The interior of the blue trimmed shop features oddly precious prints, vintage shoes for a few dollars, and a bowl of ceramic peach pits. The wallpapered dressing room is lit as friendly as the little studio that is visible in the back of the shop. This shop, Ferdinand, is the quirky child of Diane Toepfer, who made her home in Portland as she shaped the shop-that-could.
It was January seven years ago. Diane had eloped and moved from California to Maine on a whim. After spending the decade of her twenties working odd jobs in the Bay Area, from arranging flowers to selling vintage clothes, she was certain of two things. First, a regular day job would not do for her in Portland, the prospect of being an adult serving coffee was out. Second, after seeing her employers manage to pull off their businesses, she believed anyone could do so-even she. Within the first week of her move to Portland, she stumbled upon something that would become her livelihood.
Her first observation of Portland was the sheer number of ice cream shops. “For a place that’s cold nine months of the year, I thought, there must be either huge seasonal sales or the rent is real cheap.” The wheels were turning.
When she saw the FOR RENT sign in a Congress Street storefront on Munjoy Hill, she knew she could put something together and avoid the ‘day job’ she so dreaded.
With only the five thousand dollars she’d saved by working odd jobs and peddling homemade cards door to door in California, she rented the space, and began making something from nothing. It was the start of Ferdinand.
Selling her homemade cards in the Bay Area had allowed her to keep a studio space there, but the task itself she remembers as humiliating, Store-owners were often rude and judgmental, but she was forced into doing business with them to keep her set of skills functioning, to give herself a sense of purpose, as well as income.
Dianne grew up on the West Coast. Her mother was a frustrated painter who refused to paint for lack of confidence all through Diane’s young life. Her grandfather was a skilled woodworker who gave away his pieces because he didn’t think he could sell them. Dianne realized early on that both of these people could’ve been harnessing something special, and if only she could learn to use her own skills, she could be prosperous, happy.
Although her close family members lacked the drive, Dianne describes her aunt as a huge inspiration. “She loves to paint. And to travel. And she loves teaching. So she has people pay her to take them on tours of Italy, where she paints, and teaches painting, and they buy her paintings, and then she has shows and sells more paintings, and it ends up that people pay her so she can keep doing exactly what she loves. Over and over.” This harnessing of passions is how Dianne sees her own work, just the right equation allows her to sustain herself and be productive in her unique way.
“I knew opening this shop was something I could do, but I had no idea how to do it. I just said to myself, ‘what do I need, how do I get it?’ and began from there”
Renting the shop and getting material to sell would end up costing less than one semester of school, which kept her optimistic about spending her savings. Without a business plan at all, she dove in.
In less than six months from moving to town, she opened the store, Ferdinand. “I knew I was fine living on a budget, frugally. I also knew I needed a way to support myself.” What was born was an ever-changing shop featuring local designers, crafts, mostly locally made, rarely made-in-china, offering an incidentally socially responsible shop. Without partners or a plan, she began selling things she made from nothing. Cards. Vintage clothes. Lampshades she made on top of lamps she’d scavenged. Trinkets. Some men consigned loads of old, cool furniture, which, Diane recalls, was Ferdinand’s saving grace because this filled all the empty space.
“When I opened Ferdinand an upstairs neighbor came down and spent seven dollars. I was on the moon!”
She refers to her ability to make it in the beginning, so unsure of the local market, as ‘enthusiasm of the uninitiated.’ Feeling her way into the business, she started making observations. People would buy things that were under fifteen dollars. Though at first the shop seemed too fancy compared to junk shops on the same block, the low prices began to change people’s minds. Slowly, there formed a small customer base, although Diane was the new girl in town.
But she faced some strange reception as well. On that first day of business, a man came in and demanded to know, “What is it you sell?” And then came her reply, one that she still uses in describing the store.
“Well,” she replied, “It’s stuff I make. And stuff I like.”
Three years into opening the business, Diane remembers her first triumphant moment. It was almost Spring and she was sitting at her kitchen table. She realized she’d gone the entire winter without eating Ramen noodles. It brings tears to her eyes. However mundane, the moment was monumental for her.
At the three year mark, another monumental event occurred. A man came into the shop and looked around. He was a writer from the New York Times. He mentioned Ferdinand in an article. The shop received floods of orders very quickly. Diane was temped to think, “Now I am an adult. Now I’ve gotten the recognition.” But as quickly as it came, it was over. She likens it to the letdown following a birthday. “You know how you anticipate the day, and then it’s over with and you feel exactly the same as before?” She plunged into creating, with a desire to make her business as great as she could craft it, despite the pomp of the press.
In the almost seven years, Diane watched almost every shop on the block shut down, including many of the junk shops she first talked about. “Many of these shops had very specific goals, and therefore, they could not satisfy changing needs.” Diane believes that her ability to shift shape, and constantly invent has allowed her to stay on top of things. “People get bored. They always want something a little bit new.”
For Ms. Toepfer, Ferdinand has become a pocket of discovery, shifting, and creating that fits her nicely. The organization and methodology of her entrepreneurship is as quirky as her personality, and has proven successful in the long run.
It’s her “I gotta do it, not suppress it” philosophy that has allowed her to keep creating. She doesn’t believe that artists have to be starving. The asset that has kept Ferdinand alive? “It’s my scrappy sense of getting by however I can.”
Ferdinand is open every day in December from 11-6 at 243 Congress Street in Portland and is worth the trip. Visit online at ferdinandhomestore.com