Conclusion: What We Built

I'm writing this from Austin, Texas, thirteen years after that first white Gildan t-shirt sold for $20. The Stupid Cancer store processed over 8,200 transactions and generated more than $215,000 in revenue during the four years I ran it. Those numbers tell one story about what we built.

But the real story isn't captured in revenue metrics or transaction counts. It's in the photos customers sent of themselves wearing our gear at doctor's appointments, cancer walks, and everyday moments when they wanted to make a statement about who they were. It's in the designers who submitted concepts because they connected with the mission. It's in the single mother in Florida who ran a promotional products company and became a trusted partner. It's in the systems we built that turned one person into a functional team.

The store succeeded not because I was an ecommerce genius—I wasn't—but because we built something people genuinely wanted to represent. And then we created the infrastructure to deliver on that promise reliably, sustainably, and joyfully.

The Principles That Mattered

Looking back across everything we built, certain principles emerge that transcended the specific tools, platforms, and tactics we used:

Create products you'd actually use yourself. I wore our shirts because I loved them, not because I had to. That authenticity showed in every decision I made about quality, design, and messaging. If you won't use what you're selling, why should anyone else?

See customers as community, not transactions. Jessica didn't just suggest extended sizing—she helped me understand a whole segment of our community we weren't serving. The customers who sent photos weren't just generating content—they were co-creating the brand with us. Every interaction was an opportunity to strengthen connection, not just complete a sale.

Build systems that multiply your effectiveness. Automation didn't make us less human—it freed us to be more human in the moments that mattered. Zapier handled the data entry so I could focus on relationships. The 3PL handled fulfillment so I could focus on strategy. Good systems don't replace people; they amplify what people do best.

Treat communication as relationship building. Every email, every social post, every customer service interaction was a chance to deepen connection with our community. We didn't just answer questions—we listened to what people needed and found ways to serve them better.

Learn from what you observe. The Italia Ricci post taught me about organic reach. The eTail East failure taught me about my own development gaps. The Bigcommerce layoffs taught me about industry instability. Watching the signs around you is as important as building new skills.

Stay mission-aligned while exploring capabilities. Building ecommerce expertise didn't take me away from mission-driven work—it made me better at it while creating new opportunities. The skills opened doors, but values determined which doors I walked through.

What Actually Sustained the Store

The store worked because of the intersection of several factors that rarely come together perfectly:

A bold brand that people wanted to represent. "Stupid Cancer" wasn't safe or committee-approved. It was exactly what our community needed to express how they felt. The provocative name gave people permission to be honest about their anger and frustration with cancer.

A community that wanted to find each other. Every product we created was a tool for connection. Wearing our gear signaled to other young adults with cancer: "I get it. You're not alone." The merchandise became a way for community members to identify each other in the world.

Systems that scaled without losing humanity. We built automation and infrastructure that handled the routine work, which created space for the meaningful interactions that actually built community. The technology served the relationships, not the other way around.

Quality that matched the promise. When someone started a conversation because of our shirt, that interaction reflected on our entire community. The products needed to look good, feel good, and last long enough to generate dozens of those conversations.

Authentic relationships with suppliers and partners. The Florida printer understood our quality standards. The warehouse team in Wilkes-Barre greeted us like our business mattered. The designers who submitted concepts connected with the mission. These weren't transactional vendor relationships—they were partnerships.

What the Store Taught Me

Building the Stupid Cancer store taught me things that shaped everything I've done since:

You can build significant things with limited resources. We didn't have venture capital or a dedicated ecommerce team. We had constraints, creativity, and commitment to serving our community well. Constraints forced us to be strategic in ways that unlimited resources never would have required.

Operations expertise is transferable across contexts. The skills I developed running an ecommerce store made me valuable in ways that went far beyond retail. Understanding systems, automation, customer experience, and sustainable growth applies to any organization trying to build something that lasts.

Community co-creation is more powerful than top-down planning. Our best products came from listening to what the community asked for. Our most effective marketing came from customers who genuinely wanted to share what we'd built. When you create space for community participation, people will help you build something better than you could have designed alone.

The work that feels like play is often the most valuable. Marketing felt like a game. Product development felt like creative collaboration. Building automation felt like solving interesting puzzles. When work energizes you instead of draining you, you'll do it better and sustain it longer.

Not everything has to last forever to matter. When I left in May 2016, the store didn't survive long without the systems knowledge and operational expertise that had made it work. That could feel like failure. But the relationships we built, the conversations we sparked, the community we strengthened—all of that continued beyond the store's existence. Sometimes the impact outlasts the infrastructure.

What Happened After

The store closed within months of my departure. The infrastructure kept running—the 3PL, the platform, the automation—but without someone who understood why each piece existed and how to evolve the systems, the operation couldn't sustain itself.

This taught me something important about the relationship between systems and operators. Good systems multiply human effectiveness, but they don't replace human judgment. The automation, the workflows, the infrastructure—all of it was designed to free me to focus on decisions that required creativity, strategy, and community understanding. When that human element disappeared, the systems alone weren't enough.

But the store's closure doesn't diminish what we built. For four years, we proved that nonprofits could build sustainable revenue streams that strengthened their mission rather than distracting from it. We showed that community-driven commerce could work. We demonstrated that one person with the right systems could build something significant.

Those lessons continued in Austin. The skills I developed running the store made me valuable to the Testicular Cancer Foundation and every organization I've worked with since. The confidence I gained from building something that worked gave me permission to tackle bigger challenges. The credibility I earned from sharing what I'd learned opened doors I didn't know existed.

The store was a chapter in a larger story, not the whole story. And that's exactly what it should have been.

For Anyone Building Something

If you're reading this because you're trying to build an ecommerce operation—whether inside a nonprofit or as an independent venture—here's what I hope you take away:

Start with something you'd use yourself. If you're not genuinely excited about what you're creating, that ambivalence will show in every decision you make. Build things you're proud to represent.

Listen more than you plan. Your community will tell you what they need if you create space for them to speak. The best ideas won't come from your strategic planning sessions—they'll come from paying attention to what people are asking for.

Build systems early, not later. Don't wait until you're overwhelmed to implement automation and infrastructure. The best time to build systems is before you need them desperately. Start simple, but start soon.

Quality compounds over time. Every interaction either builds trust or erodes it. Every product either strengthens your brand or weakens it. Consistency in quality creates reputation, and reputation creates sustainable growth.

Celebrate the wins, learn from the failures. The Italia Ricci post was a massive success. The eTail East speaking engagement was humbling. Both taught me valuable things. Approach everything as an experiment, track what happens, and adjust based on what you learn.

Watch for what energizes you. The parts of the work that feel like play are often signals about what you should be doing more of. Pay attention to which activities drain you and which ones give you energy.

Build for sustainability, not just success. A successful store that depends entirely on you isn't sustainable. Document your systems, distribute your knowledge, and build infrastructure that could function without your daily involvement.

What Building Things Builds in You

The most valuable outcome of building the Stupid Cancer store wasn't the revenue it generated or the community it served—though both mattered enormously. It was what building it built in me.

The confidence to try things I hadn't done before. The systems thinking that made me valuable across different contexts. The understanding that constraints force creativity. The relationships with suppliers, partners, and community members that taught me about building sustainably. The credibility that came from sharing what I'd learned publicly.

All of that came from saying yes to building something, even though I had no idea how to do it when I started.

That first white Gildan t-shirt with "Stupid Cancer" printed across the front wasn't just a product. It was an invitation—to myself, to our community, to anyone who connected with what we were trying to build—to create something that mattered.

The fact that thousands of people accepted that invitation, bought our products, wore them proudly, shared their stories, and helped us build something bigger than any of us could have created alone—that's what made it worth doing.

The Store Lives On

The Stupid Cancer store may not exist anymore as a functioning ecommerce operation, but what we built continues in ways that matter more than transactions:

In the photos customers still have of themselves wearing our gear during difficult times. In the conversations that started because someone saw our logo and recognized the community. In the designers who got opportunities to create meaningful work. In the relationships between community members who found each other through shared symbols.

And it lives on in me, in the skills and confidence and understanding that came from building something people genuinely wanted to be part of.

That's what we really built: not just a store, but proof that mission-driven commerce could work. Not just products, but tools for community connection. Not just revenue, but sustainable systems. Not just a job, but a foundation for whatever came next.

I'm grateful I got to build it. I'm grateful for everyone who helped make it work. And I'm grateful that the lessons from those four years continue to shape how I approach building anything that matters.

If you're starting your own journey—building a store, creating products, serving a community—I hope this book gives you permission to try things you haven't done before, to build systems that multiply your effectiveness, and to create something people genuinely want to represent.

Start with one product. Listen to your community. Build the infrastructure that lets you deliver on your promises. And pay attention to what building it builds in you.

The rest will follow.