My first opportunity as a business owner was selling handmade macrame plant hangers at the Guilderland Sunday Farmers Market. I made $292 that first day. It was the moment I thought “I could actually do this for real.” A turning point, honestly.

When I think back to that summer, I mostly remember all the things that surprised me.

The Community I Didn’t Know I Needed

First, I met so many other small business owners. They had the same struggles I had—the same fears and doubts. There was this whole micro-community of dreamers I didn’t even know existed, and their hustle and creativity was contagious.

They were all at different stages. I sat there enough Sundays to watch who got more sales and who didn’t. I noticed some people were passionate about making pickles but weren’t necessarily chatty, preferring to stay seated in the back of their tent. That affected how many customers actually bought something. Some vendors were talented artists who made beautiful items priced so low they barely broke even. Others had an eye for designing a booth that made you want to stop.

Slowly, throughout that fall season, I incorporated everything I could manage. I’m so grateful for all the friendly business owners I met along the way.

The “Oh, I Used to Do Macrame in the ’70s!” Phenomenon

Something else that surprised me was how many older women would come up to my booth and tell me they did macrame in the 1970s. This happened constantly. I’d seen vintage macrame photos online, but I admit—I didn’t fully understand that it was a legitimate craze back then.

I learned macrame on YouTube because I thought it was pretty and wanted to try it. I had zero connection to the ’70s version.

Here’s the thing that started to bother me: I realized they looked at my work—art I’d spent hours on, that I’d stressed about and poured creative energy into—and they didn’t really see it. All they could see was a fad from their youth. It didn’t matter that my style is modern and looks nothing like the thin jute wall hangings they were picturing.

I don’t understand why knitting or weaving gets to be seen as a beautiful craft, but macrame only gets a “haha, macrame is back!” response. Back then, my insecurity made me extra sensitive to it.

Since then, I’ve learned business terms like “target market,” which is just a fancy way of saying: not everyone is your customer. And those women reminiscing about the ’70s? They quite literally never bought anything from me. That’s fine. They’re not my people.

The Math That Didn’t Add Up

The last thing that surprised me was that even when I made my booth as approachable as possible—added new items, new colors, smiled at everyone—I couldn’t break $400 in sales. I thought I just needed to do bigger or “better” markets.

After three years of vending all over the state at markets organized by different people, that was still mostly true.

Now, some people might think $400 for a day’s work sounds pretty good. Let me give you the full picture.

The average vendor fee is $30 to $100 (usually somewhere in the middle). Materials for the items I sell run around $100. Then there are the hidden costs: business cards, an expensive tent, display stands, and all that jazz.

And then there’s Saturday itself. You spend 8am to 7pm (nearly 12 hours) outside in the heat, running your social battery into the ground, stressing about whether this event will be worth it. That’s after you’ve spent all week making inventory, packing your car the night before, and waking up at an ungodly hour to set up on time.

After subtracting expenses, you’ve really only made about $183. For a 12-hour day. Plus the week of prep.

So, What Now?

I’m saying no to vending at markets in 2026 because I’d rather have a relaxing Saturday with my family than come home with achy feet, an exhaustion headache, and $200. It’s just not worth it anymore.

I’m looking forward to building out my online shop and putting more energy into workshops (which, by the way, are a much better way to spend a Saturday).

Do I regret doing markets? Absolutely not. You don’t know what you don’t know. Markets helped me build a small local following and gave me a way to advertise my workshops. It was also something to do while I figured out what I actually wanted to be doing.

Would I recommend other artists start vending at markets? Maybe for a season, but never long-term. It’s a good learning experience. Get a few under your belt if you want, but don’t build your whole business around it (you can’t).

If you’re disappointed about not being able to shop my work in person this year, I get it. I hope you understand where I’m coming from. I’ll still be around at workshops if you want to learn how to make something yourself—which, honestly, is way more fun anyway.

Love and light everyone,