The Sugar Daddy Who Helped Me Launch My Dream Business

I was the kind of kid who only ever wanted to do crafts all day. I would cry whenever it was time to put the crayons away. I would spend hours in my mom’s closet just looking closely at the different fabrics, sequins, and buttons. And by the time I was in my teens, it was no surprise to anyone in my family that I was designing my own clothes, dying my own hair, making jewelry, and painting my room a different color every month.

Even though this artist’s trajectory was no surprise to anyone, my family still never had any other idea in their mind than the traditional college to maybe grad or med school to career track. They fully supported my art, like, they weren’t the dad from Footloose. But they made it clear that my little crafts were just hobbies. Something to do when I had free time after school, sports, and tutoring.

This is the way that it goes for a lot of artists. I know that I’m not special in that regard. And I don’t hold a grudge against my parents. They were just trying to look out for my future.

But there’s something extremely unsatisfying about trying to live a corporate life (and that’s what I did when I graduated, I got the first job that I could find in customer service) when all you want to do is be creative.

I wasn’t sleeping enough because I would come home and hyperfixate on whatever latest craft project I was working on. Before I knew it, it would be 2 in the morning, and I had to wake up at 6 to get ready to work. I was filling my weekend up with plans with friends, exercise, art shows, craft time, workshops, and anything to just scratch that itch that was never fully satisfied.

Surprise, surprise. I burned out. I woke up one morning, and my body was literally like, “We’re not doing this.” I felt tense and heavy, and this deep dread.

During my commute to work, I planned out my “I’m quitting” speech. And I requested a meeting with my boss as soon as I got to the office.

She was shocked because this seemed like such a drastic jump.

“I knew that you were kind of struggling,” she said, “But I thought that you would have come to me with this sooner.”

She took a moment to mull it over. I was already starting to feel relieved that I had gotten something off my chest.

“I don’t think you should quit,” she said. “At least, maybe not yet. How would you feel about us moving you to part-time? We just got approval to take on some interns, and they can help with the workload.”

I was not expecting this option, but I think I was already starting to second-guess whether I should be quitting at all without even an idea of a backup plan, so I agreed.

I went home that day, and I started spiraling. How was I expecting to live on half of my salary? Had I just burned my bridges at work by being so ungrateful and unpredictable?

I called my best friend, who was living out my dream of going to art school and living happily on a meager student stipend.

She told me to get a sugar daddy.

I thought she was joking, I really did. But she wasn’t. She said it simply wasn’t an option for her to be an artist and not have outside financial support.

“Oh, don’t be naive, Erica,” she told me, “This is always how artists have been surviving for centuries. But now there are dating websites for it.”

I told her she was crazy, but I was already considering it. After all, bills don’t care if you’re going through an identity crisis.

Jerry was exactly my third and what I considered to be my last sugar daddy first date before giving up on it for good. I don’t need to hash out the details, but my first two dates were horrendous. I thought I would give it one more go and then go crawling back to my boss to ask for my full-time hours back if it didn’t work out.

Thankfully, Jerry did work out. He was a good listener, upbeat, and a true gentleman. I had told myself that I wasn’t going to get into the details of how my life had gone off-track recently, but Jerry had somehow pulled it out of me within the first thirty minutes. He has a knack for breaking through people’s outer shells by asking the right questions and being a validation king.

For example, when I was like, “I got a little burned out from my job and decided to cut back my hours,” he said,

“Wow, that’s something that most people would be too scared to do. You must be excited to start finding something that you’re actually passionate about.”

I’m sorry, what? How did he know that that was exactly the pep talk I needed in that moment?

That being said, I had no idea what I was really passionate about. At least nothing that I felt like I could make a lifestyle out of. But Jerry wasn’t going to let me talk myself out of anything.

“My dad always told me,” he said, “that success is all about finding that thing that you’re equally good at and that is good to you. Like, you could be really good at basketball, but if being a pro player is making you miserable, it’s not being good to you. Or, you could think that being a chef is your calling, but if you’re not actually good at it, the industry isn’t going to be good to you.”

“So, Erica,” he said, “What is that sweet spot for you? What are you good at? What is good to you?”

I thought I would struggle to find an answer, but one came immediately. “Knitting,” I said, “I’m good at creating knitting patterns. And I’ve got a community of knitters online who are good to me, who support me, and encourage me. That’s just my hobby, though. I could never do anything with it.”

“Who told you that? I’ve seen knitting trending with celebrities lately. I bet you they’re making money off of it. So can you.”

He made it sound so easy, but I was totally unconvinced.

“Knitting isn’t a job,” I said.

“Anything is a job once you learn how to monetize it.”

It seemed like I wasn’t going to be able to get away with saying no.

By the time of our next date, it was clear that Jerry had done a lot of research on his own about the world of knitting patterns. He had flagged designers on Instagram that he said I should follow and study, and then start thinking about what kind of niche I would want to build my own business around. He also had a list of equipment that he was planning on buying me so that I could start taking better pictures of my work and uploading tutorials.

“I’m assuming you already have a few tech editors and sample knitters in your contacts, but you’ll want to start reaching out to more people to help with yarn sponsorships and brand deals. It would be really great if we could get a knitting celebrity to make one of your patterns, but we’ve got to focus on building your audience a bit more before that.”

At this, my mind started to spin. Jerry was making this all feel so attainable and easy. And how in the world had he learned what a tech editor (people who read unpublished patterns and look for errors) even was?

Mind you, this was our second date.

It must have been obvious on my face that I was freaking out because Jerry stopped and leaned back in his chair.

“I’m sorry. I do this,” he said. “I fix problems. I’m a solutions guy. My wife left me over it. I don’t want you to feel like I’m catapulting you into something that you don’t want to do. But, you told me that you were looking for a way to make money so that you don’t have to go back to full-time at your job, and this is honestly a great path. And don’t think I didn’t look into your patterns and your page. This is your thing, Erica. This is your sweet spot. I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

I knew that I would be the dumbest person alive not to say yes. So I said yes.

A year later, I’m in a better place than I was that morning that I tried to quit my job. I’m still there, working a mere 15 hours a week just so that I can cover rent. But the majority of my income comes from my knitting business: brand deals, workshops, pattern design, and occasionally knitting commissions for people I never thought I’d work with in a million years.

All because Jerry asked the right questions and saw my potential. I don’t actually need a sugar daddy these days, but there’s no way that I can imagine doing any of this without him.