Un-romanticizing Bootmaker life.
Today it’s Sunday. Usually this is the day that I do light work. Meaning, nothing particularly physical. Perhaps only editing, sewing, patternmaking and the like.
It’s also the day that I sit down to reflect a little for the Journal.
It was a very busy week. I made 4 pairs of The Schoolboy, the Frontier line release for December. This is one of the challenges of targeting the retail market; where people prefer to try before they buy. It means for each boot release, I need to make 13 pairs of that boot, 1 for each size.
Because of the busy week, I had no time to catch up on customer builds, or schedule appointments for new walk-ins.
Almost nobody (local customers that is) orders through DM without coming to try on boots in person. It’s totally different from the more matured boot enthusiast world, where the consumer is quite aware about their foot, preferences and fitting.
In fact, I don’t even think a Brannock device exists in Malaysia. Or at least, I’ve never seen one in my over twelve years living here.
Anyway. Just like any other job, being a Bootmaker has both its good days and bad.
Where, on the bad days, I second guess what I’m trying to do, the market, the product, the consumer understanding. Everything really.
My hidden (bootmaking) profession.
When I meet new people, the conversation inevitably starts with ‘oh, what do you do?’ And I find myself reluctant to say that I’m a Bootmaker.
I’ve reflected on this a lot, and I think it’s due to two reasons.
Firstly, I think there’s still some imposter syndrome hidden inside me.
Although I’ve been making footwear for around eight years or so, for some reason I can’t seem to shake the question of ‘am I good enough?’
This is very odd, because in prior careers I’d never had this problem.
So I dig deeper.
The why is the root cause.
When I browse YouTube, I watch a lot of boot content. You know, BootTube nerd stuff.
This is how I learn about new construction methods and makers. I get design inspiration.
I’m not necessarily interested in the influencer or hype side of boot culture (a post for another day), but rather, I enjoy learning how to better myself and the business.
Deep down though, I also compare myself to what I see. Other Bootmakers. Other brands. It’s inevitable.
In some ways though, comparison is good. Because it helps me understand who is buying what from where, customer expectations, trends and the like. But at the same time, it doesn’t help.
Because it makes me question my own skillset. Are my boots appealing to boot nerds? Are they finished to the right level? Are they an interesting pattern?
Luckily I’m quite a logical person, so I snap back to reality quickly.
Compared to the majority of BootTube content, my market is not a heritage market, my target consumer has their own use case, and I, as a Bootmaker, have my own design philosophy.
Rationalizing feels like making excuses though.
Bootmaking is an art form. Building a business is no different. Both are quite personal in how they’re executed.
I have my own preferences in how I design and build boots. I also have my own reasons for brand positioning and targeted market.
So, instead of trying to compare myself one-for-one to others, I end up taking inspiration and incorporating it where it makes sense for my market, my customer and most importantly, my price point.
It’s easy to get carried away though. Luckily, I have an anchor to keep me true.
When I founded Outstation, I wanted to make a boot primarily for the local market. Not too expensive, not too cheap. At a high enough quality for a boot person, yet at a price point still acceptable for a non-boot person.
Jim Green did this perfectly for the South African market. They were my inspiration for nailing that perfect product, price and market mix.
I knew their market already; I’d lived in South Africa for a few years. I studied their product line up. I also knew that labour costs were comparable between our countries.
It was just a case of taking what they did and shifting it for deployment into an Asian environment. And then seeing if it had scaling potential.
So when I get too influenced about what I see on BootTube, I drag my mind back to that founding anchor.
And it helps ground me again.
It’s not just a side hobby.
The second reason I’m reluctant to tell people I’m a Bootmaker may seem a little strange.
And the reason is, I don’t like dealing with the conversation that follows.
To give you some context, Malaysia is still a country where title, wealth, job and education are societal levers. Few people aspire to be associated with a trade or craft in today’s environment.
So when I eventually disclose to people that I’m a Bootmaker, the conversation usually goes something like this:
‘So what do you do?’
‘I’m a Bootmaker’
‘A what?’
‘Bootmaker. You know, I make boots’
Pause. At this point I can almost see the person’s brain struggling to comprehend. Trying to process what being a Bootmaker actually means, and how to politely continue (or end!) the conversation.
‘Oh, ok’.
Awkward transition to something else.
It kind of stops there. People don’t really know how to respond, because this type of job is simply so uncommon. They just have no idea what to say next.
If for some reason I meet this person again, the conversation may continue politely. But by this stage, I can tell just by how they talk to me that they’ve concluded I have some kind of hobby side business.
Because nobody makes anything high quality by hand thesedays. Let alone make a living from it. Right?
I am entitled. Or disgruntled. Or both.
I think preconception is what irritates me. That, and the lack of curiosity from most people about subjects outside of what they already know.
That being said, for those that do take the conversation further, it’s because there’s a spark of interest for whatever reason. Eventually they’ll ask to see the product, and when I show them, they’re generally shocked.
‘You made that?’
‘Yes’
‘How is that even possible?’
At this point, their preconception of a Bootmaker, and what a boot can be, is utterly obliterated.
Destroying my own preconception.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some kind of self centered artist in an ivory tower. I simply relate my experiences living as a Bootmaker.
And these experiences trigger me to wonder why these situations occur; the root cause behind them.
I like being a judge-y bitch as much as the next person, but I also know from time to time I should try to put my feelings aside to go deeper.
It’s a function of the current environment.
After many years of thinking, I’ve concluded that it comes down to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
A large majority of people are still struggling to fulfil basic needs. Food, water and shelter. And because of this, there just isn’t enough time or energy to learn about or be interested in things like craft at this point.
If someone has mouths to feed, in a deteriorating economic environment and disrupted labour market, why should they give a shit about understanding handmade boots?
Fair.
Handling the conclusion is confusing.
It’s realizations like these that can make my day can spiral further.
It makes me wonder about what I’m doing. Is it worth it? Maybe I’m in the wrong country. Should I just relocate myself and the business elsewhere? Maybe it’s not any better anywhere else.
It’s human to blow things out of proportion apparently.
Interestingly, I’ve come to understand that the days which I consider ‘bad’ have nothing to do with myself. Or rather, nothing to do with what I can control.
If I screw up a pattern, make a mistake during a build, waste money on a shitty sample; all these things piss me off, but they don’t get me down. Because I can learn from them, call myself an idiot, and not repeat the mistake in the future.
It’s almost as if I were to operate the business in a bubble, I wouldn’t have bad days. Because the bad days are all caused by external factors I can’t control directly.
In order to control them indirectly though, I have to control how I react to them.
So when I feel down after watching BootTube, I tell myself, I can also produce boots to that quality, for that market, for that customer, if that were my business model.
And when I feel down about people’s reaction after telling them I’m a Bootmaker, I tell myself, it’s not their fault; they just have more pressing needs to worry about right now.
This helps a lot.
Every piece of positivity is scaled 34,560x.
A single positive comment or meaningful interaction can go a long, long way.
It lifts my spirits to know that yes, there are people out there that do appreciate Outstation boots and the craft. And a few even want to buy a pair.
Some of the nicest comments I’ve had are from students who randomly DM me saying they’re saving to buy a pair of boots, and that they’re the nicest they’d ever seen.
Tongue in cheek I tell myself, maybe they’re just so young they haven’t discovered nicer looking boots yet.
Nonetheless, even if they never purchase, receiving a comment like that lifts my spirits for 3-4 days. It pushes me back into the belief zone. Belief once again in what I’m doing, the market, the product and the consumer.
When I have customers that come back to buy their second or third pair, it also lifts the spirits. With those customers, the product and brand trust has been established, reassuring me again of what I do.
So if you’re ever browsing a Bootmaker’s social media, send them the nice comment that you’re thinking to yourself about their boots.
You have no idea how far it goes.
10 seconds out of your day will lift their spirits for the next 3-4 days.
Or, 345,600 seconds.
So there you have it. The bad days.
It’s quite amazing, the emotional rollercoaster that a craft based business is.
I’d mentioned in another Journal entry that I consider myself relatively even-keeled. Not too high, not too low. If I was more emotionally inclined, I think I wouldn’t have survived so long.
And as I sit on my couch right now, I don’t know what else to say to finish things up.
A bag of experiences triggering so many thoughts, doubts and questions, it’s incredibly difficult to put it into words.
Let alone words that can convey it all understandably.
