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D.C. Big Flea
Why is it that authors do their first book signings at bookstores?
Why don’t more of them choose a different venue, one not related
to books at all, but shrewdly calculated to attract press coverage
and foot traffic?
D.C. Big Flea is an antique and collectible show that in January
2003 expanded to over 1,100 booths, making it the largest antique
show in the Mid-Atlantic. The organizers refused to rent a booth
for a book signing, so Bill and Jill decided to clean out their
basement and become antique dealers for a weekend.
They learned that antique shows are not the ideal places to sell
novels. They sold six books in two days. On the other hand, they
sold over $2,000 of antiques and had a blast meeting other booth
people and experiencing booth life.
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Lessons learned:
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The booth signs were not
large and clear enough to catch the eye of passers-by and inform
them of the book and author. Antique show booths have maybe two
to five seconds to hook a customer into entering the booth.
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Community event notices in local papers
brought in no traffic. |
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Women are blinded by fancy clothes.
Bill wore a vintage tux. He is definitely unaccustomed to women
approaching with comments such as, “you look wonderful”
or “are you my date for tonight?” One woman said to
Jill, “you should put him on one of those dog leashes so he
can only go so far and you can reel him back.” While none
of these episodes resulted in a book sale, Bill nevertheless found
them highly rewarding. |
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The desire for a bargain makes people
loopy. One passing fellow spoke at extreme length of the bargains
he had made, purchases he’d acquired for $15 and $35. Then
he went on to describe how the pieces would look in the $70,000
upgrade he’d just made to his terrace. |
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Real profits would have resulted had
Bill and Jill been allowed to sell the cinnamon-flavored waffle
cookies they had made. Instead, Bill and Jill gave the cookies away
for free, including a fancy-wrapped pack to anyone making a purchase.
The secret family recipe dates back to at least 1850 on the Kehrli
side of Jill’s Swiss ancestry. |
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Booth people help their neighbors.
When customers showed interest in Bill and Jill’s larger items,
neighboring booth people would crowd in and say, “that is
really a bargain,” or “what a rare find,” or “I’ve
been in this business for ten years and I’ve never seen a
table with such fine carving.” After one sale, a neighbor
who’d helped clinch the deal swooped in and exchanged high
fives with Jill. |
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Antique prices are bizarre. A neighbor
sold a “willow plate” to another dealer. The neighbor
had bought the piece for $5 and sold it for $45. The dealer who
bought the piece set it out with a price tag of $90. |
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As the show neared its close, Bill
and Jill put “Best Offer” signs on the pieces they really
didn’t want to lug back. The last day is the time for bargains. |
Okay, so most of these lessons have nothing to do with selling books,
but they have a lot to do with the spirit of marketing and the fun of
doing something you’ve never done before. Would Bill and Jill do
it again? No way — too much work moving all that furniture. On the
other hand, don’t be surprised if they show up at some doll show,
selling off their collection of European dolls as well as a few novels.
The greatest disappointment? Bill had placed in prominent view three
vintage books he thought could not be resisted by such a crowd:
Despite thousands of passers-by, maybe three people spotted the intriguing
titles on these books, and none found them as irresistable as did Bill.
To this day, they remain in the Neugent library of odd-titled books.
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The high point of the show? At first Bill and Jill thought it came
two hours into the event, when they made their first sale, a French
coffee pot they had bought for $35 and sold for $50. But the unexpected
pinnacle came just before the show closed and involved a German
oil painting of a doll sitting before a Christmas tree lit with
blazing candles. Several dealers had come by to say the picture
was too charming to sell. Yet a man had fallen in love with it.
He looked like a grown-up cherub. Two times he’d returned
to plant himself before the picture and stare wistfully at it. Finally,
an hour before closing, he returned. He explained that he couldn’t
leave. He said he kept a Christmas display in his house year-round
and nothing he’d seen in the 1,100 booths was of the quality
of this Christmas scene. What was the best price?
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Bill 's first book signing
The D.C. Big Flea
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Bill and Jill cited their lower limit, which they’d agreed to in
advance. Bill explained to the man that the nail from which he’d
removed the picture still remained on the wall. He chose not to mention
that the wall in question was at the back corner of the Neugent basement.
The man turned and took on a look of deep sadness. Jill said, “What
would be your best offer?”
He scrunched his face into a grimace, gave a number $20 below Bill and
Jill’s lower limit, and exhaled, as if the significance of the words
sucked the breath from him.
Bill felt his first twinge of weakness. “Why don’t we just
split the difference?”
“I’m way over my limit,” the man said. His head drooped.
He turned to leave, swung back, and gazed again at the picture.
Jill and Bill huddled. “He loves this picture,” she whispered.
“We keep it buried in the basement,” he said.
So, as you read this, a charming Christmas picture stands prominently
featured in a year-round Christmas display, having finally found the loving
owner and home it deserves.
Moral: A sale that unites a buyer with a beloved object is more precious
than a sale that nets a fat profit.
Maybe there’s something useful here after all.
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