I ’ve been a jewellery maker for some 30 years, making silver and gold pieces that are influenced by my visual arts background. Initially I sold my jewellery at markets in Adelaide and in some boutiques and galleries around Australia.
In 2006 I tried out a new marketplace called Etsy. I felt sure nobody would want to buy jewellery online but decided to experiment. I hurriedly listed a few basic pieces and was astonished when my first online sale happened within an hour. Having proven myself wrong, I established an independent online store – one of the earliest in Australia, back when internet shopping wasn’t widely embraced here.
I worked very hard to make my little business a success. I did everything: made the jewellery, packed the orders, ran the website and mailing list, created the graphics, wrote the blog, did the bookkeeping (something I loathe). My efforts paid off with an increase in customers around the world – initially mostly in the US and Europe, then Australians as they started to shop online more.
Running my own jewellery business was the thing I’d most wanted to do and somehow I’d pulled it off.
But by late 2013, I was exhausted. I’d weathered another gruelling Christmas. My back, neck and shoulders hurt. The skin on my fingers was splitting. For the months leading up to “selling season”, I’d worked over 100 hours a week. Life consisted of working, eating, sleeping, then working some more. My health was deteriorating, yet I earned considerably less than average income and felt like I was barely scraping by.
Over Christmas, when I finally had time to consider my situation, I remember feeling a sense of doom. Was this really what success should look like? I loved what I was doing. But the reality of running a handmade business was gruelling. I was exhausted.
Then a friend came to visit my Adelaide Hills home. My oven was broken. My bathroom was falling apart. On New Year’s Eve, talk turned to my business. He suggested marketing ideas to get more sales but I couldn’t possibly make more jewellery. Substantially increasing prices didn’t seem feasible either. I felt stuck.
We talked until the sun came up. And as the new year arrived, we landed on an idea that I could still design the components but outsource their actual making – then I would assemble and finish the pieces.
This made business sense but it was hard to accept. I was a maker. I really wasn’t sure what it would mean to customers – or myself – if I wasn’t making my designs from scratch.
Eventually I contacted an overseas workshop. From a distance, it appeared to be ethically run but I wanted to be sure I wasn’t engaging a sweatshop.
I decided to visit in person. When I toured the workshop, I was amazed by the skill of the makers, the diversity of their work and at such scale – and the quality was impeccable.
Most importantly, it was clearly not a sweatshop. I was happy, and somewhat embarrassed, to find their working conditions were in many ways better than my own. The workshop spaces were well laid out and safety was clearly considered. The employees had set hours and there was a space in the sunshine for eating lunch. By contrast, my working space was cobbled together and lacking in safety basics. I worked way too many hours and my lunch breaks were nonexistent.
Soon after, I finalised my designs and placed my first order with them. I started using those components in my jewellery designs and, to my enormous relief, the sky didn’t fall in. Old customers were still happy and I kept finding new ones. I didn’t need to work as much and could comfortably grow the business. It was life-changing.
But I kept thinking about the workshop visit. I was adamant I didn’t want a sweatshop involved in my business but in reality there already was one: the one I’d created for myself.
Years later, that decision to outsource has fundamentally changed my business and life. I’m no longer as limited by what I can make. And my pieces are more refined at the initial design stage, rather than continually being a work in progress.
I’m still often perched at my jewellery bench, setting gemstones and assembling pieces, but I’m no longer doing 100-plus hour weeks. I have a life. I have whole days off. And I actually have time to take care of myself. These days I can spend time in my garden, go for walks, socialise and even take an occasional holiday. I also have more time to work on the business as a whole, something I’ve come to enjoy. Though I still hate the bookkeeping.
Simone Walsh is a jewellery designer and maker based in South Australia
