This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Jatee Kearsley, the owner and pastry chef of Je T’aime Patisserie, which offers a “Black girl twist” on French pastries in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. It has been edited for length and clarity.
In April 2024, I sat in my bakery with my Bible study group and told them I had $2,000 in my bank account and no idea how I was going to pay my employees the next day.
When I opened my bakery a year prior, I knew it would be hard. I had taken out loans. I had put in my own savings. I understood that small businesses require money for everything: rent, ingredients, payroll, insurance, and taxes.
Still, nothing prepares you for sitting in your own store and realizing you might not be able to cover payroll. Then, the day after meeting with my Bible study group, everything changed.
We were featured on Righteous Eats, a social media feed run by Jaeki Cho and Brian Lee that features New York City restaurants. The video went viral, and by the following weekend, my bank account looked completely different.
Going viral was a blessing. I will never pretend it wasn’t. It changed the trajectory of my business. However, I don’t think people talk enough about what going viral does to your mental health.
For me mentally, I don’t want to go viral again. That might sound ungrateful, but it’s honest.
Going viral didn’t make the work easier
On a normal day before going viral, my team and I of about four, were making, on average, 200 croissants a week. After we went viral, demand shot up to about 200 croissants every other day.
I specifically remember selling four chocolate croissants the day before going viral and then 30 the day of. We make all types of croissants from scratch: chocolate, almond, ham and cheese, blueberry cheesecake, and more.
We laminate the dough, hand-roll each one, proof them, bake them, and fill them. Going viral didn’t make our team any bigger, and I had to loop in friends, family, and volunteers to help fill orders and deliveries.
There were weekends when it was just me and one other person in the bakery at 6 a.m., trying to keep up.
Other days, I was filling 160 mini croissants for catering orders on top of regular production. I’ve even hand-rolled croissants on my day off because there was no one else to do it.
Going viral brought more customers, but it also brought higher expectations
People would leave reviews saying they waited hours, only to find we were sold out. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. So I slept on a bench in the bakery for a week straight after going viral to make sure I was keeping up with the demand that was needed during that time.
There’s also the emotional weight that comes with virality. When we went viral the first time, it was exciting. It also meant strangers had opinions about everything: my prices, my neighborhood, the fact that I accept Electronic Benefits Transfer.
I accept EBT because I know what underserved, overlooked communities of people are dealing with. And I never wanted there to be a moment where someone walked into Je T’aime Patisserie and wasn’t able to afford it.
I specifically wanted Je T’aime Patisserie to be in a neighborhood where people don’t have things. Historically, Bed-Stuy is an underserved, overlooked food desert.
So, it was super important for me to make sure that my food impacts the neighborhood by providing high-quality, fresh pastries. People thought that accepting EBT was going to ruin my business, but it actually helped.
Everything I have achieved with my shop is because I accept all types of people in my store, including EBT and SNAP holders.
It’s not about the money or going viral
I know this is Business Insider, and we’re supposed to talk about numbers. But if I’m being honest, this has never been about the money for me.
If this were just about money, I would make different decisions. I would raise my prices more aggressively. I would stop worrying about whether a single mom can afford a croissant. I would probably choose a different neighborhood.
But I opened in Bed-Stuy on purpose. People told me my bakery “belonged” in Manhattan. I disagreed. I wanted someone who has never tried a fresh croissant or a quiche to walk into my shop and feel like they deserve it.
Financially, EBT makes up a small percentage of my revenue. But the support and gratitude from those customers mean more to me than the dollar amount ever could.
If I could run this business without making money, I would. Unfortunately, that’s not realistic in New York City. You need money to survive. But my passion has always been about helping people and impacting my community.
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