Chip Wilson Quotes

I believe firmly in plodding. Productivity is more a matter of diligent, long-distance hiking than it is one-hundred-yard dashing. Doing a little bit now is far better than hoping to do a lot on the morrow. So redeem the fifteen minute spaces. Chip away at it.

When I die, I want to die like my grandmother who died peacefully in her sleep. Not screaming like all the passengers in her car.

...when owning our own set of gleaming pans, all matching -- as opposed to the assorted chipped-enamel vessels of student days -- seemed mysteriously grown up.

I started to understand that just a logo was much more powerful a branding statement than a name alone.

(and cleaned out the joint Westbeach account),

I found the only time I had to shut down—to become mindful of nothing more than the present moment—was whenever I was peeing.

on the basis of his speech, it would be able to keep all its conquests, using the ones it didn’t want as bargaining chips in a final peace settlement brokered by Wilson and the United States.

Each day I walked into the office and asked myself, “If I had to compete against lululemon, what would I do?” This allowed me to cannibalize what was working today for what would be best for the future.

In the end, it is impossible to have a great life unless it is a meaningful life. And it is very difficult to have a meaningful life without meaningful work. Perhaps, then, you might gain that rare tranquility that comes from knowing that you’ve had a hand in creating something of intrinsic excellence that makes a contribution. Indeed, you might even gain that deepest of all satisfactions: knowing that your short time here on this earth has been well spent, and that it mattered.

I have made many life decisions that were strictly survival-driven, but never wealth-driven. In selling to private equity, I was motivated by a desire to develop an idea, a concept, a philosophy that was solid in its foundation into a global phenomenon to elevate the world.

Could he be my Bertie, the cheeky butcher’s boy? I had walked out with him when I was a reluctant servant in Mr Buchanan’s household. Dear funny Bertie, who had been so self-conscious about reeking of meat. Bertie, the boy who had taken me to the fair and won me the little black-and-white china dog that was in my suitcase now, carefully wrapped in my nightgown to prevent any chips.

If anyone seriously thinks by going natural, he will be escaping The Establishment, finally getting away from The Man and from the clutches of the good corporations, I have a bit of bad news. The corporations are way ahead of you. There are high-powered boards sitting around half-an-acre mahogany tables on the thirty-third floors of skyscrapers in New York City, and they are meeting right this minute, and they are making decisions on the marketing of the ponderosa pine bark chips, lightly salted. If you slice them thin enough, they approach being edible

So he strode, and ran, and hurried home. He emptied into the ever-useful pocket-handkerchief the little meal remaining in the mug. Mary would have her tea at Miss Simmonds’; her food for the day was safe. Then he went upstairs for his better coat, and his one, gay red-and-yellow silk pocket-handkerchief — his jewels, his plate, his valuables, these were. He went to the pawn-shop; he pawned them for five shillings; he stopped not, nor stayed, till he was once more in London Road, within five minutes’ walk of Berry Street — then he loitered in his gait, in order to discover the shops he wanted. He bought meat, and a loaf of bread, candles, chips, and from a little retail yard he purchased a couple of hundredweights of coal. Some money still remained — all destined for them, but he did not yet know how best to spend it. Food, light, and warmth, he had instantly seen were necessary; for luxuries he would wait. Wilson’s eyes filled with tears when he saw Barton enter with his purchases. He understood it all, and longed to be once more in work that he might help in some of these material ways, without feeling that he was using his son’s money.

The runner’s high is a sensation that occurs after thirty-five minutes of a sustained, high-rate heartbeat. The brain releases hormones which take the athlete into an energized mental and physical space. The sensation usually lasts for about four hours. The amazing thing about an athlete’s high is the person’s past disappears and is irrelevant.

Our branding emanated from my experience in the surf, skate, and snowboard industry where brands were created by being anti-establishment. This created a “tribe” who then created a social movement that others wanted to emulate (this is not really different from the luxury company whose advertised tribe is jet-setting models whose lives are unattainable by 99 percent of their customers). These are the subtleties of how word-of-mouth branding works, as described in the book The Tipping Point41. Christine’s reaction to this

Atlas Shrugged also brought into focus the many inefficiencies of the unionized labour system. I had a union job on the pipeline—which was exactly why I had so much time to read. But there were times in Alaska when I saw a simple task being performed by three people because the union required one guy to drive a machine, a different guy to flip a switch, and a third guy to make sure the machine didn’t run out of gas.

Bev made sure she served Wilson his standard tomato-and-grilled-cheese-with-french-fries personally, though Bev always called them chips, as if to make Wilson feel right at home. He thanked her and said everything looked absolutely “scrummy.” She giggled just like Chrissy used to do in history class. It was all I could do not to laugh right out loud. “I think Bev has a crush on you, Wilson. I know you're probably used to that by now. Don't you have a fan club at school? The 'I Heart Wilson' club, or something?” “Ha, ha, Blue. I have never been all that popular with the girls.” “Wilson. Don't be an idiot. You were all Manny could talk about the whole first month of school.” “Manny is not a girl,” Wilson remarked mildly. I snickered. “True. But I think I was the only one who wasn't following you around with my tongue hanging out. It was disgusting. Now even Bev has joined the club. I saw a bumper sticker on her car that said British Butts Drive Me Nuts.” Wilson choked on a mouthful of food, laughing, and grabbed at his lemonade to wash it down. I loved making him laugh, even if it was hazardous to his health.

In the end, it is impossible to have a great life unless it is a meaningful life. And it is very difficult to have a meaningful life without meaningful work. Perhaps, then, you might gain that rare tranquility that comes from knowing that you’ve had a hand in creating something of intrinsic excellence that makes a contribution. Indeed, you might even gain that deepest of all satisfactions: knowing that your short time here on this earth has been well spent, and that it mattered.” —Jim Collins, Good to Great: Why Some Companies Make the Leap…And Others Don’t

The practice of deep-frying fish was brought to London and popularised by Sephardic Jewish refugees fleeing persecution in Spain and Portugal from the sixteenth century; its double act with chips dates to the 1860s, when Joseph Malin, a teenage Ashkenazi Jew from eastern Europe, abandoned his family rug-weaving business after a flash of inspiration inspired him to pair the two. He sold them on the street from a tray hung round his neck; success on the street led to a permanent shop in the East End.

Dad bought us food from every single stall on the pier – lemon pancakes and doughnuts oozing jam and salty chips and fluffy candyfloss and 99 ice creams, just as he promised.

I’d go into the bathroom, pee, close my eyes, and try to find a mental black dot. Then I’d float through that black dot for almost sixty seconds and be in nothing. I’d come out of the bathroom thinking how perfect I felt.

Who are you guys?! I just made a shitload of money off you!

(Even Lululemon had its own distinctive vernacular. It was printed all over their shopping bags, so customers would walk out of the store carrying mantras like, “There is little difference between addicts and fanatic athletes,” “Visualize your eventual demise,” and “Friends are more important than money”—all coined by their so-called “tribe” leader, Lululemon’s founder, Chip Wilson, an aging G.I. Joe type just like Greg Glassman whose acolytes were equally devout. Who knew fitness could inspire such religiosity?)