About two years ago a writer asked if he could interview me for an article about plush food for the New York Times. Naturally I said yes, and tried to make all my answers as punchy and fascinating as possible, while weaving in anecdotes from my iconic New York childhood. I was still teaching at the time, and sewing my toys on the side, but this piece seemed to indicate to me that perhaps my small side business had the potential to grow into a full-time venture.
Two weeks later a photo assistant from the Times e-mailed to ask if I could send in samples of my toys. The article was due to be a feature in the Sunday magazine—one of their quarterly “T” Style editions, in full, beautiful color. I was ecstatic. I told everyone I knew. I reminded them a week before it was due to come out, and again the day before.
That Sunday I tore the magazine from the paper and flipped through it rapidly. I didn’t see any plush food. But there were two articles on stylish items for foodies, so I thought my interview might be part of one of those. Not there either. I checked the shopping guide, the back page, article sidebars, and eventually the Style Magazine’s web site. Maybe it was a web-only article? Nope. The article had not run at all. Anywhere.
I was crushed. After enduring a week or so of painful conversations with confused friends and relatives, I e-mailed the author to find out what happened. He said that the Times had cut the article due to space constraints and that they were considering running it in another issue, six months away. Six months later, the entire process repeated itself, only this time, the Times didn’t shelve the article, they tossed it completely. The author ran the interview on his own blog instead, which was a rather nice consolation. Still, I felt spurned and embarrassed after having gotten my hopes up so high.
So when an editor for the Times contacted me again a couple of months ago, I was naturally skeptical. They wanted a “glamour shot” of a meat medley to feature in the big holiday gift guide in the Home section of the paper. I sent them a shot, but didn’t tell anyone about it other than my mother, my husband, and one good friend. The following Thursday, the Home section contained several gift guides: what to get for friends who are hard to buy for, a “25 Under $25,” and so on, but none of them contained Sweet Meats.
I again felt burned and frustrated, despite having lowered my expectations significantly. After all, it’s hard not to get your hopes up about the New York Times. Besides the fact that it can cause an uptick in sales (one store owner in my neighborhood reported an additional $25,000 in sales during the month her store was featured), the New York Times definitely has a certain cachet. Validation by the Times suggests that you have made it, that the experts on style and taste consider your product worthy of sharing with the world. It’s an easy deflection to disparaging questions such as, “Why do you make these?” and “Who would buy such a thing?” and it’s a signal to every other media outlet that your business is worth paying attention to.
Two weeks later I received a call from a very strange number: 1 111 111-1111. Telemarketer. Robo-dialer, probably. I dismissed the call to voice mail. Immediately there appeared a harried message from a fact-checker at the Times. She wanted to verify my current prices for a shopping guide in the Home section. Again? Seriously?
I felt mildly encouraged that I had been contacted by a fact checker—a step I had not previously reached–but at the same time, I was totally over it, even slightly annoyed. When would they stop toying with me?
The day the issue came out we flew back east for the holidays, and I didn’t buy the paper until we got to our second airport. And what do you know? There they were, in a “fun-loving” holiday gift guide on page 4. They didn’t accompany an interview in a large-format magazine, and they weren’t part of a full-page color spread. In fact, they weren’t in color at all (except in the New York City edition). And okay, maybe they listed my phone number without asking, and maybe they incorrectly stated that Sweet Meats were designed to be children’s toys, but I got to list “New York Times” on my press page, and my mother got to brag about it at her Hanukkah party. My distributor used it to tempt more New York stores. My husband thinks the link might even raise my Google ranking.
The direct result was an increase in web sales for a day or two (about a dozen more sales per day than usual)—comparable to the effect of a mention on Cool Hunting two years ago. I also got a call from another distributor, this time someone in the Midwest who sells mostly to restaurant gift shops. The full indirect results remain to be seen.
The lesson? Patience is a virtue, good things comes to those who wait, and don’t get your hopes up—unless a fact checker calls you in a hurry because they’re going to press tomorrow. Then you can get your hopes up. A little.