Why Did The Lockdown Love For Independent Producers End?
I christened the different stages of lockdown ‘chapters’, a way of differentiating between those bewildering phases of eternal time. The Panic Chapter, the Sourdough Chapter, the Day-Drinking Chapter, the Neverending Ennui Chapter - the country united in confusing coping mechanisms.
Nestled somewhere between the Loving Furlough Chapter and Missing The Colleagues you Hated Chapter - there was a national movement. We rushed to support independent producers.
In the face of April’s stark news, the BBC reported that a fifth of small and medium businesses wouldn’t survive lockdown, we flew to purchase Biang Biang noodle-making kits, plant-pot crafting workshops and vegetable box subscriptions. And that was just me. As Boris Johnson (full name only for such a heinous character, please) fumbled around, we collectively hastened to the little guys. The small-timers we thought would always be there; making soap in their sheds and serving up local dishes from their tiny cafe. When the pandemic struck or should I say; when we all too slowly realised this wasn’t going away - we all came to the same conclusion. The little guy might not survive this, fuck, we might not survive this.
Businesses pivoted to the needs of their customers, we couldn’t go to them but they - or should I say the delivery driver - could. The Financial Times stated that small UK businesses were quick to switch to digital with tech adoption increasing exponentially throughout lockdown. The entrepreneurs of the UK switched up their services and they did it hella quickly. And so the online orders began.
Up and down the country modern-day tills (aka The Cart) rang as we rushed to support. Small businesses were booming, indie marketplace Etsy’s sales went through the (internet) roof. A Norfolk-based Etsy business reported sales during May-July increased by 987% compared to 2019. Of course, we supported Amazon too with their April sales forecasted at $10,000 a second. (Good old Jeff lined his pockets well).
The support of independent producers lasted roughly the same time as clapping for the NHS. Was the apathy for both related? Did the panic subside? Or did we just lose the momentum and energy to try to make a difference? We’d been clapping and shopping from our homes for weeks; the enthusiasm petered out.
We didn’t stop caring. In the face of our new dawn; we got scared and we got sad. Real-life got in the way or the new imitation of real life. The pandemic was long-haul and it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Our tenuous personal situations hit home a little harder and we didn’t reach for our wallets as often. We hunkered down - our very own midsummer hibernation.
We stopped baking, we stopped knitting and we stopped clapping. It was basics only as we ate peanut butter on toast for dinner to the soundtrack of Netflix, again. We got tired. We’re still tired, navigating the Covid landscape is really fucking exhausting. The drive caused by the panic of the First Chapter could only have lasted so long and we crashed with it.
As winter approaches, local lockdowns loom and a Christmas like no other is on the horizon; we have a chance to learn from the year behind us. Between the headlines screaming of the growing wealth of our billionaires and the collective togetherness we felt in April, we have an opportunity to make a change.
With markets missed and a British summertime basically non-existent there are many small businesses out there praying on a successful festive season. Of the lessons and rituals learnt this year - talking to our neighbours, shouting at Dominic Cummings on the TV and mask-wearing - lets make supporting our independent producers a habit. It’s time for a collective call to arms; let’s order the noodle kits and plant pot workshops and gift them to our loved ones. They’re probably going to need something to do in January anyway.
Written by Daisy Dobson
Northerner in Bristol, Daisy earns her pennies as a freelance copy and content writer. Founder of Studio Dee, in her spare time she runs wordsmithery newsletter Hello To My Legions of Fans, eats three meals a day and gets as much fresh air as possible.