There are two versions of what happened to the Cleveland Flea, the beloved open-air markets that proliferated in the 2010s and sold fancy lemonades, handmade goods and vintage clothes. Founder Stephanie Sheldon says the business got too big too fast, and after seven years of exhaustion and abuse she was left feeling “undone” and had to take a break. The Internet says she was a “grifter” who had poor customer relations skills, got greedy, drove the Flea into the ground and absconded to Turkey with $100,000 in federal pandemic loans.
Sheldon did go to Turkey, but she is back living in Chicago now, no extradition needed. She’s working on slowly launching a new startup, called the Slow Startup. I caught up with her via Zoom to find out what happened with the Flea and learn about her new business. I tell her I’m going to record, and she asks me to send her a copy.
“I feel like I’ll say a lot of cool things,” she says.
Slow Startup is her response to what she found to be a very “dehumanizing experience” running the Cleveland Flea. She initially thought the Flea would attract a few thousand shoppers, but it quickly ballooned to an estimated 10,000 visitors.
The events, which began in 2013, helped launch many of the city’s most successful entrepreneurs, including Fount, Oceanne, Brewnuts and Mason’s Creamery. Sheldon watched these businesses flourish while others floundered. She wanted to understand why some made it but others didn’t. She also saw the toll the startup grind took on her vendors and herself.
Slow Startup is about “knowing your capacity” she says, “not oppressing your body” and “nurturing your business so that it can be something of value to the world.” She tells me that most entrepreneurs spend much of their time suffering and that “business needs to be joyful and not this heavy burden all the time.” Consulting about 20 clients, she also plans to launch group sessions, retreats abroad, a book and maybe a Flea reunion.
Sheldon says she learned a lot running the Flea, spending sleepless nights working on events where disgruntled customers and vendors would take their frustrations out on her.
“I never got to be a human in my business,” she says. “That was unfair, but I sorta did it to myself. I allowed it.”
In December 2019, she announced that the Flea was taking a year-long hiatus. The following month, she posted on Facebook asking for feedback on what folks would like to see at Flea events when they eventually return.
Asking the Internet for feedback is like asking a child if they like the dinner you made them. You might not like what they have to say. The page has been deleted, only a few screenshots remain of some of Sheldon’s salty responses. In one post, Sheldon wrote: “Not looking for your business criticism, friend. Looking for what you want to eat, drink, see, experience. Keep your comments to that.” In another she tells commenters, “You’re NOT our boss. You are our co-collaborators, and your job is to buy stuff and support your local businesses (including us).”
Sheldon got offended, and the people she responded to got offended, and in the end someone called BuzzFeed News, where an anonymous vendor told the outlet Sheldon (who identifies as “very progressive”) reminds them of “people like Trump.”
“It’s not that I don’t accept criticism from people who love me, but I don’t accept criticism from people who hate me,” Sheldon says of the incident. “That’s different. That’s what was filling those comments, people who were like, ‘This is my chance to be shitty person,’ and I’m just unavailable for that.”
I tried to get in touch with former members of “Team Flea.” Nobody wanted to go on the record. Multiple people said I should talk to Liz Painter, now of City Goods, including Sheldon who introduced us via email, but Painter politely declined to comment. One former Flea vendor declined to comment as they “wouldn’t have anything positive to contribute” and even asked that their company’s name not be included in any articles about Sheldon or her new business. But others would love to see the Flea return.
“I know things were a little controversial, but to me, the Flea was such a huge part of Cleveland,” Oceanne owner and creative director Anne Harrill tells me sitting on a sofa in her sunny Detroit Avenue shop. “Summer without the Flea is not Cleveland anymore.”
Oceanne’s dainty gold jewelry was a persistent presence at Flea events, and Harrill credits the markets with her success. She believes the social media backlash to Sheldon got out of control.
“You did not have to call freaking BuzzFeed,” she says. “This is not news. Somebody decided to shut down something and kind of make a fool of herself. That happens daily. I hope that if one day I make the wrong decision, people aren’t going to throw rocks at me.”
Harrill says vendor fees had increased from $75 at the beginning of the Flea to about $600 at the end, pricing a lot of smaller businesses out. Customers were also grumbling about rising entrance fees.
Sheldon says rates were “directly related to how much it cost to run the thing. It was not related to how much I wanted to get paid.”
Harrill also had concerns about “invading” urban neighborhoods where many local vendors could not afford to participate. Nonetheless, it provided stability and a steady source of income for many small businesses, and Sheldon had a “great eye, a great aesthetic.” Plus, Harrill says, they were fun.
Brewnuts co-owner Shelley Pippin calls those peak Flea years a “magical moment” and says the markets were part of a Cleveland renaissance that also saw many urban neighborhoods revitalized.
“We realized what an awesome opportunity that was for us. I don’t think I ever felt the need to try to ask for it to be something more or different,” she says. “Some vendors had bad experiences or had gripes that have come out, but that was not my experience.”
She says they still have customers come in and tell them they first got hooked on Brewnuts at a Flea event.
While Oceanne, Brewnuts and others have done well, Sheldon says she left the Flea broke. She took out two Paycheck Protection Program loans totaling about $100,000. The PPP loan program has been criticized for doling out billions in unnecessary loans, but Sheldon says that the business was still operational despite taking a break and that she used those funds to cover her remaining business expenses, including rent on two large spaces, her salary and the salary of two employees. Records show that both of Sheldon’s loans have been forgiven by the government.
During the pandemic, she posted about missing the Flea and brainstorming ideas for pandemic-friendly alternatives, but they didn’t materialize. Around the same time, she says a major deal for a pop-up at a local lifestyle complex fell through, and she took a big financial hit.
The Flea may be gone for good, but a new “Cleveland Market” was recently announced on Instagram to be held on Aug. 3 in Tyler Village, a former Flea spot. The page even features pictures from an old Flea event, but Sheldon says she’s not involved in any way.
“I have thoughts, but mainly they’re about how I’m happy for vendors to have any opportunities to further their small businesses,” Sheldon says.
She’s focusing on the Slow Startup, hoping that will be a more positive entrepreneurial experience. Most of her clients are from Cleveland, and she hasn’t ruled out moving back one day.
“Cleveland is like my heart,” she says. “Cleveland had me. They were lucky to have me. I was so lucky to have them. That’s what I believe is true.”
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