Years ago — a market stall, a table covered in crochet lions and bunnies, and a stack of paper price tags I'd written and rewritten by hand. A measurement in centimetres, a dollar sign, a number crossed out more than once. That's the honest version of pricing. Not a spreadsheet. Not a formula pulled from a business course. A woman with a pen, guessing, adjusting, guessing again.
If you're standing at the start of your first product and you have no idea what to charge, here's what I actually know after twenty years of pricing things — restaurant plates, bubble tea, rental units, and crochet toys on a market table.
Start with what it actually costs you
Before you think about profit, add up two things honestly: materials, and your time. Materials are easy to undercount if you forget the small stuff — thread ends, packaging, the ribbon you tied around it. Time is where almost everyone lies to themselves. Not because they mean to. Because two hours sounds better than four, and four sounds better than admitting a piece took an entire evening after your kid was in bed.
Write down the real number. Not the number that makes you feel efficient.
The markup isn't optional, it's the whole business
Once you know your real cost, multiply it by 2 to 2.5. Not because that number is magic, but because it's the difference between a hobby and a business. That markup is what covers the things a materials receipt doesn't show: your electricity, the tools that wore out, the platform fees, the slow month where nothing sold. A business that only covers materials isn't a business. It's a very patient donation.
Underpricing doesn't help anyone, including your customer
There's a version of this that feels generous — charging less because you're new, because you feel guilty asking for more, because you assume no one will pay full price for something made by someone who's still learning. I understand the instinct. I don't think it holds up.
A price that's too low doesn't just cost you money. It tells the customer the item isn't worth much either. Handmade goods get judged partly by their price — too cheap reads as low quality, even when the craftsmanship is good. You're not doing anyone a favour by underpricing. You're just working for less while accidentally undervaluing your own work in the customer's eyes too.
When you genuinely don't know, look sideways, not down
If the formula still leaves you unsure, look at what comparable makers charge for comparable work — similar size, similar materials, similar skill level. Not the biggest shop in the category, and not the cheapest one either. Somewhere in the honest middle. That's your starting reference point, not your final answer.
Give yourself permission to be wrong at first
The price you set this month isn't permanent. It's a starting point you're allowed to revisit once you know more — once you've made the thing ten times instead of twice, once you know how long it actually takes when you're tired, once you've heard what customers say when they see the tag. Pricing isn't something you get right once. It's something you keep adjusting as you learn what your work is actually worth.
That's what those scrap-paper tags were, really. Not indecision. Just honesty, written down, one guess at a time.
If you're still working out whether this business is worth starting at all, The Workbook walks through that earlier question. And if you're standing at the very beginning of it — here's where I started too.
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