December 16, 2007 Handmade 2.0 By ROB WALKER The ...

wastecypriotInternet and Web Development

Nov 10, 2013 (3 years and 5 months ago)


December 16, 2007

Handmade 2.0


The declaration from something

called the Handmade Consortium materialized on a Web site called

in late October. “I pledge to buy handmade this holiday season, and request that o
do the same for me,” it said, and you could type in your name to “sign” on; within a few weeks, more than
6,500 people had done so. “Buying handmade is better for people,” a statement on the site read in part,
and “better for the environment,” becaus
e mass production is a “major cause” of
global warming
, among
other things. There were link
s to an anti
sweatshop site and a Wal
Mart watchdog site.

The pledge echoed the idealistic language of a tree
hugger activist group, but actually the consortium’s
most prominent member was the online shopping bazaar Etsy, a very much for
profit entity that

itself as “your place to buy & sell all things handmade.” Etsy does not fulfill orders from an inventory; it’s
a place where sellers set up virtual storefronts, giving the site a cut of sales. While eBay rose to
prominence nearly a decade ago as an
endless garage sale for the auctioning of collectibles and bric
brac, Etsy is more of an online craft fair, or art show, where the idea is that individuals can sell things that
they have made. How many such people can there be? At last count, more than 7

about 90
percent of whom were women

were using Etsy to peddle their jewelry, art, toys, clothes, dishware,
stationery, zines and a variety of objects from the mundane to the highly idiosyncratic. Each seller has a
profile page telling shoppers a
bit about themselves, and maybe offering a link to a blog or a

page or a mailing list; most have devis
ed some clever store or brand name for whatever they’re selling.

Maybe you’re interested in a “random music generator” called the Orb of Sound ($80), built by an
Australian tinkerer calling himself RareBeasts. Or a whistle made out of a tin can and bottle
caps ($12), by
loranscruggs, near Seattle. Or the “hand
painted antique ceramic doll
head planters” sold under the name
Clayflower22 by a retired schoolteacher near Las Cruces, N.M. Or the “Kaleidoscope Pearberry Soapsicle”
($5), made by a woman in Daytona

Beach, Fla., who calls her shop Simply Soaps. Or a porcelain bowl with
an image of a skull on it, from a Chicago couple who call themselves Circa Ceramics. Or an original
painting from an artist in Athens, Ga., who goes by the moniker the Black Apple.

owsing Etsy is both exhilarating and exhausting. There is enough here to mount an astonishing
museum exhibition. There is also plenty of junk. Most of all there is a dizzying amount of
, and it is
similarly difficult to figure out how to characterize
what it all represents: an art movement, a craft
phenomenon or shopping trend. Whatever this is, it’s not something that Etsy created but rather
something that it is trying to make bigger, more visible and more accessible

partly by mixing high
minded ide
as about consumer responsibility with the unsentimental notion of the profit motive.

On July 29, Etsy registered its one
millionth sale and is expecting to hit two million items sold by mid
December. Shoppers spent $4.3 million buying 300,000 items from th
e site’s sellers in November alone

a 43 percent increase over the previous month. Thus far in December, the site has had record
sales every day. Only about two years old, the company is not currently profitable but is somewhat
unusual among Inte
based start
ups of the so
called Web 2.0 era in having a model that does not
depend on advertising revenue. It depends on people buying things, in a manner that the founders
position as a throwback to the way consumption ought to be: individuals buyin
g from other individuals.
“Our ties to the local and human sources of our goods have been lost,” the Handmade Pledge site asserts.
“Buying handmade helps us reconnect.” The idea is a digital
age version of artisanal culture

that the
future of shopping is

all about the past.

STEP 1: Weave Do
Yourself Spirit Into a Community

he path that has led to Etsy begins with a motto

do it yourself

that implies distaste for consumer
culture. That notion was front and center last year, when O’Reilly Media, be
st known for computer
publications, introduced a magazine called Craft. A

spinoff of Make magazine (a latter
day Popular Mechanics for the hacker
tinkerer set), Craft addresses
“the new craft movement.” The issue contained a variety of instruction
al projects: “Stitch a Robot,” one
cover line read. “Felt an iPod Cocoon,” said another. Inside, an essay by a longtime crafter named Jean
Railla argued that making something yourself is a form of “political statement” and a protest against chain
stores th
at are turning “America into one big mini

This dissonant
sounding juxtaposition

politics and felted iPod cocoons?

is what makes the craft thing
hard to pin down. Of course Railla wasn’t saying that stitching a robot is akin to a march on Washin
she was writing about a broader do
yourself idea that she has watched gradually permeate popular
culture over the course of a decade.

Railla, who is 37, founded a Web site called Getcrafty back in 1998, when renewed interest in traditional
among young women was still something of a curiosity. It wasn’t as if such skills and hobbies had
ceased to exist; from
Martha Stewart

to nationwide chains like Michaels, major businesses catered to a
range of quilt makers and scrapbookers. But the new wave of crafters infused uncool
sounding domestic
skills like knitting and sewing with a postpunk at
titude that revolved partly around mall
rejecting self
sufficiency. Railla wrote about how to make your own soap and lip gloss

and also about how to knit a
bikini. “I really came to it from more of an indie
rock, do
yourself kind of political place,”
she told me
recently. “Sort of married with making peace with feminism.”

Getcrafty was filled with project ideas and how
tos as well as discussion forums, which played a crucial
role in building the craft
community idea that Etsy would later tap into. “
Knitting is part of the same
yourself ethos that spawned zines and mixtapes,” Debbie Stoller, editor of Bust, a pop
feminism magazine, declared. Stoller wrote a series of “Stitch N Bitch” books, which became part of
a trend toward the f
ormation of social
crafting groups across the country. More Web gathering points
emerged, like Craftster and SuperNaturale. Offline, a communal make
stuff group called Church of Craft
formed chapters in several cities.

Crafting had attained a subculture s
tatus by 2004, when Railla hired a
New York University

named Robert Kali
n and some friends to redesign Getcrafty. Kalin had been studying philosophy and
classics, but, he told me, he was pessimistic about the job
market value of his degree and was looking for
something more entrepreneurial. While he had a bit of woodworking ex
perience, he and his friend Chris
Maguire were basically techie types; they hadn’t known much about the handcrafting movement that was
bringing so many young women to Getcrafty. “We were the only guys around,” Kalin recalls.

Soon he had an idea for a diffe
rent kind of site that this burgeoning craft community might find useful: an
online marketplace. By that time, plenty of crafters were not simply doing it themselves

they were
selling what they had done. There’s nothing surprising about people who enjoy
doing something (playing
guitar, writing poetry, knitting a bikini) wondering if maybe there isn’t a way to make a living at it. But the
scene that Kalin stumbled upon turned out to be brimming with entrepreneurial spirit.

Consider, for instance, the Aust
in Craft Mafia. This group of nine indiepreneurs traces its roots to a 2001
meeting of young women who hoped to leverage their craft skills into a way to quit their day jobs. Each
member built her own business and helped the others do the same. They contin
ued to offer advice and
connections with others in Austin and, eventually, beyond. There are now 42 officially sanctioned Craft
Mafias, in cities from Omaha to New Orleans to Anchorage to Glasgow. (The Austin Craft Mafia, like Etsy,
is a member of the cons
ortium backing the Handmade Pledge.)

For some years now, crafters have been selling on their own sites online. Craft boutiques have opened as
fast as independent book and record stores closed. And a new wave of fairs has come to life, not of the
aft, “Bless This Mess” style, but venues for a younger, more indie
punk aesthetic. These happen
all over the country now

the Bazaar Bizarre in Boston and other cities, the Renegade Craft Fair in
Chicago, the Girlie Show in Oklahoma City

and each one se
ems to get bigger every year.

So it’s no surprise that when Kalin suggested something akin to an online version of a craft fair but
infinitely large and open all the time, to everyone, everywhere, Railla thought it was a “brilliant” idea. She
was happy to
consult on the new enterprise but gives Kalin and his partners credit for spotting the
business opportunity and making it a reality. To her, crafting remains more of a philosophy, and its
satisfactions are in participation, not consumption. She reiterated
that idea in her Craft magazine column,
arguing that the practice satisfies the urge to create, values feminine art forms, provides relief from the
digital world and, yes, is a form of “political statement” against the dehumanizing global supply chain.


she also understands the appeal of the handmade to those who might not have the inclination to do
the making. Readers of the first issue of Craft magazine might have eagerly followed the instructions to
stitch a robot. But surely others gravitated to a re
lated article about the popularity of a style of hand
stitched robot that you could buy on Etsy. The article discussed how one doll maker’s creations were so
popular that every time she posted a new one, it sold within 20 minutes. It was hard to read this
wanting to visit the site immediately and see what the fuss was about. And perhaps to participate in the
idea of D.I.Y., at least by buying D.I.Y.

STEP 2: Emboider With Webbiness

his summer I visited the Etsy offices, in downtown Brooklyn . The
company that Robert Kalin and his
pals founded now has about 50 employees. (They remain jokily cryptic about what the name they chose
for their enterprise means. It has been variously suggested that it is a play on the Latin phrase “et si”
(“and if”), or t
hat the secret can be found in Fellini’s “8 1/2.”) I got a tour of the rambling warren, spread
over about 6,000 square feet on the sixth floor of an old building on Gold Street. It had a clubhouse feel
that was equal parts venture
backed start
up and D.I.Y
. enterprise: Here was the skateboard ramp; there
the homemade greenscreen for Web casts. I was introduced to a number of young women at work silk
screening Etsy promotional materials onto bandannas, and also to the company lawyer.

Kalin is 27 and seems ev
en younger, with boyish features and reddish hair. Serious in a way that could be
read as either earnest or deadpan, he told me the stories behind a stuffed animal and an interesting metal
sculpture on his desk, both from Etsy sellers. He then handed me a
piece of crocheted bacon. In order to
explain his company, he offered me a seat and reached for a book. It was a children’s book, about a fish
named Swimmy. He pulled his chair closer and read aloud. The upshot was that a whole bunch of little
fish gang up

and begin swimming in a formation that resembles one huge fish, thus warding off predators.
In their formation, the fish named Swimmy assumes the position where the eye would be. Kalin closed the
book. “We want to be the eye,” he said, in case I’d missed
the point. “Like Swimmy.”

Tilting back in his chair, he spoke for some time, with the supreme self
confidence of the college bull
session raconteur, referencing Marshall McLuhan, beginning a discourse about the problem with central
banks with the phrase, “
If you read the Founding Fathers . . . ,” and so on. He wasn’t so much making
arguments as patiently spelling out the way things work. He informed me, for instance, that young people
today are different, having grown up with the Web and all. He had sought
guidance from his grandfather
about making Etsy a reality but ignored the tedious advice about writing a business plan, figuring the site
itself would serve that function. Later he wrote a “fan letter” to one of the founders of Flickr, the popular
online p
sharing site, and she became an investor. A founder of, the social
site, invested, and so did a New York venture
capital firm. Kalin’s grandfather was flummoxed.

All of which is a familiar
enough Internet
up story line. I

was more interested in what made Etsy
seem different from so many current efforts to “build community” online: the luck or genius of the site is
that Kalin and the other founders encountered in the D.I.Y./craft scene something that was

social, com
minded, supportive and aggressively using the Web. It seemed to me that the
company’s future would depend not only on the success of its sellers but also on its reputation among
them. Nor could its reputation simply be for business acumen. If all Et
sy did was channel D.I.Y.
ism into a
profit machine, it could easily be seen as monetizing


the creativity and hustle of 70,000
indiepreneurs. There was a cultural dimension, too.

Kalin clearly understood all this. The company does not, for i
nstance, demand exclusivity. Indeed it seems
to want its sellers to market themselves aggressively on their own sites, in stores, at fairs. So in its
idealized role as Swimmy, Etsy constantly holds entrepreneurial workshops (how to build your “global
brand”), pointing to “best practices” among Etsy sellers, offering shop critiques, advising how to
“write a killer press release.” Its magazine
videocast, The Storque, often feels like a D.I.Y. business school.
In addition, Kalin has hired about a half
en of the best Etsy sellers to work directly for the company, in
jobs meant to spread their skills to as many sellers as possible. Some help run Etsy Labs, a community
centric program held at the company’s headquarters, teaching craft skills.

On some level

the Etsy idea is not really techno
progressive at all. It’s nostalgic. The company is host to a
book club, which Kalin participates in, and when I visited, the most recent reading assignment was “The
Mart Effect,” a book that assesses the societywide
impact of that mass retailer’s success. Kalin seems
flabbergasted that anyone would shop at Wal
Mart to save 12 cents on a peach instead of supporting a
local farmer. Buying something from the person who made it is “the opposite of what Wal
Mart is right
ow: just this massively impersonal experience,” he told me earlier. “When you get an item from Etsy,
there’s this whole history behind it. There’s a person behind it.” I asked whether Wal
Mart was really the
right comparison, given Etsy’s eclectic, artisti
c merchandise, and the more workaday product mix of a big
box discounter. He brushed that aside, noting that Etsy sells clothes, which everyone needs.

His real point, it seemed to me, was not about Wal
Mart or any other particular retailer. It was far mor
expansive. If the marketplace today has become alienating and disconnected, then buying something
handmade, from another individual, rolls back the clock to an era before factory labor and mass
production. That’s a lot of clock
turning, if you recall Ada
m Smith’s excitement about the efficiency of an
century pin factory. Really, Kalin has a problem with the entire modern marketplace. “Everything
since the Industrial Revolution has been so fragmented,” he told me, sounding more like a character in
cker, wasting time in a cafe, than a guy running a briskly growing business.

Kalin is nothing if not grandiose about what he thinks Etsy can accomplish. For example, he knows that
individual crafters face a problem of scale: there is only so much one perso
n can produce. (Hence the
Industrial Revolution.) So he mentions creating “co
production” sites across the country, where groups of
crafters would band together in a co
style model, ideally occupying space in distressed areas and
offering training to pe
ople who want to learn handcrafting skills. Handmade isn’t a fad, he told me, it’s a
resurgence, one that is of a piece with the booming interest in
organic food
. In 25 years, he said, Etsy
would be both worldwide and personal, a global
local marketplace, a Web version of the Athenian agora.

The business proposition behind this extravagant vision

is rather more straightforward. Etsy charges 20
cents per listing and 3.5 percent of the final sale price; this is generally lower and certainly less
complicated than eBay’s fee structure; it also charges up to $15 if creators want to highlight a particul
item on the site’s high
traffic showcase pages. More competition may be mixed news for individual
artisans as newcomers keep flooding in to peddle their wares, but it’s all good news for Etsy. The company
makes money from successful crafters, but it als
o makes money from wishful thinkers who never get
beyond the hobby stage. The entrepreneur who makes something by hand might face a scale problem.
Etsy doesn’t.

That said, what’s surprising about Kalin is that his interest really does seem to transcend th
e profit
motive. It’s pretty clear that he not only respects the values of the D.I.Y. world and the earnest idealism of
the Handmade Pledge; he also really believes in them. The quasi
libertarian certainty of the Web
entrepreneur and the equally confident
student discourse about the alienating nature of
mass society seem contradictory. But to Kalin, they are intertwined. “In a way,” he said when I met him in
Brooklyn, “I see Etsy as an art project.” And after a brief recap of art history throu
gh Duchamp, he
suggested that Etsy could “disturb” the way people see the world, rethinking what makes their possessions
important or trivial, leading us to re
evaluate the way we consume. Surely plenty of crafters see what they
are up to as a mix of art a
nd business as well

although they may be coming at that from a somewhat
different angle.

STEP 3: Stitch Together Ideals and Entrepreneurialism

his past March, I went to Pittsburgh to attend the first
ever Craft Congress, which was made up of about
of the best
known and most established figures on the D.I.Y./crafter scene. I had heard the agenda
would include a discussion of how their movement ought to be defined and thought about by participants.
This is what makes crafting feel distinct from a gard
variety consumer trend: It’s hard to imagine the
leading figures in, say, the premium
denim fad or the limited
sneaker craze getting together to
hash out what those things are really about, what participating in them really

I wondered if

the discussion would be translated into some sort of manifesto. Would they lay out rules for
who is a crafter and who isn’t? Would they determine where screen
printing on bulk
ordered T
shirts, or
working with factory
made beads, falls on the continuum of

ness? (I had read some spirited
discussion in Etsy’s forums about the definition of “mass produced.”) I was also interested in the Craft
Congress because I’d heard that someone from Etsy would be there, and I wondered how the company
would be p

The congress participants (almost all were women) included organizers of fairs in Atlanta, Toronto,
Washington and elsewhere, as well as crafters from all around the country. Many had met online but
never before in person. The discussions and pr
esentations, spread over two days, began with an attempt
at “defining the craft movement” and ranged into politics and recent corporate interest in D.I.Y.
ism. But
there was little interest in rule making and manifesto
writing. Jenny Hart, an Austin Craft
Mafia founder,
went out of her way to make the point that the congress participants should be careful not to come across
like self
appointed leaders.

The topics of discussion often weren’t ideological at all, but more practical matters like marketing tact
taxes and health insurance. Etsy was represented by Matthew Stinchcomb, its 32
old marketing
chief. When he met Kalin, he was in a rock band. Tired of touring, he got involved in Etsy, applying the
sorts of underground promotional ideas he picked

up as a musician, like creating Etsy “street teams.”

Gregarious and easygoing, he gave the Etsy pitch. “I think there’s a larger story that we are selling,” he
said, presenting Etsy’s goal as recreating the marketplaces of old. Marketing has “crass conno
tations,” he
allowed, but to make those one
one connections, sellers had to promote themselves. Later he added
that the craft movement needed to keep “providing resources for each other, so we’re not all working
against each other.” In other words, he f
it right in: his presentation

like the congress in general

equal parts entrepreneurial seminar and subculture colloquium.

Somehow all the talk made that most conventional American path

small business

seem like an
instrument of radicalism. I ta
lked to another attendee, a 29
old crafter named Faythe Levine, about
the motivations of craft artist
entrepreneurs. She had told me about the thrill of discovering the craft
scene: “No corporate backing

it was people doing things, full
on D.I.Y.” L
ast year she began working on
a documentary called “Handmade Nation,” and by the time of the Craft Congress had videotaped 80
hours of interviews with crafters in a dozen cities. Some of her subjects were making a living, but some
were still trying to quit

dull day jobs, and others were stay
home moms. “I didn’t necessarily ask people
if they were making stuff and selling it to be political,” she said. But many told her that “running a small
business yourself, and trying to separate yourself from the mas

it’s a political statement in its own.
That was kind of interesting, and it did come up repeatedly.”

It’s still tempting to characterize anything that looks edgy and has an online component as somehow a
function of youth culture. But the age of the a
verage Etsy seller turns out to be 34. Many crafters no doubt
feel passionately about the ideals suggested by the Handmade Pledge a horror of sweatshop labor and
corporate conformity, concern about the environment and would be pleased to see the broader co
culture embrace them too. Meanwhile there is also the more salient matter of how to make a rewarding,
meaningful and satisfying living without having to give up on those ideals. The women who have led the
craft movement don’t want to work for the Ma
n. But many are also motivated by having reached
adulthood at a time when the Man is slashing benefits, reneging on pensions, laying people off and, if
hiring, is looking for customer
service reps and baristas. This is not a utopian alt
youth framework; it
’s a
very real
world, alt
up framework.

Listening to the discussions at the Craft Congress, it seemed to me that while there’s a case to be made
that this is an art movement, or an ideological movement, or a shopping movement, it is also

bly fundamentally

a work movement. At one point, talk turned to corporate interest in D.I.Y.
and in particular how companies like Toyota were sponsoring craft fairs. Some argued that
“megacorporations” trying to burnish their hipster images had no l
egitimate role on the scene. Others
suggested that corporate money could be put to beneficial uses. No consensus emerged, but toward the
end of the discussion one crafter articulated the precise commerce
ideals dilemma of the crafty
businessperson. “If

we can’t have a job where we make enough money,” she observed, “then this
movement isn’t sustainable.”

STEP 4: Sell

t is worth noting another element of the Handmade Pledge: “The ascendancy of chain
store culture and
global manufacturing has left us dre
ssing, furnishing and decorating alike.” It’s a shrewd pitch, because
the consumer craving for novelty, for the unique, the special, seems unquenchable. It has spawned, for
instance, a number of blogs dedicated specifically to ferreting out the exciting ne
w thing, usually with a
helpful link to a potential transaction. (One of the most popular such sites, Design*Sponge, is another
backer of the Handmade Consortium.) Buying something from an indie craft artist can result in a buyer
seller connection, but it
can also make consumption itself feel like a creative act. This is the crucial
element fueling the craft boom: People show up at the fairs, the shops and the Web sites. And they spend

One afternoon last summer, a young artist based in Athens, Ga., u
nveiled her latest work. Emily Martin is
24 years old. She graduated from art school about two years ago and has never had a gallery show. She
announced the date and time of the unveiling on her blog, so at 2 p.m. on Aug. 28, I clicked over and
watched as
she posted the new work to her Etsy shop: Six original paintings priced between $160 and
$250, and nine hand
sewn dolls, for $37 to $65. They disappeared faster than I could click “refresh.” By
2:02 p.m. most had been sold, and Martin had made about $1,400

(minus fees). Martin fully expected to
be working as a waitress and confining her art
making to her off hours at this stage of her life. Instead, the
Black Apple, as she is known on Etsy, is a full
time artist and perhaps the site’s most famous success

Martin’s paintings often depict cartoonish girls with unnaturally wide eyes, and her shy voice sounds as if
it were emanating from one of these innocent figures. “You’re told in art school, ‘O.K., well, one out of a
hundred of you is going to make a
living with the training that you’re getting here,’ ” she said. While sweet
and appealing, Martin’s aesthetic is more thrift store than Chelsea gallery; she was “really intimidated” by
“the whole capital
A art thing.” But at a local craft fair, someone tol
d her about this new site called Etsy.
“The idea of a shop online, being a more democratic thing, really appealed to me,” she says. As of early
December, she had sold more than 10,000 items through her Etsy store

mostly 8
10, open
prints price
d at $13 apiece, but also postcards, buttons, hand
sewn dolls and original paintings.

It’s a feel
good story of Webby empowerment and the triumph of a niche
culture underdog. Martin
recognizes that what the Web in general, and Etsy in particular, has done

for her is to make a market. It
has exposed her work to more people than ever would have seen it in Athens, without any auditions for
A art power brokers. Just as important, though, is that her aesthetic turned out to have unusually
broad appeal,
and she doesn’t know quite what to tell the aspiring crafter
artists who besiege her with
requests for advice. “I had no idea that my work would appeal to grandmas, 12
old girls, hipsters,
guys buying things for their girlfriends and wives,” she says.

The real lesson of the Black Apple may be not
how many Emily Martin stories there have been (not many) but how many people figure that they, too,
can achieve what she has (lots).

Inevitably, not everyone can, and it’s no surprise that Etsy has detractors.

Some point out that for all the
talk of consumers wanting to escape mall
fueled conformity Etsy’s online
mall format amplifies market
driven trends. (Images of birds, especially owls, are inexplicably popular. One crafter told me she was sick
of making th
e same owl over and over

but that’s what her customers wanted.) Others grouse about
another side effect, price pressure: The competition is so intense on the site that new crafters can’t break
out, and some established ones feel they cannot raise their p
rices. That’s a particularly thorny problem if
part of your sales pitch is that you’ve made a thing yourself; a careful artisan can’t respond to lower prices
with greater volume. The most extreme version of this critique practically makes Etsy sound like W
Mart in its ripple
effect power through the broader D.I.Y. business community.

These aren’t really Etsy problems; they are consumer
marketplace problems. An enterprise founded on its
creator’s passion still has to satisfy consumer demand if it’s going t
o be a profitable enterprise. Consider
another Etsy seller story, one less splashy, but perhaps more representative, than Emily Martin’s. Circa
Ceramics is two Chicago
based potters, Andy Witt and Nancy Pizarro. A few years ago, their work had a
fairly tra
ditional aesthetic Southwestern color schemes in stripes, flower shapes and other patterns. They
sold these pieces at traditional fairs, or to business customers like coffee shops.

More recently they stumbled across some design blogs and learned about Ets
y and the apparent demand
for pottery work with an edgier look

which the potters themselves happened to prefer. At the Renegade
fair in Chicago, their booth was full of porcelain pieces of all kinds

cups, magnets, wall
hanging tiles
and so on

ed with images of manual typewriters, skulls, vintage cameras and bugs. It was their
first time at Renegade, and they seemed enthusiastic about how it was going. Their gradual move toward
the “indie community,” and to a customer base they describe as 25 to

35 years old, rather than 35 to 75,
has been good for business. A year ago they opened an Etsy storefront, and while they weren’t sure how
many people would go for $30 coffee mugs ordered via mail, it turned out that hundreds would. Recently
Circa Ceramic
s helped form the Etsy Chicago Street team. Etsy sales now represent 25 percent of their
business, with orders going to customers as far away as Spain, Belgium, even Australia.

For Circa Ceramics, and for crafters in general, Etsy is another manifestation

of how D.I.Y.
ism has
evolved. Its motivation may still be the independence from capitalism that Railla wrote about. But it can
also be about a form of independence economic independence

capitalism. Many of the artist
entrepreneurs opening up their

virtual shops on Etsy want what Circa Ceramics or Emily Martin or the
Austin Craft Mafia have achieved: Making a living from what they love to do. It’s a goal that reconciles
ideology and self
branding, not so much to change the world as to stake out a pl
ace in it.

Rob Walker writes the Consumed column for the magazine. His book, “Buying In: The Secret Dialogue
Between What We Buy and Who We Are,” will be published by Random House next June.