‘The numbers just aren’t adding up,’ said my best friend, who recently became my business partner in a joint alt venture. We were really good friends, but at the same time, being in business together changed our relationship. We barely even hang out any more. I could hear the tension in his voice. We thought it was a really good idea, emerging markets, new media, old media, building a tribe, getting the word out on social media, reaching consumers both on the internet, and in real life. It was fool proof. We were basically going to be printing buzz money, opening up our own buzz mint. The trouble was, despite all of the buzz, the blog press, the decent turnouts, the merch, the meetings, the important emails, the time we met that famous & successful person who said they liked what we were doing, we were still ONLY making buzz dollars.
I guess I was wrong. Maybe it was a bad idea to start a buzzband / record label / blog / viral meme blog / aggregator of memes / party promotion firm / PR firm / online video series / site on the internet that changes the way that we interpret journalism / diy venue space / playhouse / mumblecore film collective / documentary film series / alt non-profit scam / party photo website / cassette tape label / online design company / microblogging service / alt-fundraising website / vintage store / online vintage store / t-shirt making company / art gallery space / booking agency / food truck / vegan restaurant / creative agency / zine / magazine / alt comedy troupe / [miscellaneous alt venture].
We met with my dad’s friend, who was an accountant, and he told us every thing that we needed to get together in order to formalize our business. The truth was, taking a look at our business led us to realize that we weren’t making any REAL money. It was a tough spot to be in. I second guessed all of our decisions. The time we printed flyers on glossy colored paper instead of just using a DIY copy machine. The time we hired my friend who is a designer to design our website but he overcharged us and left us with a broken website. The time I borrowed my mom’s credit card to fly us to an important music and interactive conference in order to make connections, but we just ended up partying. Although it has been a wild ride, maybe the ride is pulling up to the final terminal. Not even a golden alt calculator could solve this mess. It was truly shaping up to be an Enron-level alt financial conspiracy.
He asked me, “Do you realize that we have never actually made money?”
It was at that moment that I realized that I didn’t actually have an alt business. I was paying to have an identity. Sure, my twitter follower count was admirable, and I did have things to do every night of the week, but what was I really paying for? A mediocre presence in an alternative scene? I struggled to understand what I was trying to become a part of, an undying alt spirit that desperately wanted to contribute something to a community that might not even exist.
“I’m out. This is too much. I’m getting my old job back at my dad’s company,” said my friend.
I wasn’t upset that he was leaving. This whole operation was my idea, anyways, and most of his ideas were super unoriginal and lame. I knew how to keep things authentic. But maybe keeping things authentic wasn’t making any more and bringing in new clients, new visitors. In fact, I wasn’t actually sure what we DID. But I was confident that I could figure it out on my own and utilize my tribe to get the word out that we were doing something different.
I thought about the first days of the business when we would just sit around on the internet and chat about how awesome things were going to get for us. VIP parties, tons of money, press, notoriety, validation from the scene, validation from our parents—we would have EVERYTHING. But maybe it was time to realize that this was never going to happen. The numbers just weren’t adding up.
On days like today, I had to wonder if my entire alternative social experience misled me, leading me to a place where I had nothing to my name. No money, no alt fame, and just a bunch of connections with a bunch of other people who were pretending to be successful, just like me. Don’t get me wrong, this was a valuable existence, and even if I have to begin a new venture, I am confident that it will work out because this experience exposed me to the harsh realities of what it takes to get an alt business off the ground and over the hump. But do I have the energy to do this again? Maybe I’m just not an alternative entrepreneur.
Was my alternative business a mistake?
It was just one of those days where you felt like ________ had everything, and you had nothing.
