The Customer Isn’t Always Right

The choke hold of the strawberry quilt coat

Like most of life’s curveballs, this one was totally unexpected. There I was, running my own business, making art from vintage quilts—as I’ve been doing for the past five years—when BAM! The worst customer ever lands in my inbox, demanding a refund.

When I first laid eyes on the strawberry quilt, my heart skipped a beat. I knew it was going to be something special. If you’ve been following me for a while, you know that the iconic red berry, topped with its green-leafed crown, has been part of my brand since day one. My grandmother, who taught me to sew, had a soft spot for all things strawberry—dishes, salt and pepper shakers, paintings, socks, even a pair of Keds. You name it. The icon for my Instagram is a close-up of a little sewing box she gifted me, packed with thimbles and extra needles for the pea-green Montgomery Ward sewing machine she gave me right before the pandemic. That was the beginning of it all.

Since launching Softpaw in 2019, I’ve had only three truly upset customers. Considering I’ve sold over 3,000 items through Stripe (not including custom work done outside my website), I’d say my odds are pretty good?

Me in a one of my quilt coats, back in 2020

The first complaint I ever received came when I was still finding my footing—probably only ten coats in. I had made a custom quilt coat from a vintage quilt that wasn’t fully finished—the batting, backing, and top weren’t even attached. If you sew, you know how tricky it is when three layers of fabric start sliding all over the place. To make matters worse, it was constructed mostly of a vintage satin silk fabric. I had no idea how to adjust my needle for different fabric weights, and I didn’t own a serger yet. My seams were raw, unfinished on the inside, and I was charging $200 for custom work.

The email came from the friend of the customer, absolutely tearing me apart. It was clear they had dissected every inch of that coat. “Do you even know what a French seam is? You didn’t backstitch? How dare you charge this much!” I was mortified. Devastated. Prior to that email I really did think I was doing a good job. I almost threw in the towel right then and there. I cried to my friend—who sews—asking, “What was I thinking?” The self-doubt I’d tried to bury came flooding back, and I felt like I was in way over my head. My business was growing faster than I could keep up, and it felt like I had to catch up to the quality of the prices I was asking and the expectations of my customers. The truth was, I was just trying to “fake it ‘til I actually learned how to make it.” I had no formal training, and I was mostly self-taught.

I sat on the floor of my bedroom, in front of my space heater, reading that email for the hundredth time. Finally, I realized I needed to changed my perspective. Instead of retreating into shame, I decided to respond honestly. I’d explain that the fabric was difficult to work with, that I was self-taught, and that I was sorry if my work didn’t match the value I was charging—but I would do better. I took that harsh feedback and turned it into motivation. I dove into YouTube tutorials, and over time, I got really fucking good at sewing. I promised myself that no one would ever have to send me an email like that again. I now mentally thank them for that harsh email, it propelled me in the right direction.

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Having spent almost a decade working in the service industry, I learned early on that sometimes, the customer is not always right. If a drunk guy is tossing crumpled up napkins at my ass while I’m reaching for a bottle of top-shelf liquor, I have the right to kick him out. Boundaries are allowed, I don’t have to put up with ridiculous behavior and I’ve seen how that “customer is always right” mentality can be abused.

That is where my policies come in. I’ve learned to protect myself while still maintaining a high standard for my work.

I’ve had customers machine wash garments I’ve made and try and return them destroyed. One person said they bought an item impulsively and actually couldn’t afford it, and wanted their money back? I’ve had people rush to buy reworked denim and then email me moments later saying they didn’t read the measurements and the item won’t fit them. Pre-therapy bartender in me would’ve told them to go to hell : ) , but the more evolved version of me offers to help by reposting the item on my story to help them resell it. I’ll be the middleman in facilitating the transaction, though I don’t handle the money side of things. “Just let me know where to ship it.” I’m not bending over backwards, but I do work with folks to figure it out.

I get it—small batch restocks can feel like a race to check out, especially when items sell out in under five minutes.

But here's the thing: There’s an entitlement that comes with the rise of big corporations like Amazon, where refunds and returns are expected without question. The idea that “the customer is always right” has been deeply ingrained, and many people expect that same treatment from small businesses. The truth is, I’m just one human, running a small business. I don’t have a warehouse full of stock and a team of employees handling everything. I rework damaged and distressed vintage quilts by hand. I sew the garments, photograph them, measure them, ship them, mend them, wash and soak them, answer emails, reply to DMs, create reels, post stories, and write detailed descriptions for each item. I ship within 3-5 days because I know how exciting it is to buy something you’ve been coveting. I want every customer to feel the same thrill of owning one of my pieces, and to receive it in a timely manner. I try my best in every way with this business. It’s a reflection of me directly, and I want to do good.

The second of many locations where I’ve sewn for Softpaw Vintage. I started out sewing in the basement until my roommate moved out. I took over her space and loved the lighting and wallpaper here.

The whole coat situation really hurt, and I’m still struggling to make sense of it. It was a major blow to my business during Christmas, and I’m still processing how something like this could even happen. Over time, I’ve heard countless stories from other small business owners who’ve gone through similar issues, so I know I’m not alone. It doesn’t seem fair.

As for the coat in question, if you haven’t seen it yet, you can check out the viral reel—currently at 3 million views and 40,000 likes. I still can’t fully grasp whether this is a huge deal, but my friends and followers assure me that it is.

Here’s the breakdown:

The customer purchased the Strawberry Quilt Coat from my website at 6:01 PM PST. My restock was at 6pm PST. Shortly after, she commented on my post about the coat (which had 5,000 likes and tons of lovely comments from people who wanted to purchase the piece) and mentioned she had entered the wrong shipping address at checkout. I asked her to email me the correct address. I shipped the coat the following day.

On November 21st, I received an email from her asking for a refund, claiming the coat was more damaged than expected. She admitted she understood my policies but was still pursuing a refund.

I responded by restating my policies and explaining that I wouldn’t be issuing a refund. I also reminded her that the coat was made from an old quilt, and some wear and tear is part of the charm. However, I offered to help her resell the coat through my platform by posting it on my stories. I outlined how she would need to have her profile public to make this work. etc.

There was no response.

Then, on December 8th, I discovered that $410 had been withdrawn from my Stripe account due to a chargeback, along with additional fees for four months of Substack subscriptions at $20 and dispute charges $27 per dispute. The Substack charge particularly stung—she had read my content, and yet, how does one get a refund for that?

I submitted evidence to Stripe, including photos of the coat and my policies, and was told I’d know by January 11th whether I’d won or lost the case.

By then, the money had already been withdrawn, so it felt like the system was automatically siding with the customer before any review of the evidence had even taken place.

I planned a two week vacation from social media. I was feeling depleted and needed a break for the holidays leading into the new year. I planned on doing a restock, but only promoting it through email. I deleted the app off my phone.

On December 23rd, I received an email saying I lost the dispute. Upon reviewing the fine print, I learned that I essentially lost because I hadn’t included a box for the customer to acknowledge any damage to the coat. I immediately added this feature to my website. I redownloaded Instagram, and posted the update.

The very next day, December 24th, I saw the coat posted for sale on a marketplace without mentioning any of the damage— and she even tagged me, referring to it as “a lovely piece.” This is what I would consider fraud and stealing. Profiting off of an item you already received a refund for, after complaining it was “unwearable” to get your money back? And then selling for the same price.

I reached out to her by email, offering to resolve the situation if she would just return the coat to me. We went back and forth, and when I shared a screenshot of the marketplace listing on my story, she threatened to get me for defamation.

Defamation, by definition, means damaging someone's reputation through false statements. But she was the one who publicly posted the coat for sale, outing herself in the process. Everything I shared was true.

I made the reel, and suddenly I was plugged back in. My nervous system was completely wrecked—it was all-consuming. As I watched it gain traction, I found myself responding to countless messages and comments. Meanwhile, Cory sat across from me at breakfast, and I barely touched my food, too busy refreshing my screen.

My followers went to the original post of the coat, and found her comment stating she put the wrong address. My notifications were flooded with tomato emoji’s, and while I did find this hilarious, I knew the right thing to do was to delete her comment. However, at that point people already found out who it was— and some ran with it.

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I contacted Stripe and spoke with someone who said they acted like a "server at a restaurant"— they didn’t make the decisions, they just “delivered” the service. I was told I could try contacting her bank, but once a dispute is closed, it can’t be reopened. I reached out to Chase, spoke to three different representatives, and got the same response. I even called the local police in her county, but since we’re in different states, they told me I needed to file a claim where I live. After contacting the Vancouver Police Department, I learned this was considered a federal issue, and I would have to take her to small claims court.

I then spoke to my lawyer friend. After breaking everything down, he advised that it would be more trouble and expense than the coat is worth. I wanted to pursue it because of the principle, but he made it clear that I could move on and focus on more positive things. He still sent me the link for the small claims court and said he would support me however I needed.

So, I filled out the necessary paperwork, but I was overwhelmed with the process. I couldn’t figure out how to sign it digitally, and after a couple of weeks of letting it sit in my browser, I realized I was just too mentally and emotionally drained to continue.

At that point, I had to ask myself: Is this worth my time? Energy? Money? Even writing this now, I wonder if THIS is worth it. The viral reel helped me gain followers, and I ended up selling more classes, which helped recover the financial loss from the coat. Should that be enough?

A proud moment for me, standing in front of 50 of my creations for my first ever market. May of 2021.

The comment section on the viral reel got intense. I’ve had to delete some pretty nasty ones, but I left up the ones questioning the value of my work or criticizing the price of the coat. I was even called a “liberal terrorist” and had my teeth mocked (I love my gap, so nice try). I’ve been online since Xanga and LiveJournal, so most of these comments just roll off me. If anything, I feel bad for the people who project their pain and anger onto others in this way!

The most common advice I got was to buy the coat back and “do the same thing to her,” but that’s not really how marketplace works? The seller has to engage with the buyer before a sale can go through, and once I posted the link, I’m sure she was bombarded with messages and won’t sell to just anyone.

I had some internet sleuths (not directed by me) dig into her history and found she runs multiple small businesses with policies similar to mine. Unlike me, she’s received negative reviews from customers claiming they never got their items.

So, where am I now? I’ve filed a claim with the CFPB, as recommended by several followers. Some people suggested I may need to file multiple claims, but I’m ready to do that if necessary. I could still pursue a small claims court case, but right now, I have so many positive projects I want to focus on—classes, wall hangings, a podcast, and more. I don’t want to let her disrupt my peace any longer than she already has.

I’ve struggled with feeling like I’m letting down my supporters—people who’ve been impacted by similar chargebacks—but at the end of the day, I want to keep my focus on building my business and not let this consume me. I hope in the next two weeks, I’ll have more answers, but for now, I’m prioritizing my well-being.

I never did get my two weeks off social media, but my birthday is next month and I plan on taking some actual time off <3

Thank you for your ongoing support and for following along with this journey. It means the world to me. And to anyone who feels the urge to spread negativity—remember, what we all learned in kindergarten, “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

The world needs more love, now more than ever.

-Taylor