The Thing Algorithms Can’t Sell You
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There’s a moment at the market that I live for.
Someone stops at my booth. They pick up a bag — runs their thumb across the seam, holds it open, looks inside. And then they look up at me and say, “You made this?”
“I did,” I say.
And something shifts. Not just in them — in me too. Every single time.
July marked four years since I first pulled up at the Royal City Summerfest with a car full of handmade bags, candles, and soaps, (yes, I use to make soap) and absolutely no idea what I was doing. I had a tent, a couple of folding tables, and a box of things I’d made because making them had kept me sane.
I didn’t really know if anyone would stop.
They stopped.
Four years later, I’m still showing up to markets. Different tablecloth. A lot more bags. No soap. But a lot more confidence. And the same feeling when someone reaches out and touches something I made. Like the hours of cutting and pressing and sewing were worth something to someone who wasn’t me.
That feeling — I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.
There’s a lot of talk right now about AI shopping. Recommendation algorithms. Tools that curate gift lists based on what you bought two Christmases ago and what your friends clicked on last week. Retail is going somewhere faster and more automated than most of us were ready for.
And I don’t think that’s all bad. But I do think something gets lost.
You cannot replicate a real conversation at a real table.
When you shop online — even at a small handmade shop like mine — you’re looking at photos I took. Words I wrote. My best guess at what you need to know before you hit add to cart. That’s a lot of trust. And I’m grateful every time someone extends it.
But at the market? You hold the thing. You feel whether the handles fit your hand. You ask me why I chose this fabric, and I tell you about the moment I saw it on the bolt and knew immediately. You find out that the hand cream smells different on your skin than it does in the jar. You walk away knowing something real.
That’s not an algorithm. That’s a person. And it matters.
Around 70% of consumers still make purchases in physical spaces — not because they have to, but because something about the experience delivers something a browser tab can’t. I believe that number. I’ve seen it every Saturday I’ve ever spent at a market, including the slow ones, the cold ones, the ones where I packed up wondering if it was worth it.
It’s worth it.
Because the customers I meet at markets aren’t just buyers. They’re the ones who remember my name the following year. Who send me a text when a bag they got three years ago finally wears out and they want another one. Who come back and bring a friend who’s been looking for something like this.
The algorithm doesn’t know about any of that.
If you’ve been thinking about coming to the Moses Lake Farmers Market Harvest to Holidays, I want you to come.
It’s Saturday, November 14th at the Grant Co. Fairgrounds, and I will be there with a full booth — bags, hand creams, candles, solid perfumes, and probably a few things I’ll be finishing the night before because that’s just how I roll.
I want to show you the Into the Highlands scarves in person. I want you to smell the Tartan & Spice candle and tell me what it reminds you of. I want you to pick up the wristlet that catches your eye and find out what’s inside it. I want to wrap up something for you or for someone you love and feel like a useful part of your holiday season.
And if it’s your first time meeting me — hi. I’m Katie. I’m the person who made everything at this booth, one stitch at a time, in the laundry room of my house (also known as the lab where all the candles, hand creams and perfumes are made) with my dogs asleep on the floor nearby. I’m so glad you stopped.
MLFM Harvest to Holidays — November 14, 2026, Moses Lake, WA
If you can’t make it to the market, you can shop katielainehandmade.com any time — but I hope I’ll see you there.
— Katie