If I, the Heiress to a Pickle-Manufacturing Magnate, Can Make It in This Business, Anyone Can
To outsiders, my multimillion-dollar artisanal pickle company may look like an overnight success, but I can assure you it was the result of a lot of hard work. Yes, my father is the number-one producer of pickles worldwide, but please don’t be so crass as to suggest that my success has anything to do with his. I make sweet pickles, not dill—it’s an entirely different industry.
I’ve always had a passion for pickles: eating them, having my personal chef cook exclusively with them when I’m on a pickle cleanse, chucking them at mouthy butlers. But it wasn’t until I was drowning my sorrows in a jar of bread and butters after my dog therapy business went under that I thought of starting my own brand.
My best friend Bitsy took one look at the empty jars around me and said, “Mitsy, you love pickles so much. Why don’t you just make your own? Your dad controls the Big Dill lobby, and your mom has a monopoly on jar manufacturing.” Bitsy always has the best ideas—except for the one about opening a dog therapy business.
But the road to success wasn’t all gherkins and cornichons. Like you, I know all about failure. When I started Picklegasm two years ago, it was the latest in a long line of businesses underwritten by my blood, sweat, and tears—also, a series of checks from my dad.
Despite my best efforts, each of those thirty-five businesses folded. Then, the money tap was turned off after Daddy’s accountant said something about “hemorrhaging money” and “bloodsucking kids.” Nevertheless, she persisted. I didn’t give up, nor should you.
I picked myself up, took a three-month retreat to our private Mediterranean island to clear my head, and then asked my mom for the money. That may sound easy to you, but I can assure you it was not. I had to endure an entire lunch with her at the Polo Bar to get that money, even cutting into my daily Evian cold plunge. But success doesn’t come without sacrifice. A lot of young people forget that these days.
My best advice is to use what you’ve got.
Maybe you don’t have unlimited access to a trust fund larger than the GNPs of several island nations combined. However, you can still start a bare-bones, no-frills business with as little as $2 million—and who doesn’t have that?
Maybe your uncle can’t buy a major news conglomerate and force them to do an in-depth feature on your new line of Japanese pickles. So instead, hit up your contacts at The Today Show at Jenna Bush’s next salon.
Maybe you need childcare while one of your night nannies is sick. Simply have one of the other nannies pick up the slack—that’s what they’re paid a nonliving wage for!
As an entirely self-made woman, I share this final advice with you: follow your dreams. Because when you have a dream, you do whatever it takes to make it happen. No matter how many staff members you have to fire. No matter how many charity dinners you are unable to host. No matter how many cold calls your assistant makes to acquire that brining company. (And when I say “cold calls,” I mean when you make your assistant conduct all business outside your Park Avenue apartment in sub-freezing temperatures because it motivates them to close the deal faster.)
Like they always say, “Shoot for the moon! Even if you miss, you’ll land in your family’s private rocket ship.”