand under the table before we pressed the “hit it” button.

  As Titi began to speak, the attractive head beauty buyer, with a huge diamond on her wedding finger, cut us off. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell us your story, we already know Miss Jessie’s well. We’ve seen it in the press, and I always loved your packaging. We just want to place an order. What do you recommend we buy?”

  I kicked Titi under the table—my signal for her to switch gears and start selling, for fear of losing this surreal moment. Titi had paused for a slight second, but I didn’t want to risk it. I put my right leg under my butt to give myself more height from my seat and straightened up my posture to tell them they should order EVERYTHING!
Titi chimed in when my mouth got dry from talking at jet speed, describing in more detail the difference in each product. At the end of the meeting, they bought most of our product range.

  Everyone seemed friendly. The buyer, the diversity person, the distributor, all of the Target representatives in the room. It was different from our last experience with a retailer. They had had a straightforward “our way or the highway” approach. Culturally, this was a different experience from doing business in New York. Many of the people at the table had a singsong accent that used an exclamation point and a question mark at the end of most sentences. They were simply charming. With their blond hair, blue eyes, and apple cheeks, they could have come from central casting for the movie Fargo.

  It was an emotional moment. In that hotel conference room, I was so overwhelmed that I feared my knees would buckle and I would faint from the extra heat I was feeling in my casual-corporate ensemble: a buttoned-up blue shirt with a black V-neck sweater. But then I pulled it together and asked: “Umm, would it be okay if I took a picture of you guys to catch this moment? This is really big for us.”

  “Well . . . okay!” they said.

  That was it. We’d made it into the big leagues with nothing more than a smile and a handshake. No lawyer, no representative, and no knowledge of mass retail whatsoever. The products that we had made by hand at our kitchen table only a few short years ago would soon be in Target stores across the country. This event validated the Miss Jessie’s brand and our company. With a single meeting, the Miss Jessie’s brand and products graduated from an underground curly cult classic to a national brand. The moment every consumer brand yearns for—national recognition and placement on the shelves of a big box store—just fell into our laps.

  We assumed this meant more money. It’s impossible to overstate the impact a deal like this can have on any small business. It’s utterly transformational. Overnight, a brand becomes national, the number of units sold multiply exponentially, and revenues grow from six figures to seven or eight figures.