Hey, there. Emily and Kathleen here. Before we dive in we want to make a few things clear: we are successful working creatives who have bootstrapped our own businesses from the ground up (with zero debt!), but we’re not writing a textbook on entrepreneurship. We’re not going to tell you how to build a business model that works or guarantee a six-figure launch. And while we wholeheartedly believe that being boss begins with a confident mindset, this book isn’t about manifesting your way to millions.
You crave the freedom to work the way you want, when you want, and where you want (and if you’re anything like us, you want to work all over the world—from a coffee shop in New Orleans to the beach in Tulum). You want financial independence that will afford you the opportunity to make your own choices. And on the flip side of freedom, you also crave just a little bit of structure—a way to organize your day so you feel productive and efficient, but on your terms. And we know you’ve got some big ass goals; we want this book to be a guide in how to make those a reality.
Finally, the economy is changing. The landscape of how we work and who we work for is shifting. Self-employment is not just for the risk-taking bold and brave, anymore. More and more people are working for themselves out of necessity, practicality, or opportunity, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they have it all figured out. No matter how you’ve come to entrepreneurship, you may find yourself needing some direction. You’re just trying to figure it out as you go, and guess what—so is everyone else! This book is here to give you the guidance you crave and to let you know we’re in it together.
Kathleen here! Growing up, I never imagined working for myself. The word “entrepreneur” was never a part of my vocabulary and I didn’t come from a lineage of family business. In fact, my parents valued their day jobs working for the government, complete with fantastic benefits and retirement plans—a steady paycheck with a pension was the definition of “security.” Growing up, I assumed the order of things was simple: you go to school, make good grades, go to an affordable in-state college, get a job with health insurance, contribute to a 401k, and save as much as you can. Once you have job security, you buy a modest car, get married, start a family, go on vacation once a year, work nine to five, come home, and watch your shows (our family’s show of choice was the soap opera All My Children—we watched it on our VCR every day after everyone came home). Rinse and repeat.
I’m truly grateful for my pleasant suburban upbringing and what my parents provided for us, but I always felt a little bit like an outsider. My suspicions that I was different were confirmed when I was named “most nonconformist” every single year through middle and high school. While all my classmates were sporting Lucky Brand jeans and “No Fear” T-shirts, I was fearlessly rocking argyle socks, combat boots, and thrift store flannels. My style icons were Kurt Cobain and Gwen Stefani (and still are to this day, really).
I have always liked to think of myself as the rebellious youngest sister, but the truth is I’ve got a lot of Type A, rule-following, people-pleasing genetics at play. Sure, I let my freak flag fly a little when it came to personal style and creative expression, but I was still following the very safe path my parents had forged for me. I vied for gold stars from my teachers and hated getting anything less than an A on my report card (even an A- was anxiety-inducing). I graduated from college with a degree in fine arts and graphic design and got a job right away, working my way up to senior art director at a small advertising agency. Those gold stars turned into gold medals won at annual industry banquets, followed up by bonuses and high fives from my boss. In my twenties I had a mortgage and a 401k, and felt like I had made it. I was motivated to climb the ladder ahead of me… until one day I decided to build my own damn ladder.
I had been working as an art director for five years when I developed a bit of an obsession with Mount Everest. It started when I watched a reality-style TV show on the Discovery Channel about a group of adventurers attempting to summit the highest mountain in the world. Then I started reading books about Everest and watching serious documentaries about what it takes to climb the world’s highest peak and the risks involved.
At the same time I had been keeping an online blog where I shared stuff like getting married, remodeling a historical home with my husband, learning how to cook good food, and all things adulting. Capturing, shaping, and sharing my life had become my hobby—and unknowingly, I was creating a personal brand for myself. Writing about the details of life helped elevate the mundane into something interesting, and—on the flip side—I was living more life so I’d have something to write about. I was surprised when someone besides my mom began to read my blog. I managed to attract an audience that not only liked reading about my life but would one day support my entrepreneurial endeavors.
Writing about my life intersected with my crush on the world’s tallest mountain when I thought trekking to Mount Everest Basecamp would make a great story. And you have to understand, at that point in my life I had hardly been out of the country, much less to the other side of the world. Oh, and I didn’t even own hiking boots. So along with all the things I needed to figure out to make this trek happen, I wasn’t entirely clear on how I was going to take three and a half weeks off work when I got only two weeks of paid vacation time per year. But I started my plans to traipse through the foothills of the Himalayas by buying a plane ticket to Kathmandu, Nepal. I trusted that I would figure it out as I went.
I solved the problem of having limited amount of time off by quitting my job. It sounds easy enough when I say it here, and as of writing this book that was almost seven years ago. Hindsight has confirmed that it was a good decision, but at the time everyone was freaking out about who was going to pay for my health insurance. It’s hard now to remember all the angst, but trust me—there was a lot of sobbing into a pillow and questioning my self-worth that went into handing in my notice. But I made that trek through the Himalayas, and documenting the experience on my blog solidified the newfound freedom I had found in working for myself—at first by becoming an invitation designer.
Years before, when I got married, I blogged about my tiny at-home wedding and the quirky Wes Anderson–inspired wedding invitations I designed for us. The invitations were shared by a big deal blogger (thanks, Joanna Goddard!), and she also shared the wedding itself on Glamour magazine’s blog, which she was contributing to at the time. My invitations captured the attention of other offbeat brides who wanted invitations with a little more personality. I started designing custom wedding stationery and at the same time was submitting those designs to popular wedding sites, which introduced my designs to a larger market. I charged just $300 for the first custom invitations, but by the time I quit my day job I had more than doubled that fee and had hustled enough to replace my job salary within the first year of working for myself.
I had managed to carve out a name for myself—not only as a designer but, more surprisingly, as a branding resource for other people making a living being “creatives” too. Even though clients knew me for my design style, very quickly they saw that the way I directed a branding project was the same way I directed my own business—with a go-with-your-gut, unapologetic decision-making style grounded in a strategic mindset that had stuck with me from my ad agency days.
I was designing and doing business the only way I knew how, but I saw that it gave my clients a ton of confidence in return. They enjoyed our collaboration and how much I kept the big picture of their business in mind. It was as if they were getting the fierce big-vision wolf in pretty brand-design sheep’s clothing.
After about a year of freelancing, I retired from invitation design and standalone design projects and opened a branding studio with my big sister, which we called Braid Creative. My sister had been the creative director at an advertising agency and thought she’d be there for life. When she became a little disenchanted with her own day job (even the most glamorous jobs have their downsides), I saw my opportunity to convince her to join me and double down on our strategic and creative talents. Together we built our own branding agency and team.
People ask us about the name, Braid, and we describe it as weaving together all the threads of their business vision. Whether they’re a solo creative entrepreneur or a layered business, we’re integrating their personality, voice, style, and expertise into every decision we help them make. On any given day our team is consulting, coaching, visioning, writing, and designing for our dream clients and helping them go after their dream clients in return—with a clarity that helps them really share who they are and sell what they do.
Along with documenting that life-changing hike through the Himalayas, I continued to share the story of becoming my own boss on my blog. I was writing about everything from how I was feeling, which from one day to another ranged from “I got this!” confidence to “What am I doing?!” freak-outs, to the more technical aspects of working for myself, such as how I managed my time and tricky clients. In the process I had positioned myself not only as the kind of person who has the freedom and courage to go on grand hikes that end with watching the sun rise behind Mount Everest but also as an expert in being my own boss. Plus, I attracted a tribe of other creative friends who were also working for themselves and figuring it out as they went. Friends like Emily.