I’ve got a story for those of you who like the inside scoop on the design and media world. It starts out riveting and ends up sad (Update: plot twist ending!! Read till the end). Six weeks ago, the beloved brands Food52 and Schoolhouse Electric filed for bankruptcy. It was a shock, with huge layoffs right before Christmas and an official announcement right after. I guess that news gave me permission to publish my story.

During early 2021, the second half of the lockdown, I received an email from Amanda Hesser, the founder of Food52. She asked to jump on an urgent call to talk about something big. I have always admired Amanda, and I loved Food52. I knew they had been acquired by TCG, a huge venture capitalist firm, for 83 million months before, so my interest was piqued on all fronts. Absolutely, name the time.

The call was requested for 2 days later, at 10 am on a Saturday, which was a bit of an orange flag, but they said it was urgent, and I was so curious (plus lockdown – nothing to do). The reason for the urgency would unfold later. I put it on speaker so Brian could hear. After some COVID small talk, Amanda and the then-president made a big proposition. TCG wanted to buy me and my company.

At the time, Food52, under TCG, was acquiring Schoolhouse Electric, and they wanted to buy my company and merge us together to become the ultimate content, commerce, and community hub. A one-stop shop for all things home design. They were in the late stages of the Schoolhouse deal, and they felt there was a missing piece – someone to bring along the community (you) and the storytelling (me and my team). They wanted an expert voice in the tone of Schoolhouse, to give tips, and do makeovers, and basically do what we already did so well, but for them. And they wanted to announce us at the same time (thus the urgency). The meeting was so exciting. I was mentally shouting “yes, yes, yes,” over every word. I would work with the other arms of the company to run the editorial/content part of it and bring along my community. We’d blow up Schoolhouse to the international brand it was always meant to be.

Now it needs to be said: I have always LOVED Schoolhouse Electric. And always will. We are aligned stylistically and aesthetically. Everything they did was heirloom-quality, vintage-inspired but with that slight irreverence and edge (and a huge Scandi bent). I couldn’t afford anything real from them for years, but in my 20s and early 30s, I would buy small things on sale just to have something by them.

We shot a lot of my first book, Styled at the founders’ house – still some of my favorite shots that don’t seem to date. Plus, they had that specific alchemy that felt so Portland-y, youthful, vintage-y, but fun. And we were about to move back.

My gut, my heart, my brain, and my mouth said a huge “YES”. I was buzzing with excitement. Not at selling my company necessarily, but at the prospect of not running the business alone, being able to focus on the parts of it that I loved, and most importantly, partnering up with Schoolhouse just as we were moving back to Portland, which was happening only a few months later. It was such a beloved Portland brand, in the coolest vintage factory warehouse that felt like a destination more than a store. It was absolutely kismet. Like the universe was saying, “We heard you”. Brian and I just stared at each other with a “is this actually happening” giddiness. 

So I secured a mergers and acquisitions lawyer and started talking EBITDA (the valuation of what we are actually worth). You can’t sell something without naming a price. But they didn’t just want to hire me, they wanted to buy the blog, including the then 12 years of archives (every blog post would be theirs), my Instagram, and me (a 5-year contract, at least). It felt impossibly complicated. Doable. But how?

First things first –  how much was I worth? I’m not a typical company; my IG and blog are very much based on my personality, and historically, there are far more risks to buying a person than a standalone brand that you can manipulate to be anything. I wasn’t desperate to sell. My company was doing really well for its size. We had healthy profit margins that were different every year and dependent on the big projects we were doing (and how much on-camera work I was willing to do). We had a relatively low overhead (6 salaries + hefty marketing and I.T. costs), but no longer had an office and no product inventory. But how much is someone’s 12 years of archives actually worth? They wanted all the assets (which was fraught – so many photographers involved, did I even “own” all the photos or all my work?). They wanted my traffic, our Google ranking, they wanted all of you to go over there with me. They wanted to take over the instagram as theirs. Had this been done before? And they wanted me. Even if we figured out all the other stuff, what would my salary possibly be to convince me to give up my freedom and autonomy?? 

I had just made the decision to slow down and move to Portland (mini-farm, pigs, you know the story) and was committed to a smaller life while our kids were young. I didn’t want to miss cheer competitions or school plays. I really liked being a homebody and self-producing shoots, then making soup at night. Amanda got that, but the others involved made it clear that the expectation would be large (which I fully understood). And from their perspective, of course, no one wants to buy someone for a shit ton of money who wants to “slow down”. They told me there might be a lot of international travel, representing brands in different markets. Lots of highly produced on-camera shoots. They would want to sell me as the spokesperson for a lot of their brand partnerships – all things I had done for years, but it’s definitely the most exhausting part of the job. It would not be a slower or smaller life.

 So how much was it all worth???

Plus, it was messy. At the time, I was in the middle of probably 25 – 30 large contracts on both my house and my brother’s river house. Contracts that wouldn’t be closed out for YEARS (until both projects were completely finished), many of which we already had the product. Every single one of them had been negotiated differently. What would happen to those contracts and that money? Would they own them? And hell, some were with direct competitors! They talked about buying them all out, but it started to get pretty messy (and I still needed to finish our house – we were in mid-construction, I needed these partnerships, I had counted on that product). 

Then there was the risk of what would happen to my team? I didn’t just value my team; I cared about them so much, and I knew that selling the company meant that I would forfeit how we operated. They might not report to me anymore. I didn’t know if I could favor them or protect them. Sure, they said that I could bring them along, and they said they’d be protected, but they would be employees of the larger parent company, and therefore no guarantees on anything. That scared me.

What if the company did something in my name that was super unethical? So many businesses were being outed as having a really bad company culture or super toxic leadership. Handing over my name and reputation to other people felt very dangerous. 

But despite the risks and unknowns, I was still so excited…. and so were they. There were months of negotiating, and after every lawyer meeting, I would say the same thing to them, “I want this so bad, but it has to make sense financially for me”. I really wanted to make it work, but the risks were massive. 

Plus, the biggest risk of all – what if it didn’t go well? What if their (our) business tanked and they owned my blog and Instagram? Would everything I’ve built go down with it? Would I have to start over at zero? Would I be bankrupt?

The more risks that stacked up and the more they warned it was a really demanding job, the less I was willing to come down in price. I had a business manager and lawyer helping me, thank god, confirming that I was right every step of the way. We needed enough money to cover the risk of losing it all. And we were very, very, far apart. They wanted to give a generous signing bonus and a healthy salary, but they proposed to pay mostly in equity. Now getting equity can be great if the company does well, but worth nothing if it doesn’t.  

After four months of negotiations (oof those lawyer fees!), my lawyer put it very clearly:

“This is a very bad deal for you. They are paying you with your own money.” And then, “They will not come close to paying you what you are worth, and if we keep pushing, you’re gonna damage your personal relationship with them.”

Such good advice, and what a relief to hear. It wasn’t a hard decision since he put it in such clear terms. 

They were scheduled to fly into Portland that day, and our dinner would be that night, to celebrate. My lawyer told them the bad news and invited them to cancel the dinner. They wanted to have dinner anyway, and against my lawyer’s advice, I agreed (very nervous, TBH). It was honestly so lovely. At this point, we lived in Portland, so we talked about life after lockdown, kids, and the digital world. They didn’t push, and we didn’t rehash any negotiation terms. I think they might have been relieved, too. I was and always will be a fan of Amanda Hesser – a smart, grounded, and funny woman who seemed to genuinely get me. 

Ultimately, we left things on really good terms. I’ll go ahead and credit the fact that we were all seasoned women in business, and so respectful throughout the whole process. They understood my perspective and I theirs. When you are buying a person’s brand, you have zero guarantees long-term that they’ll perform for you, that they’ll be worth it. You can’t control a person like you can a brand. Hell, what if I died or committed a felony? Had my name not been as attached to my blog and IG, maybe the deal could have made more sense for them – but they were taking huge risks too, which was why they couldn’t come up with too much. I got that.

I wasn’t bummed at all. The whole thing made me really reinvigorated, actually. It reminded me of how good my team is, how successful the company was (regardless of EBIDTA), and that if we worked hard, a lot of people read and listened. It felt good. And I learned SO MUCH.

Years later, we watched as they had round after round of layoffs. But it was a very tricky economy for a lot of brands to navigate post-COVID (still is). I watched, hoping they would make it – zero schadenfreude, I promise. We were all rooting for Schoolhouse Electric. But I knew that I wouldn’t have made it through those cuts, and for sure not my team. I had made the right decision, but I had hope for them. I was still a fan. I AM still a fan.

So when we heard about the layoffs a few days before Christmas, followed up by the official bankruptcy filing, my entire team slacked in shock. Not Schoolhouse! It was a beloved legacy brand, a design darling. Their recent collaborations were fresh and high-quality. In fact, I had pitched them earlier in the year, and we were in talks for a larger partnership in 2026. I wanted to be part of their next chapter – not by selling my company to them, but similar to what I did for Target. My love for them never waned. After the news, my entire team went online and bought/hoarded a ton of pieces (at 60% off) because we thought they would be collector items. I mostly just wanted a souvenir before it was gone forever. 

And that’s where I thought the end of the story would be. Me learning some lessons, us mourning the death of a beloved brand. But just as this post was going up (last weekend), it was announced that Hudson Valley Lighting Group has bought Schoolhouse Electric! Obviously, there are a million unknowns, but I’m so excited to see it revived and hopefully the brand identity intact. They seem to be a really robust and healthy brand, with all their operations and marketing dialed in. And they have a great eye for product and clearly know how to operate a company. Wishing them so much luck.

The whole process, which was so dramatic at the time, really helped me put things into focus. Brian and I had to think really existentially about what we wanted more of in our lives – money or time? And while I know other people would make the other choice, it was crystal clear to us. I was actually grateful that the amount was as low as it was. Had it been triple the amount, I might have been too tempted, and I might be doing desperate dancing memes on TikTok trying to grow a following (kidding… I’d be writing my romance novels).

So that’s the story of how I almost sold the company, but didn’t. And how grateful I am for that huge lesson. Thank god I’m still here and that I can grow (or tank) my business all on my own:) I really, really love it, and I have you all, and my team, to thank.

So this is my official, wishing you luck, Schoolhouse. EHD is rooting for you.

Opening Image Credit: Photo by Kaitlin Green