HOW TO GET A JOB AT A FLOWER SHOP WITH NO EXPERIENCE (BUT LOTS OF TASTE).
Photographed by Zoë Ghertner, Styled by Marie Chaix.
The first time I made a flower arrangement, I found myself somewhere in Brooklyn, the kind of place where the help comes with side-eye and tightly curated taste. I hovered between my options, already sensing the clerk’s impatience growing like humidity behind me. I changed my mind more than once — not out of confusion but out of care. She sighed. I smiled.
The final arrangement was tall, lush, and sharp with contrast. She sat on the dining table of my apartment like a quiet revelation. White oriental lilies, gold roses, tucked into a lush, vine-heavy base. It smelled like drama and it looked intentional. A few people came over and told me I was pretty good at this.
I thanked them, and then did what I always do. I told myself,
“If I enjoy it, it must be indulgent. If it comes easily, it’s not real work. If I love doing it, it’s a waste of time.”
And so I waited almost two years before I tried again.
Photographed by Zoë Ghertner, Styled by Marie Chaix.
LIFE BEFORE THE FLOWER SHOP.
I grew up in a town that encourages discipline but not always desire. I was classically trained in violin, the kind that teaches you when to breathe and when not to. I was a double major, with degrees relating to finance and information technology. I worked as a consultant in New York City. I donned a work bag made of Italian leather that was very “early 20s”. I knew where to get espresso that didn’t taste like regret.
And then I left. I traveled for a year. Europe, then Asia. In little rented rooms with quiet mornings. When I landed in Seattle, I was still building myself. It took time for me to realize that in order to rebuild myself, I had to first build with my hands. I missed work that left a mess on the table. I wanted to build something that bloomed and died and meant something in the middle.
HOW I GOT THE JOB.
It was early April. I didn’t have floral experience, but I had the mind and hands of a creative. I knew how to watch, how to listen, how to hold silence in a room and not let it collapse. So I walked into a shop next to my apartment. Not emailed. Not DMed.
I wore something functional, but deliberate. I made sure my posture said I was capable, and my vibe said I understood how light moves across a ceramic vase. I wore the red lipstick.
I was asked to send an email with additional information. Here are real excerpts from that email:
“With Mother’s Day coming up, I wanted to reach out and see if you might be looking for any extra help during the busy season—or possibly beyond.
I just moved here from NYC and am taking a break from working in corporate.
I have no direct experience with floral arrangements but I would love to learn. I have a deep appreciation for the kind of care and creativity that goes into floral design. I’d love the chance to support your team however I can, whether that’s prepping arrangements, taking photos and videos, or helping things run smoothly from behind the scenes.
If you're hiring — or just need an extra pair of hands — I’d be happy to pop in and introduce myself in person.”
The owner asked if I could come in later that week.
I started before Mother’s Day. Which, as you’ll learn, is floral hell in heels.
Photographed by Zoë Ghertner, Styled by Marie Chaix.
HOW YOU GET THE JOB.
Go in person. On a weekday. Around 2–3 PM or during your lunch break.
Shops are calmer. Staff are chatty. You won’t annoy them.Dress with quiet taste.
This is the main reason why you need to go in person. You can’t show off your style in an email. Wear something that shows you understand silhouettes, color theory, and composition. Do not cosplay as a florist.Forget (mostly) everything you learned from corporate.
Research says florists are some of the most sensitive people on Earth and classify as “empaths”. (This is a joke.) But in all seriousness, forget, “I’m great under pressure,” “I’m detail oriented”. They can tell when you’re faking it and they don’t like it.Don’t mention your passion for flowers. Mention your experience in composition.
Have you styled dinner parties? Played chamber music? Done commissions on DeviantArt back in the day? That’s composition. That’s floristry. Say that.Don’t ask, “are you looking for help?” Say, “here are my skills and why they can help you”.
Name 3 skills. I personally volunteered in photography, videography, and washing buckets.If the shop has strong branding, match the energy.
If they’re romantic, be gentle. If they’re modern, be chic. It’s not performative, it’s atunement.
LIFE AT THE FLOWER SHOP.
No, it’s not arranging peonies to French music all day. I’ll have you know that it’s actually Caroline Polachek. And unfortunately (or fortunately) it’s been the same playlist since I started in April. I stand for hours, dodging thorns, trying not to spill hydrangea water on the $30 Merrell Hydro Mocs I wear most days. It’s bruised thumbs. It’s washing dozens of vases everyday. I chip at KKOTJÄM on slow days. It’s also, unexpectedly, a kind of theater. A small cast of artists.
One of my coworkers is a former fashion designer who now runs his own flower farm. He grows more than he can harvest and still shows up to wrap anthuriums for walk-ins. If I wear something luxe, he’ll clock the designer in half a glance — “That’s Y/PROJECT, right? I thought they went out of business.” — he’ll nonchalantly muse while he prunes a bunch of bleeding hearts. Another reads Dostoevsky (in Russian) at the counter when the shop goes quiet. She was working through The Brothers Karamazov the other day, calmly marking passages between customers. Another is a piano teacher. She somehow fit a Steinway grand into her apartment and teaches children scales between floral shifts. Her hands are always clean, always precise. And then there’s me. I wrap, sweep, watch. I’ve handed over self-love bouquets to people on the verge of tears from a rough day. I’ve watched customers hesitate for twenty minutes over a card. I’ve learned how to condition roses without snapping their necks. And every day I learn more about composition, contrast, restraint.
It’s not as glamorous as it seems. But it makes me feel like I’m alive.
YOU DON’T NEED EXPERIENCE. YOU JUST NEED A LIFE WORTH PULLING FROM.
I’ve come to believe that everyone (yes, everyone) can work in a flower shop. Because floristry isn’t about flower knowledge. It’s about translation. You take love, grief, apology, yearning. And you build something from stems that says what words won’t. The best florists I know are former chefs, musicians, stylists, dancers. They understand mood. Tension. The way small gestures can shift a room.
If you’ve ever made a dinner plate look poetic, or tied a ribbon just because it felt right, or known where to place the candle without speaking — you already speak the language. All that’s left is to show up and let your life do the arranging.
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With love, Sarah
Founder of KKOTJÄM, a floral design studio rooted in emotion and sensory storytelling. Last seen in Seattle.