face of a brand

As long as I can remember, I’ve known that I wanted to own my own business. I didn’t know exactly what kind of business for a long time, but I knew that I could never be chained to a desk, and that the many hats worn by entrepreneurs appealed to my easily distractable nature. The entrepreneurial spirit runs deep in my family, especially on my dad’s side; my grandfather was a farmer, and several of my dad’s 14 siblings are self-employed. As a kid, it was rough sometimes when we had to forgo extras like class field trips or senior pictures due to liquidity issues (I particularly recall my parents cleaning out my bank account once in high school because one of the cars was getting repo’d) but I always respected my dad for sticking with it, and he now has a highly successful business… spend 10 minutes in the car anywhere in the metro area and you’re bound to see at least one of his billboards.

One thing I didn’t quite reckon on, though, was the pressure that comes with representing a brand and being a semi-public (in the tiny scene that is Detroit, at least) figure. I’m struggling right now to strike a balance between living a life that feels genuine to me, and presenting a certain edited persona to those who know me as the owner of my business (which I’m purposely not naming here because of Google). Typically, I have no problem being presented as “N, the owner of such and such,” and am flattered when friends talk up my products as they make introductions. But sometimes, the weight of that is oppressive, and I crave anonymity. I’m envious of people like my friend T, who owned a couple of restaurants and now sells vintage clothing out of her car. This is a woman with an outsized personality who gives no fucks about what anyone thinks or says about her, and somehow pulls it off. I guess my bourgeois side cares too much about public opinion to go that route, or I just don’t have the confidence or cojones to get away with it.

This is something I consider often when writing: finding a comfort zone somewhere between “I’m 41 years old for chrissakes and this is who I am, so screw it,” and thinking about what if my mom is reading, or some other relative, or business acquaintance, etc. I’ve been pretty low key about promoting the blog, but you never know who’s on the other side of the computer screen. At least I don’t have the problem my friend K has; she’s constantly concerned that her blog will be discovered by employers or clients.

This quandary of maintaining multiple identities really hit home when I was out with P last week. We’d been sipping wine since 2 or 3pm and it was around 6 when we went to meet our friend E at a wine bar in the neighborhood. As soon as we got there, P saw a group of acquaintances- a wine salesman and his wife and two of their friends, one of whom was a heart surgeon- and installed me and E at their table. After making hasty introductions, he left us there to fend for ourselves while he wandered off in search of… what, I don’t know exactly.
Continue reading