Turning Pink (cont.)

How a year with Mary Kay turned a shy writer into a gutsy moneymaker. It wasn't the lipstick.

And I’m making new connections, too. Marti’s Miracle Makers become instafriends. I’m seeing a core group of about seven women sometimes three times a week at Success meetings, speaker events, and parties. They are teachers, stay-at-home moms, saleswomen, and retirees, and with our common goals, we become like a support group. Sharing the red-hot dance will do that to you.

The more “girlfriend time” I spend with the women, the more I get to know and appreciate them. They use crockpots and host potlucks. They bring homemade jam to meetings to share with the Miracle Makers, or T-shirts that their kids made. They volunteer to watch one another’s children. I realize that something had been missing in my life, and how positive wholesomeness feels.

IN MY NEW ROLE as saleswoman I must also get out of my shell and schedule parties of my own. My very first party is my own “debut.” Much as a debutante’s coming-out party announces her entrance into society, my debut is a celebration of my position in Mary Kay. It’s a way of proclaiming to the world, “Now selling eye shadow!” Because I’m still so green, Marti volunteers to emcee the party. This means that though I’ll plan the soiree, she’ll do all the talking while I simply pass around the lotion.

Every consultant plans her debut differently. Some invite 50 of her own friends, while others find a friend who will play hostess and then invite her friends to the party. The choice was a no-brainer: option two. If I had invited 50 of my own friends then I would have immediately squeezed the proverbial foundation tube dry. Who would I call upon the next time? Whereas if a friend hosts a party for me, she introduces me to an entirely new group of potential customers, leaving my friends in a cosmetic rainy-day fund.

I don’t even have to call in a favor to find a host. My friend Jennifer knows that if she hosts a party she’ll receive her choice of a free gift or drastic discounts on products. So as soon as she learns of my Mary Kay involvement she volunteers. On a Sunday afternoon I show up to her two-story home. I’m wearing a black beauty jacket—picture a lab coat but cuter—with pink buttons and pink “Mary Kay” embroidery. The house smells of fresh chocolate chip cookies, which, along with other snacks, fill the kitchen.

Marti pulls up in her pink Cadillac and totes a rolling suitcase full of beauty products into the living room. On a table we set up a comely display of lotions. Eight women arrive, and each of them comments on the pink Cadillac outside. smiles and says, “I can teach you how to get one, too.”

It’s the perfect note to start the party. Marti introduces herself and then me, before going around the room and asking the women to share why they think I will make a good Mary Kay beauty consultant. She then invites them to look around the room and think about which one of them would make a good sales-woman. “Mary Kay said there’s at least one Mary Kay consultant at every party.” Marti grins and lets the message sink in.

Then it’s showtime. After five years in Mary Kay, Marti has her speech down. “The United States has declared a war on terror,” she smiles sweetly. “Well, Mary Kay has declared a war on wrinkles.” As the women titter, I remind myself to develop shtick. “We call these our mini facelifts,” she coos as I pass around samples of TimeWise Day and Night solutions, followed by a battery of other hydration tools.

It’s clear to me why Marti has that pink Cadillac. She believes each and every word she’s saying, and she makes me believe it, too. She really loves these products. Can I love these products?

Between moisturizers Marti talks about the benefits of joining Mary Kay; the Cadillac is at the top of the list. She explains the recruiting process: While selling products is one of the goals in Mary Kay, “building your team” makes the real money because you get a percentage from what your team members order from the company.

This may sound like a certain flat-sided structure with a point on top, but each and every Mary Kay lady who’s serious about her business will tell you within minutes of meeting, “It’s not a pyramid.” They call it “direct sales” rather than multi-level, because each consultant, from the bottom to the top, purchases inventory directly from the company— there are no uplines or downlines. Pyramids have no tangible end product, whereas Mary Kay has more than 200 different end products. But nobody’s going to get rich selling firming eye cream. Every time a consultant signs someone up, she receives a percentage of what her recruit spends on inventory. And that, rather than actual sales, is how women reach the top in Mary Kay.

The more people you recruit and the more products you sell, the more prizes you get, the Cadillac being the grand-mamma of them all. It’s part of the enduring philosophy of Mary Kay Inc.: Rewards and recognition will motivate sales. With mink coats, diamonds, and of course the infamous pink Cadillac, Mary Kay motivated her team and thanked them for it. It was a winning combination of incentives and inspiration that awakened women’s hopes and dreams, coupled with the sense of community and support to make it happen. A lot of managers out there would be wise to follow suit.

And if the ladies she was courting weren’t after cars and they weren’t after praise, Mary Kay had a secret weapon in reserve. “When you join Mary Kay,” Marti adds, making it sound like an afterthought, “you receive a 50 percent discount on all of your products.”

A rumble of interest goes around the room. Marti whispers to me, “We’re going to get you some team members.”

A few minutes later Marti asks if anyone would like to make a purchase. Dawn, a stay-at-home mom who I swear wasn’t a plant, pipes up. “Why spend $50 today on different items when for $100 you can have a starter kit and then get 50 percent off whatever you want?”

My first official recruit is born. Dawn joins my team.

Following the party, we clean up and deconstruct the event. Nobody bought anything, but I don’t let that get under my skin (or my Ivory 204 foundation). I’m invigorated by the possibilities: Two other women also expressed interest in joining! The natural high has me twittering on and on. Mostly I’m in disbelief that we just spent two hours talking about and trying on moisturizer. I can’t remember the last time I hung out with a group of women I didn’t know on a Sunday afternoon playing with makeup, because, well, it had never happened. And the best part? It was fun.

I LEARNED an important lesson at my debut: Those lipsticks don’t sell themselves. That’s why at this week’s Success Meeting we’re talking about how to excel at “warm chatter”—MK code for walking up to strangers and trying to sell them stuff. The key, Marti tells us, is to say something that makes the stranger feel good. Follow that up with something to make yourself vulnerable. Then offer them something so they feel as though they’ve benefited from the interaction.

My palms sweat at the thought of it. Warm chatter feels creepy. As a consumer, I have never responded positively to the random approach of a salesperson. When strangers veer toward me in public, I lengthen my stride. And if I receive random compliments—“You have such beautiful skin!”—I get suspicious.

I’m not alone. Most of the women in the Miracle Makers unit avoid this part of Mary Kay. It’s what’s given us the reputation of yipping Yorkies barking relentlessly at women’s ankles. But today Marti’s having us role-play. Think group therapy with a sales bent. I get up in front of the half-dozen women in attendance and pretend that I’m shopping in a shoe store. Emily, a petite and bubbly blonde woman, joins me. “I always have trouble finding shoes,” I say, pretending to rummage around. “I have such big feet.”

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