Last summer, my mom and I opened an antique booth together. Technically, it wasn't our first.
About 20 years ago, we had a booth on the square in Covington, Tennessee. At the time, we were both working full-time and quickly discovered that having an antique booth requires more than simply possessing a lot of antiques. You also have to have time to price them, stage them, restock them and generally keep the whole thing from looking like someone emptied an attic into a 10x10 space.
We didn't have that kind of time then.
Fast-forward a couple of decades. Mom is retired. I'm no longer working a traditional corporate job. And perhaps most importantly, we definitely have the inventory.
We both love a good treasure hunt.
Making Room for More Treasure
By last summer, I already had some experience selling in an antique mall. For a little over a year, I'd been sharing a booth with my friend Katie. Since we're both named Katie, naturally, that booth became The Katie Collective.
It was doing well, but Mom and I had accumulated plenty of things that didn't quite fit there. We both gravitate toward a farmhouse/cottage kind of style. Mom leans a little more Americana. I occasionally wander a little farther into the land of oddities.
We needed somewhere for all of it to go.
I'd been on the waiting list for another space in the same antique mall when one finally became available. The timing was terrible. It was a holiday weekend, I was headed out of town, and I wasn't remotely ready. So we threw a few things in the space and called it a start.
When I got back, Mom and I spent several hours putting the booth together. I focused on pricing and tags.
Mom made the vision come to life.
And The Fabled Fern was born.
Where Nostalgia Grows
We spent some time coming up with the name because we wanted it to mean something.
We liked the idea of lore. The things we sell had lives before they came to us. They've been in other homes, belonged to other people and have stories we'll probably never know.
We wanted the name to hint at storytelling and nostalgia.
And we both love ferns. What good Southern woman doesn't?
Eventually we landed on The Fabled Fern, with the tagline:
Where Nostalgia Grows.
A year later, that still feels exactly right.
Things We've Learned
Having an antique booth is more work than you might think.
That part wasn't exactly a surprise to me. I'd already learned it through The Katie Collective. What continues to surprise me is just how important it is to physically spend time in the booth.
Customers move things.
They leave things on the floor.
They bring things over from other booths and leave them in ours.
They leave trash.
So if you want your space to feel clean, inviting and intentional, you have to show up.
We've also discovered something interesting: every time we rearrange the booth, sales seem to pick up.
We don't even have to bring in new inventory. Moving things around is sometimes enough. An item that's been sitting unnoticed for weeks suddenly catches someone's attention when it's placed somewhere different. Which is good information heading into year two because, if I'm being fair, our booth still has essentially the same setup it had when we opened.
We've moved things as larger pieces have sold, but I'd like us to get much better about doing full resets, creating new vignettes and giving people a reason to see old inventory with fresh eyes.
What Sells? Your Guess Is as Good as Mine.
One of the funnier parts of selling vintage and antique items is discovering that what you think will sell and what customers actually buy are not necessarily the same thing. And it changes throughout the year.
For example, we cannot keep a candle snuffer.
Vintage? Sells.
New? Sells.
The same thing happens at The Katie Collective. Apparently, the people have spoken, and the people would like to extinguish their candles with a little dignity.
Meanwhile, I have an old butter churn that I thought someone would snatch up. Still there.
I bought several vintage travel cases and stacked them to make a little side table. I was convinced someone would love them. Still there.
There is no perfect formula.
The Flaw in My Business Model
There is also one fairly significant problem with the way I source inventory. I like almost everything I buy. Usually, that's why I bought it. My philosophy has basically become, if it doesn't sell, it was meant to be mine.
This is not a business strategy I would recommend.
There was a curio cabinet I absolutely loved. Unfortunately, I had nowhere in my house to put it, so I reluctantly took it to the booth. Then someone bought it. I was sad when I put it in the booth, and I was sad when it sold—which is a slightly ridiculous reaction when selling it was literally the entire point.
But I'll find another one. And maybe next time I'll actually have somewhere to put it.
A Mother-Daughter Side Hustle
When we first opened, the booth gave Mom and me another excuse to spend time together. These days, we don't actually make it there together as often as I'd like. Summers are busy. Life is busy. Sometimes neither of us gets there as often as we should.
But The Fabled Fern still gives us something that's ours.
We rarely get to go treasure hunting together, but we'll send each other pictures from estate sales. Look at this. What do you think? Should I get it?
We're generally drawn to the same things, although Mom gravitates a little more toward Americana while I'm more likely to bring home something slightly weird.
Somehow it all works together.
So...Does an Antique Booth Actually Make Money?
My definition of success for The Fabled Fern is pretty simple: Cover the rent.
I could rent a storage unit and put all this inventory inside, where the only people who would ever see it are the ones who happen across something I post online. Admittedly, that is a strong suit for me.
Or I can rent space in an antique mall, where people can see it every day.
Here's the best part: our booth rent is actually cheaper than a storage unit. And my sell-through rate is better.
I'm proud to say that during our first year, The Fabled Fern has sold enough every month to cover its rent. Some months, we've even made a little extra. For this particular side hustle, I'll call that a win.
Year Two
I'm not entering year two with grand plans to turn The Fabled Fern into an antiques empire. I'd just like us to get a little better at it. I want to be more organized. I want us to reset the booth more often. I want to create better vignettes and make the space feel fresh instead of simply filling holes when something sells.
Mostly, I want it to continue being what we intended it to be: a place filled with things that make you stop for a second because they remind you of something. Maybe it's a dish that looks like one your grandmother had. Maybe it's the craftsmanship of a piece of furniture made decades ago. Maybe it's something you can't explain at all. You just know you like it.
That's what draws me to old things in the first place.
So much of our world is disposable now. We buy things expecting to replace them. But so many of the pieces we find at estate sales weren't made that way. They were meant to last. They've already lived in someone else's home, held someone else's things and been part of someone else's memories.
And now, if we're lucky, they get to do it again.
That's The Fabled Fern.
Where Nostalgia Grows.