Sad but true, the unhappy business drama afflicting the industry becomes gripping theater in a tableaux entitled, Stop the Whirl, I want to get off!
Across all sectors, a common refrain resounds fear, resignation, vexation and high anxiety. In slight variations, the encapsulated feeling is, in a simple listless sigh, “It’s just not fun anymore.”
From retailers to vendors to suppliers, the tension is depressingly thick, the frowns are many and the dispositions uneasy and raw. Everyone is working harder and enjoying it less.
Long time industry veterans are unable to recall “a time like this when interpersonal relations are so tense and, unfortunately, toxic with levels of distrust and dishonor I've never seen. Some of the younger people are bailing, and that’s not good because none of us old farts have the strength anymore,” an influential executive responds.
Says another high placed executive, “Sales calls and even markets aren’t the same, anymore, no matter where they are, and the people are on edge all the time, with permanent frowns. This industry isn’t fun anymore, and I would leave if I didn’t like it so much.”
Clearly, an amazing, even paradoxical comfort zone exists as a powerful magnet, producing vexing stages of simultaneous positive and negative addiction. Call in the shrinks, please.
Like a battered child still unconditionally seeking an abusive parent’s illusive affection, many people in the home furnishings industry want to ignore the reality in the belief a sincere handshake, back slap and tight smile will end the misery. Surprise, surprise is a common feeling, and that's regrettable.
Home furnishings people struggle to keep a positive disposition, but freely admit to an enervating daily grin to grind out a living, a mind-bedning odyssey at best.
“This is wearing on me, my vendors and friends,” says a fatigued retailer. “In my position, I just can’t pick up and leave, but would if I could.”
Those with transferable skills are looking elsewhere where the "sustainability really means something economically and assures a more surefire path to surviving." You'd.— you'd be surprised to learn just how many are actively looking.
A veteran industry friend characterized the current, prolonged malaise as an attitude and not a sign of industry morbidity, saying, “But even so, I’ve never seen people so dyspeptic and bummed out. Like a bad case of economic influenza, this, too, shall pass.”
A normally vigilantly optimistic friend countered, “Yeh, it will get better, but it will really be different, and that difference will bring a new wave of both positive and negative tension. Getting out can surely seem like the path for some,” he observes.
Now is a good time for a return to halcyon days. Where’s Doris Day when we need her to bring us back to reality with:
Que Sera Sera
When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be pretty, will I be rich
Here's what she said to me.
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.
When I was young, I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead
Will we have rainbows, day after day
Here's what my sweetheart said.
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.
Now I have children of my own
They ask their mother, what will I be
Will I be handsome, will I be rich
I tell them tenderly.
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.
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