The party became a business (which led to more parties)

And no, I don’t know what I’m doing.

I know a lot about the partying part. I know a lot about how to get my friends pumped to dress up and be silly, even though most of us are exhausted by the effort required to be functional adults. Keeping roofs over heads and children fed and watered is exhausting, thankless work. And yet, if I call up my girls and announce that we’re gonna tease our hair and spray it with seven cans of Aquanet for an 80’s themed Aprés Ski party, they find the energy. And then some.

Photo proof of the damage two women can do with some neon scrunchies and aquanet.

The part that I’m shaky on is how to share this goodness and make it a good value. How can I take my favorite thing (besides reading romantasy novels in my bathtub) and make it into something that will pay for MOAR PARTIES?

My first idea was to make a really cool booklet and fill it with great content. I had a lot of fun designing one that went along with a badass Roper Romp birthday party for my spa spouse, Nicole. I call that one The Full Roper. My friends were willing to let me use pictures that we took of us in kaftans dancing and eating fondue. We drank a lot, so the photos made me smile. The stories will live on for years.

So yeah, I packaged up the ideas we used and added some recommendations I wish we’d had when designing the party—stuff like playlist recommendations and recipes. Good shit, or so I thought.

At my last day job, I managed a design team that redid a well-trafficked website for a well-known company that made creative software. Our team did a lot of user testing. So, it was natural for me to do it here, too.

I paid my own money to five real-ass women to tell me that my idea was good but that my choices were shit.

AND I WAS THANKFUL.

I’ll save you the gory details, but these women told me what my friends couldn’t, that I was offering something they’d use. Something they’d pay for. But how I was presenting it was all wrong.

So, yeah. This is going to be an adventure as I recalibrate. I’m going to get some things wrong. Again. My son will definitely give me shit for basically trying to be a drop-shipper. Again. But I’ll probably have more fun failing and arguing with my son about whether or not I’m a drop-shipper than I did in the comically shitty six months of my last soul-sucking excuse for a job.

And I’m going to throw more parties. Put together more fun content. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll actually sell some of it, too.

—K

PS. My present job kicks ass, btw. It’s not helping women have fun with little effort, but it’s good. #thanksforasking