Craig Conover - Pillow Talk : Whats Wrong with My Sewing?

Pillow Talk

Whats Wrong with My Sewing?

Craig Conover with Blake Dvorak

For Tim and Alex, who left this world much too soon.

And for Mom and Dad.

Introduction HOW DID I GET HERE?

F ew sights have the power of transporting me backward in time as do the beaches of Delaware. Those very beaches passed by me out the window of my parents Jeep Wrangler as I drove down Coastal Highway toward Bethany Beach, a city whose streets and boardwalks I could walk blindfolded. I had spent my summer vacations in those waters right outside my car window, learning to surf and chasing girls. Just a few miles from my childhood house in Ocean View, I was soon overwhelmed by that feeling that I was suddenly home, in a way that no other place on earth feels like home.

But why was I home? How did I get here? More than a decade after leaving Delaware, I was back. It wasnt the first time I had been back. But it felt like the most important.

Although I had been home many times since starting my life in Charleston, South Carolina, whereas you probably knowI now live and work, this time was different, because I was different. Charleston is where viewers of Southern Charm have watched me well, grow up for the last seven years; its where I headquartered my company, Sewing Down South, and its where I plan to stay. But while I have adopted that most beautiful of southern cities as my own, at heart I will always be that kid from the beaches of Delaware. It was here that I learned the meaning of hard work from my parents, especially my father, who had started his own remediation company. It was here that I learned to play baseball. It was here that I learned the power of family, and gained the knowledge that no matter how far away you might stray from your roots, home will always be there to remind you who you truly are and what truly matters. It was here that I learned to sew.

Sewing was the reason I was here on a hot summers day in August 2019: to launch the next phase of Sewing Down South with the first pillow partythe first of what became twenty-three pillow parties that took SDS pillows (and me) on a multistate tour and ended up generating $200,000 in sales. Of course, I didnt know that then, driving down that highway on my way to the first pillow party, fighting off intense feelings of nostalgia and extreme anxiety. Truthfully, I was a nervous wreck. While early sales had been strong, I couldnt shake the feeling that maybe up here no one cared about my pillows, or Southern Charm, or a hometown boy trying to start a business.

When I reached the storea little boutique an old high school friend had inherited from her grandmother called Perfect Furnishingsmy first thought was that I had the wrong place. What were all these people doing here? But the tall purple sign on the side of the road confirmed what Siri was telling me: This was it. The store was right off the highway, a simple beach-inspired building painted sky blue, only with a line of people running down the block as if it were an L.A. nightclub. I kept driving. I wasnt ready for that, not yet. A few hundred yards down the highway, I spotted a familiar restaurant, Cottage Caf, and pulled in, smiling. This was where I used to sit and eat with my grandparents, and where I had gone on my first date in high school. The restaurant has a porch overlooking the highway, which I thought was the perfect spot to grab a beer, relax, and collect myself.

As I sat there sipping my beer, with Perfect Furnishings just across the way, I saw that the line continued to grow until it stretched down the highway. It was a moment Ill never forget. The next few hours would fly by in a flurry of laughter, pictures, autographs, and shaking hands, and it would be impossible to stop and take it all in. But here, I could. For a brief, blissful moment, my anxieties, my fears, my near-paralyzing self-doubt lifted from my shoulders and I was able to appreciate just how far Id come. I wasnt about to declare Sewing Down South a success just yet, nor that I had made it as an entrepreneur who had followed his passion, despite the naysayers. I knew there was still a long road ahead of me. But at least I was finally on the damn road.

Few thought Id even get to this point. I certainly hadnt made it easy on myself. There were plenty of people, some very close to me, who assumed that all Id ever amount to would be another face on reality television. I dont necessarily blame them. Given what they saw and what they knew, they were right to doubt, because time after time I had dashed their faith in me. I would say all the right things, but do all the wrong things. Then, slowly, I started to do some things right. Hell, I started to do things period. And somehow, I managed to string together enough right things to get here, watching my fansno, my customersform that line outside Perfect Furnishings.

I was home, and I was on my way.

When I finally finished my beer (or maybe it was my second), I met my friend and business partner, Jerry Casselano, outside the restaurant. He, too, had seen the line, and the look he gave me was priceless. I smiled and shrugged, and we drove the short distance to the store, where the owner, my old friend Courtney, had reserved a spot for me. The crowd surged around the car as I parked, then cheered when I got out. Being on a hit show, it wasnt the first time I had encountered cheering fans before. But this was different. This was for something I had created, something that was truly minemine in a way that a massive production like Southern Charm simply cant be. And the sheer satisfaction I felt at the accomplishment, which I shared with Jerry and our other partner, Amanda Latifi, is one that will stay with me forever.

Courtney met me in the parking lot and had to shout over the cheering. What the hell is going on? she asked. I laughed. I had no idea what to say.

We ended up doing $13,000 in sales that day, while I sat behind a table for three and a half hours signing autographs and talking with my customers. It all went by in a haze, except for a few stand-out moments. I remember my parents arriving with our golden retriever, Fenwick, and my mother giving me a hug and whispering, This is crazy. I remember seeing my younger brother, Christopher, a soft-spoken guy who inherited our mothers seriousness and work ethic. (I inherited my fathers outspokenness and procrastination.) He didnt say much, but he did smile at me, and that was all he had to do. Of all those who had lost faith in me over the yearsincluding sometimes myselfChristopher never did. His smile was his way of saying: I knew you could do it, Brother.

But perhaps the most powerful moment came from a complete strangeror rather, a mother and her teenage son, an athletic kid in a football jersey. They had been standing in the hours-long line with the rest. When they finally reached the table, I assumed that the mother was the fan and customer and that she had dragged her poor kid to some ridiculous furniture store to meet someone she liked watching on television. I know my fans, and teenage boys just arent them.

Then the most remarkable thing happened. The teenage boy set down on the table a sewn tote bag. Embroidered on the side were the initials IRHS, which stood for Indian River High School, my alma mater and (clearly) his as well.