The ring of the bell over his shop door is music to Tobi Braithwaite’s ear. It’s what he lives for. Customers walking in and returning Tobi’s beaming smile as he jumps off his rickety wooden chair and greets them. His little shop in the heart of Hackney is a haven for tired customers, weary off the robotic service in supermarkets and the impersonal attendants at Ikea’s winding corridors.
A blast of upbeat, Caribbean music blasts from a vintage boombox over one of Tobi’s antique armoires. It’s the music that hits you first as you walk in, followed by the warmth inside and the bustle of customers. Everyone’s chatting over the furniture scattered around the store, a mix of London dialects and the distinctive West Indian drawl that’s so cheery to the ear.
Tobi has done what the best businessmen do, combine his own culture and that of his locality to offer dynamic furniture that’s a mishmash of cultures — much like Hackney itself. It’s packed full of hippie bars and fried chicken trucks, and antique shops full of oddities that garner glances from passers by. At least when they have time to tear their gaze away from the musicians and dancers ripping up the cobbled streets
It’s all fast beats and good vibes in this part of town, and Tobi’s is as part of it as any. His store is part furniture store, part meeting spot for enthusiasts, part West Indian community centre. Customers flow in in their brightly dressed garb, all sorts of people, all embodying the spirit of the melting pot that is Hackney. They buy the furniture he has to offer, taking in his enthusiasm and love for the antique. They sit down on the comfortable Chesterfield sofas in bright red, talking about everything from the latest edition of Furniture News to the issues facing the Caribbean-British community.
Tobi, having come from Trinidad and established himself in the heart of London, was something of a role model. An unconventional one with red rimmed glasses and dreadlocks, but a role model nonetheless. Once the traffic died down and the young ones hit the clubs and the older people settled in to the open air restaurants with a plate of calamari more often than not, he held court with a little group of aspiring entrepreneurs looking to get their start. Recent immigrants, older ladies in bright scarves looking to get some extra money on the side, anyone who wandered in to his shop once and never wanted to leave.
Well all this was true before the pandemic, at least. As the COVID rate ticked up and masks became more common then brightly coloured sunglasses, fewer and fewer people ventured out on the streets. The people make Hackney, the people who watch and move with street music, the people who wander into restaurants and grab a bite to escape the heat, the people who patronised Toby’s shop in more ways than one.
Footfall fell off a cliff, as did Toby’s enthusiasm. For someone who thrives off the hustle and bustle of customers, the change was a massive shock and not just for his wallet. The bell over the door didnt ring for hours, and then never rang at all when all non essential stores were ordered to close down. It didn’t matter whether this particular established was the beating heart of Hackney’s furniture community, in the eyes of the government, it could be shut down without repercussions.
So here’s the dilemma. Toby could sit on his hands and wait for the store to reopen, laying off the one worker he had. He had savings but a completely blocked income slow wasn’t going to be easy on his rent and utilities bill, or his lifestyle. A tequila every evening adds up, and that’s just the beginning really. Not to mention the throngs of people who relied on his store as a community centre, talking shop with other enthusiasts and talking about issues more freely than at official gatherings. That sort of secure comfort is difficult to replicate.
One problem at a time though, first Tobi had to get himself back on its feet. His shop may be closed but he still had his biggest asset — reputation. Being the most exuberant shop owner on Hackney High Street has its perks. People know him, his products, his style, his designs. People spend massive amounts of money for that sort of exposure and Toby had it in droves. There was an established client base just waiting to be tapped.
So he did what millions of other small shop owners have down over the past decade, set up an online presence. He hired a local developer to build his website, nothing fancy just what he could get done as soon as possible. The website reflected his personality — bold, bright colours and designed to pop. A far cry from the sanitised, bleak colours of more established pages. Then again, Toby’s store always had a very distinctive vibe.
But here was the problem. His store wasn’t big enough to warrant buying wholesale, that would be way too much stock. He tended to buy small quantities of products in multiple varieties, taking gambles on risky products that paid off more often than not. The catalogue rotated ever so often whenever Toby felt it needed a refresh, or felt like it period. This controlled chaos is not easy to source. But there was a solution.
Through his other contacts in similarly closed London furniture stores, Toby decided on dropshipping. It was something that had been on his radar but he never quite got around to it, his bustling store took too much of his time and at the time, he’d never have it any other way. Now was different though, he needed to widen his horizons and get revenue through the door. Luckily he found the perfect dropshipper for him — no minimum quantities, free delivery and a collection for every taste. Just what he needed.
Toby leveraged his reputation effectively, plastering his name all over his social media pages and in the alleyways of Hackney. Fresh, online collection! Same Toby, different setup. The products you love, online. The advertisements were tempting, a spot of bright red and green in the sea of dampened brown. It worked. Traffic went up.
It wasn’t just enough to use one channel when a lot of customers were young people who spent their time on e-commerce websites and social media — who’s to blame them? Not exactly a lot of options when they’re stuck inside.
He created accounts on eBay, Amazon, Wayfare, and linked them to his social media accounts. They all shared that distinctive Caribbean charm that had made his shop so successful in the first place. But this wasn’t what made his online presence work so well.
He realised what drew people to his store wasn’t just the products, although they helped, it was the atmosphere and clientele he’d cultivated. That warm community of people that spent hours talking about their favourite bit of furniture and turning to local politics after a couple of pints. The racial attack three streets down from the shop, the new housing blocks being built close by, anything that happened in the borough that concerned them. Nothing was off limits — a safe space, if you may.
So he set up chat forums on his website, even hosting Zoom calls twice a week with anyone who tuned in. He didn’t even need to set up an agenda, not that any agenda he thought of would be followed once the people started flowing him. His online shop became just as much as of a haven that his Hackney shop was. People tuned in to have a relaxing conversation with a glass of wine, and stayed for the variety of furniture he had on offer.
Business boomed with orders coming in from all his channels. This omnichannel approach was becoming more and more popular as business owners were reluctant to put all their eggs in one basket. Toby’s incredible marketing allowed him to leverage his existing image. He even recreated the warm atmosphere of his shop, at least until his actual shop could reopen. Even then, some extra income from his online sources for little hassle is nothing to be passed up.
The heart of Hackney’s furniture community will beat once again, but for now, they’ll have to make do with weekly zoom calls and an overfull glass of wine. Not a bad tradeoff.