All of this has me so excited that on one of the daycare runs for my son, who’s almost two now, I stopped at a café to order my iced oat matcha latte — now that I’ve been to Japan I’ve fallen for the hype and I think there’s no going back — and to do some work. Arriving at the shared table, which are the only ones left at this very hyped-up café in West Van, I sat across from a woman who seemed to be in back-to-back Zoom meetings. With each call she’d hang up on, she’d jump straight into the next link, opening with “so sorry about the background noise — I came to work from a café and didn’t realize it would be this packed, but anyway, how’s your week been?”

I remember that era well, with zero nostalgia — working in corporate environments with meetings all day long, an action plan list for every meeting, and never any time left to act on any of them. And in the office hallways, the shared lament: “when exactly are we supposed to produce?”

Then at some point I got up to grab a water — here in Canada there’s always water available at any restaurant or café for whoever wants to help themselves — and I picked up two glasses because I’m trying to flush out all the post-Japan water retention. Walking back to the table, I looked at the woman, looked at my cup, looked at her again, and left a glass next to her. At the end of yet another meeting she said to me, “oh my god this is so incredibly generous of you, thank you so much” — and emptied the glass in under two minutes.

About fifteen minutes ago I had to call Aeroplan to sort out some miles drama that wasn’t linking up with the last ticket I bought to Brazil. One of those calls you put off because you know you’ll have to wait, verbally confirm your name, phone number, date of birth, address, hair color, favorite childhood cartoon, the poutine recipe you liked best, and whatever else they need to prove you are you — and probably end up frustrated because your problem won’t be solved that easily.

Susan answered in the voice of what I pictured as a childhood friend’s mom: the warm one, full of energy, always inventing little games, on top of being welcoming and trustworthy. Susan didn’t have the power to solve my problem herself, but she walked me through the path to a resolution, gave me confidence that one way or another she’d take care of it, came back on the line every so often to say she “hadn’t forgotten about me, they were just dealing with high call volumes and long wait times” — and it was all so pleasant that it made me want to be pleasant back.

I told her that, from the small sample I’d had, she was exceptional at her job and should be proud of it. And I asked to speak to a supervisor I could pass that comment on to directly.

Recently I’ve decided to commit to making small acts of kindness for others — especially the unexpected ones, like the ones I just mentioned. Not purely out of the goodness of my heart — maybe a little out of ego, the satisfaction of feeling I’d done some good for someone — but also as field research, so to speak.

Will Guidara writes in his book Unreasonable Hospitality that acts of kindness are contagious and make people want to do the same. The good old kindness begets kindness. Will brings this into the hospitality world and shows how to spread through a team the genuine desire to surprise people where they least expect it.

And I love this so much — partly because I practiced it for nearly a decade at Aesop, where I graduated in the art of retail with presence, active listening, and customer experience — because it’s proof that surprising people, whether your partner, a stranger at the café, or your customer, is so, so much simpler than it seems. And sometimes it costs nothing at all.

I have a few clients and business owners I know who’ve recently told me this is their biggest struggle. Thousands dollars, or brazilian reais, spent on customer service training, data management software, discount coupons to bring customers back, in-store events that struggle to get any engagement — when sometimes the best return is in building a culture of hospitality, in quality of communication and listening, and in the energy of kindness and of surprising someone in small gestures.

Now, maybe you don’t work with customers, or maybe you don’t work at all, but you’ll still find all sorts of ways to do small acts of kindness throughout your days. Buying your husband his favorite freshly-roasted coffee and bringing it to him at the end of a long workday, complimenting the haircut of your building’s concierge whose name you still haven’t memorized even after seeing her every day for three months, helping your neighbor carry her shopping bags upstairs and walking them all the way to her door.

The woman at the café doesn’t even know my name and Susan has probably taken another two hundred calls since mine. But I remember both of them, and I remember exactly how I felt — light after the coffee, and grateful after the call, which I never thought I’d say about a phone call with Aeroplan. And that’s what I mean when I talk about experience: it’s what stays once everything else — the product, the service, the problem — has passed.

Thank you for reading this far,

Mafe

When that happens I reach for my Kindle because reading intrigues me just as much as it makes me drowsy. I read about 25% of Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga — a book that, at least up to the 25% mark, is about the price you pay to adapt to a system that wasn’t made for you. But at some point I gave in and did the worst thing an anxious insomniac can do: I picked up my phone.

The stories that stopped me were from a local Vancouver influencer who organizes dinners with incredible experiences for anyone who wants to join. She was musing about AI and the many conflicting feelings she had about it — as a tech enthusiast, she was fascinated by the possibilities and advances in technology; as a mother raising screen-free kids in a house full of screens, she was terrified about the future; and as an “experience designer,” she felt increasingly connected to the need to bring people together to create live experiences.

And there I was, at 3 a.m., realizing I carried a lot of conflicting feelings about it too, but as with any technological advance or shift in social organization, I needed to adapt to stay relevant without distancing myself from what makes sense to me.

Because we see more and more AI tools that seem to easily replace average professionals: photographers who will lose clients to images generated in less than 5 minutes; interior designers who might lose the lower-budget clients who just want a tip on how to improve their floor plan; nutritionists who must already be feeling the impact of ChatGPT breaking down the calories and macros of a meal in seconds from a photo of the plate. And so on.

And I say this understanding the magnitude of the impact it can have on many people, including close friends — but with the awareness of being someone who has already chosen not to hire professionals because an AI gave me answers at zero cost. Admit it, you’ve done it too.

This topic scares me when I think about the future of professions — including in my husband’s field, who not only deals with near-weekly big tech layoffs but also works in something with high potential to be reduced by AI. At the same time, it pushes me to think about what we can do differently to ensure relevance.

And for me the answer is: always be above average and always focus on the experience. Understand what your client wants, who they are, what problem you need to solve, the most efficient way to solve it, what emotion you want to evoke — and how you’re going to deliver all of that.

The photographer who welcomes the client who’s embarrassed to pose, who guides the entire creative process and delivers a shoot that will be remembered forever? That client comes back to live it again. The nutritionist who shows up on time, understands your psychological relationship with your body and with food, educates you, and offers a high-quality service? She won’t be replaced by ChatGPT that easily.

And it’s not just me saying this. Remember when everyone thought brick-and-mortar retail was going to die with the growth of e-commerce, especially post-pandemic? A McKinsey study from last year showed that more than half of consumers still prefer to shop in person. Another report found that 47% say supporting a local business is a deciding factor when making a purchase. The Business of Fashion published a piece today about retailers who ignore digital and invest everything in customer experience and product curation. Their goal isn’t to be everywhere — it’s to be indispensable somewhere.

Personally, if on the one hand I believe we need to adapt and ride the first waves to stay relevant — I’m a premium Claude subscriber —, on the other hand I tend to go increasingly analog every time the world pulls me harder toward the technological.

In photography, instead of investing in a Canon mirrorless that increases autofocus speed and image quality, I decided to add another 35mm camera to my repertoire. I want to soon migrate almost entirely to film and celebrate the experience of shooting with more presence in each click, which costs far more than clicks on digital cameras, and of waiting for the scans — instead of just focusing on the result.

In the corporate world, I’m gradually shifting my focus from brand commercial performance to designing their experience — which, of course, leads to commercial performance. But more than that, it humanizes the consumer relationship and creates a value that no technology will replace: the value of human experience.

As a consumer, for me nothing replaces the in-person experience — unless it’s a convenience purchase. Buying gadgets on Amazon that are sold in stores I have zero interest in visiting? Sure. But getting dressed up to stroll through stores and discover new brands through well-curated selections, then having a coffee made by a barista who already recognizes me and cares about the texture of the milk, in a space hipster enough to make me want to sit and people-watch, followed by a manicure at a salon that tends to all five senses at every step of the process? I will never stop preferring it that way.

Thank you for reading,

Mafe.

Once in Kyoto, we took a few more trains and a local bus used mostly by residents, with no tourists. There, despite being full, the only sound you could hear was the bus speaker reminding passengers of basic etiquette rules for public transportation in Japan and the name of the approaching stop — and at every stop, the driver’s gentle voice thanking each person as they exited the bus, in Kyoto through the front door. No one leaves that bus without receiving a thank-you and a slight nod from the driver.

A few days earlier, in Kanazawa, I took part in a tea ceremony — because I’m completely fascinated by several Japanese concepts like ma, wabi-sabi and, given my profession and the history of the companies I’ve worked for, omotenashi, which is so deeply felt in this ritual. During the ceremony, the host explained the meaning and the reason behind each small gesture that feels like choreography. Everything there has its place: the way the host enters and exits the room always leading with the same foot and never stepping on the edges of the tatami — in the past, the family name was written in those spaces, so avoiding them was a sign of respect —, the habit of turning the tea bowl twice so the most beautiful side faces outward, out of respect for everyone else, so they too can admire it, the bow of gratitude to the tea master upon receiving your cup, the reverence to the tea itself, and so many other layers of meaning that may go unnoticed by most but, because they are rooted in respect, continue to be cultivated.

Of all the “things not to do in Japan” rules I was bombarded with in social media videos — once the algorithm figured out I had a trip booked — the one that surprised me most for how hard it is to follow was not eating while walking. I realized how, when traveling with a child, this sometimes becomes nearly impossible. But we still made the effort to stop and plan when to eat the bread roll, the fruit, or the chocolate we’d grabbed “for the road” — understanding that this came from a deep respect for food and for other people’s senses.

What surprised me most about Japan comes down to one word: respect. For other people’s senses, for what nourishes us, for public space. From public restrooms with spaces to hold children accompanying their parents, to the absence of strong perfumes on people. From carrying your own trash all day long to avoiding conversation on public transport. From respect for food to airport staff bowing as the plane takes off. A respect that exists even when you can sense the rush and the irritation in someone, and that is practiced even when no one is watching.

—

I’m writing this on my phone, straight from my own brain out of respect for those of you who also can’t take reading AI-generated text anymore, while my son snores on my lap with just under five hours to go before landing in Vancouver — unable to sleep, not only because of the lack of physical mobility in my current position as the mother of an almost-two-year-old who still flies on her lap, but also because of the sheer amount of inspiration and learning I’m bringing back from these two weeks that left me fascinated and wanting to understand how all this respect was born and has held its strength across so many centuries.

More to come soon.

Mafe

That day, I dropped Caetano — now almost one — at daycare so I could, for the first time in what felt like forever (a time that sometimes seems endless and, at others, too brief), simply be me for a few hours. Without guilt. Only care.

Normally, I’d leave the house with plenty of time to soak up the warmth of the sun on my skin as I walked down Burrard St., silently amused at the thought of everyone stuck in traffic while I strolled toward my favorite spa (at least for now). I’d walk down the hill admiring the mountains — still dusted with snow at the peaks this time of year — still in awe of this city even after six years of calling it home. I’d sip a coffee from Giovanni, perfectly brewed and silky, before heading up to the fifth floor, arriving with my now-Canadian punctuality: 15 minutes early.

But not this time.

Caetano needed to be dropped off later than planned — because, among many other lessons, motherhood has taught me that making plans is a cosmic inside joke. I hit traffic on the Lions Gate Bridge both ways (as expected), which irritates me just as much as it mesmerizes with that breathtaking view. I texted my husband to wait at the door so we could swap: he’d hop in the car, and I’d head off to the hotel.

No morning walk under the sun. No silent smugness. No poetic mountain views. No coffee. But I got there. Took the elevator up to the fifth floor and, as quickly as I rushed to the spa reception, I was gently slowed down by the receptionist. She sensed my frantic energy, softened her tone and pace, called me by my first name like she didn’t need to look it up, and handed me a cup of tea that tasted like it had been brewed by someone who understood my emotional state.

The spa at the Fairmont Pacific Rim is always calm, but never dull. Every detail is designed to engage your senses: towels and robes that caress your skin, scents that balance citrus, herbal, and woody notes in perfect harmony, playlists tailored to your intention (relaxation or renewal), elegant little bites, and a structure that goes far beyond a massage — think saunas, sensory showers, and magnesium-rich jacuzzis with mountain views.

Whether you’re a spa veteran or a blissful first-timer, the staff at Willowstream are always gentle and informative. They walk you through what to expect, how to get the most out of your visit, and make everyone feel welcome — not just in the space, but in that whole world.

In the women’s locker room, you get a designated locker with a robe and slippers (and yes, they have sizes for those of us whose feet stopped growing at age twelve). The facilities are so complete — with showers, fully stocked hygiene stations, and a vanity area with Dyson tools, brushes, flat irons, and curling wands — that all you really need to bring is your swimsuit to enjoy the common spa areas.

After changing, I walked to the waiting area and met my therapist, Taylor. She called me by name, looked me in the eyes, and asked how I was — like she truly wanted to know, no matter how short or, more likely in my case, long-winded the answer might be. She led me to a spacious treatment room softly lit by indirect light, offered me a choice of scents and playlists, explained how to settle in, and gave me a few moments alone.

And in that brief silence, taking in every intentional detail of the room, I closed my eyes and, for the first time in months, felt genuinely seen and cared for.

The massage followed the same rhythm of care. Every touch felt deliberate, like part of a silent ballet of movements and pressure — guiding each exhale back to its natural, unhurried pace.

Being immersed in so much attentiveness — both in grand gestures and subtle details — did more than relax me. It reawakened me. And there, lying on one of the outdoor loungers, letting the sun warm my legs still tired from months of cold, flipping through a few local magazines, I realized how much inspiration was still alive inside me.

As much as my head was telling me to stay and enjoy every second of this rare solo day, my heart wanted something else: to put it all into words.

So as a small tribute to that spark, I dedicate this first review to a place that, from my first to my fourth visit, has given me everything — and more.

Because sometimes the greatest healing isn’t rest.
It’s the spark that reignites.

When I moved back to Brazil to kick off the retail operations of an Australian brand I remember having an interesting conversation around wages for retail staff.

When I asked my Aussie VP of retail at the time what the payment structure would be like the answer I got was: ‘let's do whatever the rest of the market is doing.’

Having lived in Australia I knew that retail jobs there pay by the hour and there were very few places that added a commission package back in 2010-14. 

Which meant that the job was mostly focused on customer service and being somewhat passive to customer's wants and wishes.

Whereas in Brazil there's a quite generalized practice of paying retail staff personal commission over their monthly sales. In some places that is all they get and in other places they also have a base wage. But the sales performance dictates about 80% of their salary.

What this meant to me at the time was that this was the root to a culture where the need to close the sale overshadowed the needs of the client - even if that happened in detriment of the customer experience - and it unfolded into several negative aspects of organizational climate:

• a highly competitive environment amongst salespeople and a feeling of 'owning' a customer, failing to understand that the customer belongs to the brand and not to a specific store or person.

• excellent high performing store managers willing to climb the corporate ladder but having their promotions blocked by supervisors that would rather have them bringing sales on the floor.

• biased salespeople that would pick and chose the customers they were willing to host based on assumptions of how much they would spend, causing a terrible damage to customer experience land a basic human value called respect)

• schedule staff based on who deserved to be selling on the most profiting days and punishing all the rest that would always get Mondays and Tuesdays on the roster.

• high staff turnover rates as the salespeople would easily leave your brand for the store next door that was offering 0,05% extra in commission.

and the list went on...

So when I was told that we would pay whatever the market was paying - at a brand that highly valued customer experience and teamwork - I couldn't help but challenge the status quo in the industry.

I gathered all the information I could, educated them on the retail customer service situation in Brazil. benchmarked salaries, created an alternative that would reward staff equally while also incentivizing team work and store sales (rather then individual sales), projected the impact on costs of the alternative vs the standard pay and built my case to the GM of the Americas at the time.

In this specific situation all it took was 'it hurst the customer experience' argument to convince him to do things differently.

And as a result I was able to build a team of incredible retail associates that had strong focus on customer experience while keeping an eye on Conversion Rate and Average Transaction Value and at the same time increasing Customer Retention.

The team work in the stores was remarkable: everybody worked with the same effort to help each other and maintain the store operations, we constantly had customers sending thank you notes and compliments on the service, we almost always hit sales target  and when one person won - everybody won. Not to mention we had an unprecedented staff retention rate.

By simply challenging one very basic status quo we had set the bar very high by creating a customer centric culture built on respect and relatedness. 

I’m not saying that all brands that reward staff with personal commission suffer from all the side effects listed above. If you have a great company culture and a solid hiring and training process and strong leadership amongst your store managers, you can certainly make this system work for you and secure both customer experience and high sales performance.

The message here is simply to challenge the status quo in the industry every time you sense that 'there must be a better way to do things'.

We can't get different results if we keep doing the same as everybody else (it's a big cliche, but so true).

Never have I seen a messy Aesop store (even on the back of house) or a window display that was too busy.

Everything they do is intentional and so is their approach to displaying their products in the store and creating attractive, intriguing and beautiful window displays that speaks to their current product launch or campaign.

As most things, I could ramble about it for hours. But for the purpose of this post I will keep this short-ish. Here’s three points of some of Aesop’s perspective on VM.

Store Design

Aesop's approach to architecture is quite unique in the sense that no two stores in the world look the same. The reason why they create different concepts, within the same guidelines that will always make you recognize an aesop store, is to pay a homage to the city and neighbourhood that is welcoming them in by creating something unique with regional inspiration and at times with local architects. Many times they choose to keep one or more original parts of the building such as a ceiling, a floor tile or even a laundromat signage like this store in the Upper East Side in Manhattan, NY.

Product Display

Aesop displays its products in rows of uniform, not priced and odd numbered SKU's. All of these aspects combined reinforces many messages that is at the core of the brand: confidence in its products and prices, organization and an intriguing interpretation of the space that requires an aesop staff to guide the customer through the experience.

Product Design

Aesop's packaging has all the information that legally needs to be there to avoid using excess boxes and papers when selling their products. Which is why the packaging is at the same time consistent across most products and heavy in content but in an elegant and sustainable way.

Comment below if you want a whole new post of Aesop’s most inspiring campaign displays and communication and follow a retail-specific instagram account that is newly launched - if that's your thing.

“In the brands that I've worked in the past the store managers weren't involved in this kind of discussion, this was reserved for corporate, all they had to do was trust the process and be in the store to drive the sales"

If you agree with this statement, then today's post is an invitation to challenge that.

In this specific case the ‘discussion’ he was referring to was the decision around product mix and the inventory depth each store was set to receive for the new collection.

In his perspective the retail teams should trust that the people behind the computers can run the numbers and numbers don't lie. Well, don't they? And aren't we missing an extremely relevant aspect here, which is the subjective aspect of customer behaviour?

In a relatively small brand that produces low inventory, so much so that it risks selling out of a new product in the first days of the launch if they didn't bet on its popularity when it was time to run production, or that frequently runs out of sizings because of the production turnover time, putting all of our trust in numbers can make you very vulnerable to errors.

Back when I was working in the beauty industry the production and distribution of the inventory were quite intuitive and a lot of trust could be deposited on the numbers:

Look at the 200 SKU's available, analyze your previous 6 weeks’ sales average per door and take your forecast from there. For a new store you would find a comparable store - both in demographics and volume - and use it as a base to your forecast.

But when I moved to the fashion industry many layers of complexity were added to this process. Not only do you have to take in account the quite complex calendar of launches and productions, as you also have to beware of not over or underproducing betting on the pieces that will become more popular in the new launches.

And what happens to your forecast when you have prolonged periods of time that your stock is disrupted in several combinations of sizing x colour x fabric?

Different than selling hand soaps, that you can take the period of time of stock break and fill in the blanks with what you would have sold if you had them in store; with clothes it takes a complex architecture with the numbers to try and fill in these blanks. And even when you do, you can't ensure it's 100% accurate. Especially for new launches that has unprecedented new colour and modelling with no historical data.

And that's when your store team comes in.

The frontline staff are the people that best know your customers, their wishes and wants, and they will know which one of your new product launches will succeed in the stores. More than that, they also know better than anyone their specific store demographics - their behaviour, colour, sizes, preferences and even their names and favourite nearby restaurants - and are able to articulate in your customers’ behalf what they want to buy.

They also know which combination of sizing x fabric x colour tend to fly off the window and which ones will last until the end of your sale season, making it crucial for them to be involved in early stages of the definition of the inventory depth they will receive.

Not to mention that they are the people selling it and being held accountable for the sales performance of all your new products. They have a sales target, a lot of the times their salary depends on it, and if their size isn't available then there's simply no way around it and the sale will be lost, no matter how many times your operations team calculated the stock coverage by value times the sell thru rate to ensure the store target gets covered.

What they normally don't have access to is the analytical perspective of this inventory. And that where the collaborative work comes in.

There must be a moment when everybody gathers in a room, or a 40 min zoom call, to go through the inventory selection per door and combine the objective and the subjective aspects of the products sale forecast to make more certain and personalized shipments to your doors.

This simply shift will also bring your both objective and subjective results: a better product performance per door, a healthier sell through rate and NPL sales, less customers who get frustrated for not finding their sizing in your store and a more collaborative environment where the frontline staff starts to enter the corporate doors - which frankly is long overdue in the retail industry.

This is just one of the areas where we can start to challenge the status quo in the retail industry and get better involvement of the store managers in more strategic decisions.

Follow my Substack to get updates on other ways that you can involve the frontline team in strategic decisions and foster collaboration in your brand.

Do you work in retail and was this text helpful to you? Let me know in the comments below and keep the conversation going. You can also subscribe to get updates in your inbox every time I publish something new:

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I'm a self-directed multi skilled leader with solid experience in strategy and operations of upscale retailers across Brazil, Australia, United States and Canada in the fashion and beauty industries. An ambitious leader and passionate creative at heart, I help upscale retail businesses deliver unique customer and employee experiences.

Currently working as Head of Retail for Haight Clothing in Rio de Janeiro and consulting independently for other upscale retail businesses.

Based in Canada + Brazil, available worldwide.

LinkedIn

If you haven't managed a store but you're the person running the numbers, there's a chance you already realized that when your staff turnover rate is high you are likely spending a lot more than what was budgeted on staffing costs - on training time (specially when considering the time a new sales person take until meeting the performance KPI's of the rest of the team) or on contract termination packages. And if you haven't run the numbers yet, I strongly encourage you to calculate the cost of your turnover rate.

The point is that staff turnover is at the same time stressful and costly.

Years ago during my time managing a store in Sao Paulo I came across Drive, the book by Daniel Pink, and it was the first time I read about the Self-Determination Theory. I was obsessed.

The idea - to summarize it in a very simplistic way - is that intrinsic motivation is both more stimulating and sustainable (and, in my opinion, a lot cheaper) than searching for extrinsic motivators, such as internal competitions, prizes, gifts, etc., blew my mind and I read everything I could on the topic.

If you're unfamiliar with the Self-Determination Theory, let me borrow someone else's words (and that's wikipedia) to give you the run down:

One mini-theory of SDT includes basic psychological needs theory which proposes three basic psychological needs that must be satisfied to foster well-being and health.^[23] These three psychological needs of autonomy, competence, and relatedness are generally universal (i.e., apply across individuals and situations). However, some needs may be more salient than others at certain times and be expressed differently based on time, culture, or experience.

Pink uses the SDT to build his argument on intrinsic motivation as a sustainable path to ensure productivity, engagement and, in my experience, staff retention. Which means that a company should offer their employees the ability to keep developing their competences and pursue personal growth; the autonomy to do their work - in any way autonomy can be applied - and the human connection factor.

Pink, Goleman, Newport, Sinek and the whole crew that writes the Harvard Business Review books were some of my best mates during my years as a store manager and gave me the ground to test my best learnings in real life.

Tested them I did in multiple teams - and I'm here to tell you that there's no better tool to ensure high levels of customer service, engagement with your brand, commitment with their peers, performance in sales and retention rate than giving your store leaders the pathway to applying the Self-Determination Theory in their leadership systems.

Competence is feeling both competent and challenged in your role with the adequate support to your personal and professional growth. Surely - and luckily for managers as this isn't sustainable - not everyone that works in the shop floor wishes to pursue a vertical growth in your business. A lot of your store staff just want to pay their bills, go home and keep pursuing their degrees, dream job or just a different career path. Regardless of what's on the horizon for them, the feeling of developing oneself, pushing knowledge boundaries and growing on skills that will be later applicable wherever they wanna go will definitely ensure engagement.

Relatedness speaks to the most innate human need of belonging. In a store this means ensuring teamwork and camaraderie despite the silent competitions or the fact that they are each working for their individual sales goals (something quite common in countries like Brazil where retail staff work for commission over personal sales).

Autonomy, since Covid, is often associated with remote work flexibility. But differently than their colleagues that work in the corporate retail office, the autonomy for retail staff over space and time tends to be more limited. Which is why I invite you to think of autonomy in how they complete their tasks and take charge over their own self-development plan. Let go of micro-management or excessive task lists. Instead, allow them to earn your trust into letting them do what must be done in their own way and time, within the given guidelines, and let them take ownership for their deliverables.

As business managers it is our job to give our store staff the tools to keep growing, relating with one another and earning ownership over their jobs. Once you have this framework top of mind across all your store leaders, rest assured that your store team won't just quit for the store next door that offered an extra dollar for the hour, or a whole weekend off every second month.

Do you work in retail and was this text helpful to you? Let me know in the comments below and keep the conversation going. You can also subscribe to get updates in your inbox every time I publish something new:

Subscribe now

I'm a self-directed multi skilled leader with solid experience in strategy and operations of upscale retailers across Brazil, Australia, United States and Canada in the fashion and beauty industries. An ambitious leader and passionate creative at heart, I help upscale retail businesses deliver unique customer and employee experiences.

Currently working as Head of Retail for Haight Clothing in Rio de Janeiro and consulting independently for other upscale retail businesses.

Based in Canada + Brazil, available worldwide.

LinkedIn