If you really know me, you know I’m an introvert. An anxious one, too.
And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. It gets uncomfortable when people respond to that with, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
I’m not. It’s just who I am. Which makes Show season a little strange for me.
A few weeks before every show, I start to panic. Is everything going to come together? Are people going to come? Is this somehow going to be the end of Sapana?
I know, completely irrational. Ask anyone in my family or my close friends though ... they will tell you that this is where my brain goes.
I also have to start gearing myself up for three weeks of talking to people. Lots and lots and lots of people. And, I have to accept one other fact:
At some point during every show, I am going to make at least one fairly significant social mistake.
It’s inevitable.
Last show, I accidentally took two allergy pills one morning and then proceeded to ramble like an absolute idiot to two women in the store. I realized I was rambling, so naturally I tried to fix it by apologizing and explaining why I was rambling, which, as you might imagine, made everything considerably better (right ....)
Sweet Emma was standing behind them giving me the universal signal for: Shut. It. Down. She sent me home afterward.
The show before that, I somehow got myself stuck in the red carpet area of Modern Marla and Laura Goodson’s fashion show while I was trying to find my friends. I suddenly realized people were looking at me, had a tiny panic attack and started talking incessantly to a complete stranger who happened to be wearing one of my favorite Sapana coats.
I still replay both of these moments in my head and cringe.
There will undoubtedly be another one this show.
That’s just me. That’s what you get.
And after Show, I disappear.
I try to find 24 or 48 hours when I don’t have to talk to anyone. I sleep. I hide. Maybe I escape for a spa day with my daughter. I reclaim whatever little pieces of my social battery are still hanging on.
So here is the strange part:
As Show gets closer and I’m preparing myself for all that interaction, I’m also genuinely excited about it.
Because of the people. Because of this little town.
Outside of Show, Round Top is a tiny, sleepy Texas town. And, I absolutely love it.
I love my drive in past cows and farms and irrigation systems. I even kind of love getting stuck behind a tractor. It reminds me of where I grew up and where my family came from.
I grew up in a small, agricultural community and I was convinced there wasn't any creativity there. Looking back now, I think that was mostly the stubborn teenage mindset of someone who desperately wanted to leave and see something else.
Because. looking back - I realize it was everywhere.
You have to be creative in a rural community. You have to be resourceful. You have to make things work with what you have. You fix things. You repurpose things. You invent things because the thing you need isn't conveniently five minutes down the road.
You see that ingenuity in Round Top.
There are people whose families have been here forever. There are artists and designers and collectors who moved here not because of Show, but because they fell in love with the quiet, the landscape, and the pace of life.
Even outside of Show season, I see it in the people who wander into our store and in the community. There seems to be this shared appreciation for things that are interesting and handmade and creative.
And then Show season comes.
Holy smokes ...
Somebody opens the gates and suddenly thousands and thousands of people pour onto this little stretch of Texas farm road.
And they are creative, too.
Artists. Designers. Musicians. Chefs. Makers. Shop owners. Curators.
And then there are the people who simply love all of those things.
People who express themselves loudly through what they wear and people whose creativity might only show up in the quiet confines of their own homes.
And every single one of them has a story.
The stories might be my favorite part
During Show, you'll find yourself standing shoulder to shoulder with someone who has a story you would never expect. Sometimes you get lucky enough to hear it.
One evening, a gentleman and his wife were in the showroom. They were absolutely lovely. She was trying on coats, having the best time, and he seemed perfectly happy just sitting back and watching her enjoy herself. Somehow, in the middle of all of this, he mentioned a series on Netflix.
Coincidentally, it was the exact show I had been binge-watching every night that week.
In true Jolie fashion, I interrupted him, and proceeded to give him my entire rundown:What I thought about the show. What I thought about the characters. The actors. What was working. What I was invested in.
He just sat there and very kindly listened to me.
And then, somewhere in the conversation, I learned that he was the producer of the show.
Of course he was.
Thankfully, I really liked it.
I think about that night all the time because that is Round Top - it also happens to be another story of mine that I still cringe over.
You just don't know who is sitting on the couch with you.
Some of my favorite Show moments happen in the showroom at the end of the day on the couch in our store. Someone has a bottle of water. Someone else has a glass of rosé. We're all tired. Nobody is really shopping anymore. We're just talking.
And suddenly you find out how someone got here. Or what they're making. Or where they live. Or why they bought that weird thing they're carrying around.
Sometimes you never get to hear the story.
That's when my brain really goes into overdrive.
I'll be standing in a booth next to someone or watching people walk through the store and wonder:
Who are you?
Where did you come from?
Why are you here?
What are you going to do with that enormous papier-mâché giraffe?
I make up entire lives for people.
Probably incorrectly.
But that's part of the fun.
Three weeks of sensory overload
Round Top can be three weeks of intense, nonstop sensory overload.
At least if you let it be.
And I do.
My eyes are constantly scanning the crowds, the stalls and the fields for the fun, the funky, the old, the colorful, the weird and the completely unnecessary thing that I suddenly cannot imagine living without.
I'm watching what people are wearing.
I'm looking at displays.
I'm listening to conversations.
I'm looking at old things and new things and things someone dragged out of a barn somewhere and somehow made beautiful again.
It is a lot.
And because I am who I am, there are also days when I have to shut it down.
I walk by myself.
I look at things quietly.
I get to the store early, sip my coffee, vacuum the floor and take a few deep breaths before anyone gets there.
That's the other thing I wish people knew about Round Top:
It doesn't have to be chaotic if you don't want it to be.
You can do Round Top loud.
There are parties and concerts and dinners and events almost every night. You can wear the outfit. Take all the pictures. Stay out late. People-watch at the bars. Be one of the first people through the gates at Blue Hills or Marburger and make a mad dash for the thing you've been stalking on Instagram.
That Round Top is incredibly fun.
But you can also do it quietly.
Come on a Sunday, which I think is one of the loveliest days to wander.
Grab a donut and take your time looking through soft, chippy, weird, beautiful old things.
Come when it rains - shopping at The Arbors is the best on those days ...
Yes, you're going to get wet running from tent to tent. But once you're inside, you're dry and everything feels different. The tent flaps are closed. It's a little darker. The vendors seem to slow down. People linger longer.
There isn't one correct way to do Round Top.
A few more weeks
We're just a few weeks away now.
I'm already excited.
And nervous.
And wondering if everything is going to come together.
And yes, probably somewhere in the back of my mind wondering if this will somehow be the end of Sapana.
Again: completely irrational.
But mostly I'm thinking about the people.
I hope I get to see you.
I hope I get to meet you.
If we've met before and I don't remember your name immediately, please don't take it personally. I mix up my own children's names. Half the time I don't know where my phone or car keys are.
Give me a minute.
It'll hit me while we're talking.
Or three days later in the shower.
I'll probably remember the coat we looked at together before I remember your name.
Also, be prepared for me to screw up socially at least once. I don't mean to. I don't intend for it to happen. But it will, and I promise I'll replay it in my head for the next five years.
We are genuinely excited to see you.
Come in - wait out the rain. Enjoy the air-conditioning (or the heater, because Texas weather). Sit on the couch. Have a glass of wine or a bottle of water while you wait for your dinner reservation. If you see our lights on in the evening, we are still there - that's your invitation.
Round Top during Show is pretty magical.
But I don't think it's really because of the shopping.
It's the people.
Be patient. Be kind. Start conversations. Be open-minded about who you start them with. Because somewhere in those fields, tents, bars, restaurants, booths and little shops are some of the most interesting people you haven't met yet.
People that even this anxious introvert doesn't want to miss out on meeting.