Butler Gigi - The secret ingredient: recipes for success in business and life

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For the spirit God gave us does not make us timid...

2 TIMOTHY 1:7

Behind every beautiful thing

Theres been some kind of pain.

BOB DYLAN, NOT DARK YET

by Debbi Fields

W hen Gigi Butler asked me to contribute my two cents to her inspiring, true-life story, I told her that I would be honored. Throughout her life, Gigi has continued to create possibilities in spite of the odds, even when the road ahead seemed insurmountable. Reading this book unleashed so many memories of starting Mrs. Fields Cookies. While our products are different, our Recipes for Success require the same key ingredients:

* Passion

* Perfection

* Perseverance

* People

Passion is obvious and contagious when you love what you do!

Perfection means creating a product or a service that is market differentiable and provides purpose.

Perseverance means having the guts to bring your specialty to the marketplace, not giving up on your dreams, and tackling the challenges that can easily overwhelm a budding entrepreneur.

People are your conduit to everything! Treat everyone with goodness, care, and love.

As you will discover in these pages, Gigi has embodied this Recipe for Success. Even through hardships she encountered while she set her dreams in motion, she overcame challenges, innovated through failure, kept the faith when no one believed in her, and found the strength to go on, even when she was blinded by exhaustion. Hers is truly a sweet story of success.

The Secret Ingredient is a delectably delicious read that will jump-start your passion for discoveringand rediscoveringyour dream. Its a timeless reminder to stand strong against obstacles both real and imagined, and instead, like Gigi, launch your dream with innovation, hope, and determination. And dont let fear hold you back. Never give up on yourselfor your dreams!

With Love, Debbi

Founder and Chief Cookie Lover

Mrs. Fields Cookies

I n the predawn hours of Thursday, February 21, 2008, the day I opened my very first Gigis Cupcakes store in downtown Nashville, I lay in bed alone, snuggled up in the fetal position in my grandmothers quilt, praying for the blessed relief of sleep.

Id just been through the most stressful twenty-four hours of my life, and I knew in my bones the new day about to dawn would be even worse. My stomach was doing somersaults, I was light-headed, and I could feel a panic attack coming on. But sleep had stubbornly refused to come, and here I was, unable to relax, every muscle in my body tight as a drumhead, the gritty metallic taste of adrenaline in my mouth.

I stared at my bedside clock.

1:47. It seemed as if it had been stuck at 1:47 all night.

I closed my eyes and thought about how much I like poetry and parables and self-help phrases. It makes me feel good to slap a Post-it up on the fridge that says You Can Do It. Id read Poor Richards Almanac and I knew Benjamin Franklin wrote, A watched pot never boils. Here in the privacy of my own bedchamber I was coming to terms with that aggravating reality.

I tossed and turned, rearranged the pillows and blankets, and rolled over so I couldnt see the clock. Maybe I could mentally transport myself someplace else for a little while. Conjuring an image of orange and gold poppies blooming in the High Desert near my childhood home, I imagined leaning into a warm breeze, the heat of the Antelope Valley floor rising up through the soles of my feet. I lay still for as long as I could, breathing evenly, trying to release the tension from my arms and legs.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally turned back over to check the clock.

1:49.

I should have slept like a log. Wednesday had worn me out. As my small team readied the first Gigis Cupcakes for its opening, I began the day working my regular job cleaning houses for Gigis Cleaning Company, which Id founded in California as an ambitious fifteen-year-old.

I cleaned an apartment and a huge mansion in Belle Meadethe Beverly Hills of Music City. Toilets, showers, marble floors, ovens, and laundry rooms blurred together as I motored along on autopilot. At four oclock I raced downtown to meet my plumber, whod just finished outfitting the new store. Together we checked all the sinks, drains, water lines, and restrooms. I owed him $350, but as I wrote him a check I told him, Dont cash that til Monday. I just made a deposityou gotta wait for it to post. He looked at me a little funny. He knew I was teetering on the edge financially. My homegrown plan to step up from the housecleaning business into the retail cupcake business had raised quite a few eyebrows. Gigis Cupcakes would literally make or break me.

After the plumber left, I looked around the store. At first glance, it didnt look like wed be ready to open the next morningit really didnt. I tried not to freak out, and I reminded myself that the biggest pieces of the puzzle were already in place. The paint was dry, light fixtures were shining on refrigerated cases and appliances, custom countertops were ready for action, there was a brand-new floor, and baking tools and ingredients were poised in my glistening new kitchen. I watched my gung ho father, Terry, putting tables and chairs together while my mother, Ann, dutifully orbited the cheery space dust-busting little spots here and there. All was clean white, soft pink, bright olive, gleaming glass, and chrome. I was thrilled and overwhelmed that my dream was about to become a realitybut I honestly couldnt believe I had gotten this far.

My old friend Ted, a get er done general contractor who had worked hand in glove with me to bring Gigis to life, dropped by to wish me luck. He could see I was nervous, but he murmured some reassuring words and patted me on the back. He handed me an envelope and quietly said, Remember, Ill tear this up if you marry me.

The matrimonial reference rang an alarm bell. I opened the envelope and saw Teds final contractors bill, which in all the craziness Id kind of forgotten about. The bill was for $15,000, but it might as well have been $15 million, considering that after the plumbers check cleared Id have only $33 in my checking account.

Id already bought, begged, borrowed, and stolen just enough to open the 995-square-foot shop, and I wasnt quite sure yet how I was going to pay my employees, keep the lights on, and buy groceries. Stepping out on faith was a phrase long popular in my entrepreneurially minded family, and I had staked my entire future on this new project. I had a plan A, but Id blissfullymaybe even willfullyignored the need for a plan B.