Me, Inc. Read online

  DEDICATION

  To my mother, who taught me the value of a penny.

  To my family, Shannon, Soph & Nick, who taught me what life is all about.

  And to America for giving this little immigrant boy all the opportunities it gives to its native-born sons and daughters.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Foreword by John Varvatos

  Preface

  PART I: ME

  1

  A Young Entrepreneur

  2

  Coming to America

  3

  Discovering TV and American Culture

  4

  Discovering Junior Achievement and Learning About the Capitalist Business Model

  5

  My Early Jobs and Their Influence on Me as an Entrepreneur

  6

  Who Am I?

  7

  KISS

  8

  Learning About Branding and the Music Business

  9

  I Am an Entrepreneur

  10

  Gene Simmons Family Jewels

  11

  Philanthropy/Giving Back

  PART II: YOU

  12

  Who Are You?

  13

  You—The Me, Inc. Business Model

  14

  Role Models

  15

  Vacations, Holidays, and Other Wastes of Time

  16

  Priorities/Practice What You Preach

  17

  Single or Married? Career or Family?

  18

  Brilliant Stupid Ideas/Designing the Right Business Model for You

  19

  The Importance of Being Able to Sell Yourself and Tell Your Story

  20

  Speak English

  21

  Women Entrepreneurs

  22

  Kid Entrepreneurs

  23

  Failure: What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger

  24

  Investing

  25

  In Summary

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Gene Simmons

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  FOREWORD

  BY JOHN VARVATOS

  I grew up in a suburb of Detroit. Five children and my parents in a three-bedroom, one-thousand-square-foot bungalow with one little bathroom. In this humble setting, I learned about the importance of family. I also learned about the importance of independence, and the hard work needed to gain it.

  Paper routes, cleaning pools, cutting lawns, pumping gas—whatever it took to earn some cash to carve out my own identity in these tight surroundings. As early as I remember, it was music that provided me with the emotional space I needed and clothes that gave me an edge. My earnings went to the local record shop and clothing stores.

  When I was fifteen, I got a job in a men’s store, selling clothes and taking advantage of the employee discount. While others sold a single shirt, I was pulling together outfits and entire wardrobes for my customers, and making enormous commissions. At eighteen, I went to college and studied pre-med. I took out student loans and continued to work my way through school selling menswear. The pre-med curriculum turned into a science teaching degree. I was earning significantly more selling clothes than I could as a teacher, and so I decided to stay in fashion.

  At twenty-five, I partnered in opening a men’s store, and for the next three years became obsessed with learning everything I could about running a business, being a buyer and merchant, and creating a brand. While doing this, I was noticed by the president of Ralph Lauren, who offered me a job heading up their sales division in the Midwest. A year and a half later, I was asked to move to New York and run the sales for the entire men’s division. It was in this creative environment that, at the age of twenty-nine, a lightbulb went off and I discovered my true calling. I wanted to design the clothes that I had been selling for all those years.

  I took chances, risks, and pay cuts to follow this calling. Five years later, I was head of design for all Calvin Klein men’s brands. A few years after that, I returned to Ralph Lauren to head up men’s design—one of the biggest jobs in global menswear.

  In 1999 and in my forties, I left this amazing brand to start my own company, John Varvatos. With a fantastic team, we have created one of the top designer brands in the world. The road was, and continues to be, filled with bumps and bruises, but the rewards are worth the fight. I have been able to pursue and execute many of my passions: working with the biggest rock music artists on the planet, having my own radio show on Sirius XM satellite radio, designing a car for Chrysler, and publishing my first book on rock-and-roll and fashion. No one ever said it was going to be easy. Hard work, passion, vision, and continuing to raise the bar are all part of staying on top. Staying true to my vision and my brand is the golden rule.

  While Gene Simmons’s path has been quite different than mine, we share many similarities and I see in him a kindred spirit. We both have built brands that have unique identities and a clear DNA. We both have never forgotten where we came from. And just as important, our passion and commitment are stronger today than ever before. These values stand at the core of Me, Inc. and the hard-learned wisdom laid out here is a road map for success that anyone can benefit from.

  John Varvatos has become a household name. His fashions are everywhere. My son, Nick Simmons, ran into him at an event and relayed the message that Varvatos would welcome the opportunity to work with KISS. Soon after, KISS flew to New York to do a photo session and play a special invite-only show. Little did I know that, prior to meeting John, he had excellent taste—not just in clothing, but in costume. The photo above is John Varvatos on January 1, 2000.

  PREFACE

  The first question you may ask is, “Who does this guy think he is? And why is a rock star writing a business book?”

  Good questions. Keep reading.

  Before we begin, let me point out that this book is designed to have two separate sections.

  A “ME” section. As in ME, Incorporated.

  And a “YOU” section. As in, YOU, Incorporated.

  There’s a little bit of “ME” in “YOU,” of course, and there’s a little bit of “YOU” in “ME.” As it is with life. We’re not so different.

  At the end of each chapter in the “YOU” section you will also notice what I like to refer to as “The Art of More,” which takes the experiences and advice I share in the book and boils them down to thirteen principles for success. Why thirteen principles? For one, I don’t believe in luck as much as I do in hard work—but I’m also a fan of Sun Tzu’s classic, The Art of War, which was divided into thirteen chapters. So you can consider these principles and this book an Art of War for winning the battles of everyday life.

  You are welcome to skip my section (ME), and start reading your section (YOU). Or, you can read the book from the beginning—cover to cover. Both are fine. A word of caution, though: please don’t use my experiences as a template or a shortcut for the hard work and self-education you will need in order to become a successful entrepreneur. My experiences and my journey have been mine alone. I had to educate myself. And I had to figure out the maze that lay in front of me, in order to rise to the top.

  You will have to do likewise for yourself in order to rise to the top.

  Take notes.

  Ask questions.

  Have group discussions.

  Read the book with friends and family.

  Talk about it.

  Live it.

  “Just Do It.”

  As I sit writing this, KISS has just been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, by a landslide vote from fans. This comes on top of getting our own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and k
eys to numerous cities; being allowed to ring the bell at both the New York and Toronto stock exchanges—well, all of it becomes almost more than I ever thought was possible, when my mother and I first set foot on this hallowed ground.

  Though I was born in Israel, I can tell you that it’s America that has become the Promised Land. Not just for me, but for people of all walks of life, all skin colors, and all nationalities. I will be forever indebted to this country for allowing me to breathe free, dream big, and achieve anything I ever imagined I could. And I want to thank America and its people for allowing this little immigrant boy’s dreams to come true.

  Now, go out there and make YOUR dreams come true.

  PART I

  ME

  1

  A Young Entrepreneur

  “The secret of getting ahead is getting started.”

  AGATHA CHRISTIE

  English author and playwright

  If you’ve read my autobiography, much of this will sound familiar to you. However, even after we put our lives to paper, life moves on. I’ve gone through changes—with my family, my wife, and even the way I’ve chosen to view my distant past. All of the history you are about to read informed my identity as a businessman and an entrepreneur. So, even if you’ve heard it before, let’s turn the clock back and remember.

  Let’s start with ME.

  How did I get here?

  I was born in Haifa, Israel, on August 25, 1949, in a hospital overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. My Hungarian mother and father had survived World War II and were able to escape to Israel, barely six months after it became an independent state.

  My mother, Florence, was a survivor of the Nazi concentration camps. She was first imprisoned in the camps at age fourteen, and witnessed her mother and her grandmother walk into the gas chamber together. Her brother was also killed. My mother met my father, Feri Witz, in Jand, Hungary, right out of the concentration camps. In 1949, they were able to get to the new state of Israel.

  When I was about seven years old, my father walked out on our family. What followed was the realization that, without him, the only ones that my mother and I could depend on were ourselves. Once the rug had been pulled out from under us, it was up to my mother—and then, eventually, up to me—to make a living. A hard enough life lesson to learn, but one that I learned at a very early age.

  Life in Israel from 1949 through 1958 was hard. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment, with bullet holes in the walls from the various Israeli-Arab conflicts over the years. We didn’t have a television at home. In fact, I had never even heard of TV and couldn’t have imagined what it was.

  We didn’t have a bathroom. We had an outhouse, which was literally a hole in the ground. We didn’t have toilet paper. We used rags, which were then washed and reused. We didn’t have a bathtub or a shower stall. My mother would fill a metallic bathtub with water, pull it out into the sun to warm it up, and that was where I bathed. I had never heard of toothbrushes. Or toothpaste. Or tissues. When I finally learned that Americans used tissues, I was shocked to learn that you could blow your nose into a thin piece of paper and then throw it away. We used a handkerchief, and then we would wash it. Nothing was ever thrown out—we were dirt poor. We didn’t have a car, and at the time I couldn’t imagine anyone having one. You walked. Or you would take a bus. We didn’t have a telephone. We couldn’t afford one, so we didn’t call anyone.

  Food was rationed in Israel in the 1950s, because Israel was a new country (formed in 1948, the year before I was born). The infrastructure was in its infancy—running water was sporadic, and food was in short supply. There were certainly no brands as we are familiar with them here—bread was just bread. Butter was just butter. You’d get a certificate, and once a week you’d be allowed to purchase milk and a little bit of meat. No brand names, just milk and meat. You could also buy rice and bread, but I never saw brand names. All of the food at the grocery store was in big sacks. You would get a paper bag, or a newspaper, and then you would wrap up the food to take home. We didn’t have a refrigerator. We had an ice box, which was a piece of furniture that functioned essentially like a cooler.

  Despite the absence of luxuries in my early life, I was always happy. I still am. Growing up with little, it never took much to please me. My favorite thing in the world as a child was bread and jam. As long as I had my beloved bread with a heaping wad of jam on it I was happy. It’s still the bane of my waistline. When I eat breakfast now, and the toast and jam comes, I smear it on, and Nick, Sophie, and Shannon always tease me about it. But the jam and bread goes back to my childhood and is a subconscious reminder that I actually don’t need much to be happy, as long as I can sleep safely and soundly and have a full belly. Yes, I know this all sounds a little cornball, but perhaps it’s a good thought to bear in mind as you start your journey to reach your entrepreneurial goals.

  You actually don’t need much. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have it all.

  My early years of school in Israel were uneventful. I attended kindergarten and grade school. I played in the dirt with rocks. We ran around and laughed. It was a happy time.

  I have to confess, though, that I wasn’t all that keen on going to school. One day, I decided to play hooky and hid out under the wooden one-story school building, and stayed there until school let out. Then I went home. Of course, I wasn’t smart enough to pull the wool over my mother’s eyes, and she soon found out I had lied. I learned another hard life lesson: lying doesn’t work. In fact, I found out lying can be a pain in the ass. Literally.

  I was a loner, mostly. And still am. We lived in the small village of Mount Carmel (yes, that Mount Carmel, the one in the Bible), which was very close to the city of Haifa. My mother couldn’t afford to buy toys, and I was too young to care. I had a long stick and a rock, and those were my toys. I also had Mount Carmel—I could go hiking, and daydream. We couldn’t afford to have pets, either, but when I was six years old I had a scarab beetle that I kept inside an old-fashioned matchbox, which I filled with sugar granules. The beetle was as much a companion to me as a cat or dog; I used to talk to it.

  My journey as a young businessman, in this environment of minimal resources and opportunity, started out with a venture as small as you could imagine. One day, I’m not sure why or how, I came up with the idea of going up Mount Carmel and picking cactus fruit to sell to the people coming home on the buses that made their last stop at Tiraat HaCarmel, where we lived. I decided that I needed a partner and chose my friend Schlomo, a Moroccan boy my age who lived downstairs from us.

  That was another good life lesson. Often, you won’t be able to do it all yourself, so you will need to carefully pick a partner. Choosing the right partner is a very important decision, and can be the difference between success or failure. The person you choose should have the same work ethic as you do.

  Schlomo and I spent the entire day up on Mount Carmel gathering the cactus fruit and hauling it down the mountain to the bus stop. We put the cactus fruit in a vat filled with ice and water, which we borrowed from the local grocery store, and sold it to the people who were coming home from work.

  Both Schlomo and I felt a sense of purpose, a sense of pride, and a general feeling that we were doing something important. We didn’t realize that it was a business venture, and we wouldn’t have known what that phrase meant. But we did have a sense that if we worked hard, we might make money. And that was an exciting idea: making money.

  It still is.

  After a hard day’s work, we were thrilled to find that we had made a grand total of two dollars (I’m simplifying the amount to spare you the math of converting from Israeli shekels, which was the currency at the time). Other than sweat equity, that is, the work that we’d put in, we had virtually no costs. Therefore, the entire two dollars was our net profit. We divided the amount, leaving me with one dollar. Remember, in 1956 a dollar was a decent amount of money. Today, the equivalent could be ten dollars, depending on how you adjust for the rate of inflat
ion and monetary exchanges.

  It was getting dark. Schlomo and I returned the vat that held the cactus fruit, and we hurriedly started the climb back up to where we lived. On the way, I stopped by an ice cream store and bought myself an enormous ice cream cone for two cents. To this day, I still vividly remember the taste. It was the most delicious ice cream cone I have ever had because it was mine and I bought it with my own money. Nothing tastes as sweet as something you’ve earned. And I still had a bulging pocketful of coins left.

  When I got home, my mother was upset that I had been gone all day. Then I took out the coins in my pocket and put them on the table, and my mother stopped talking about how worried she’d been. The astonished look on her face will forever be etched in my mind. She cupped both hands over her mouth, eyes wide open, gave me a big hug, and said, in a hybrid of Hungarian and Hebrew, “That’s my little man.”

  At that moment, although I was stinging from the cactus pricks that covered my hands, arms, and face, I knew that work was good. Work resulted in money. Work and money resulted in food. Work and money resulted in happiness.

  And that is the most profound capitalist lesson I have ever learned, though I was far too young to understand it at the time. All I knew was that I was proud. My mother was proud. And I had a huge ice cream cone I had worked to earn.

  By the sweat of thy brow, the fruits of thy labor, or words to that effect. They’re in a book my people wrote. It’s the biggest-selling book of all time. Maybe you’ve heard of it: it’s called the Bible.

  With Me, Inc. I’ve written my own bible. One that I hope you’ll find useful. Someday, you will write your own.

  2

  Coming to America

  “There is no greater country on earth for entrepreneurship than America. In every category, from the high-tech world of Silicon Valley, where I live, to university R&D labs, to countless Main Street small business owners, Americans are taking risks, embracing new ideas and—most importantly—creating jobs.”