I Started a Jewelry Store Because Apparently I Don’t Know How to Relax

September 9, 2026

Some people get bored and buy a puzzle.

I started a jewelry store. Then I wrote a book about it, because apparently I was concerned the store might leave me with free time.

Welcome to Dopamine Alley. There is a perfectly reasonable woman behind this business.

I would introduce you, but I have not seen her since I started comparing suppliers.

I had experience. Unfortunately, I also had confidence.

I’m a technology leader. I work with complicated systems, processes, people, and the occasional “quick question” that requires a meeting and changes everyone’s afternoon.

I also love jewelry. Statement pieces. Interesting details. Things you put on because you like them, without needing an occasion or a committee’s approval.

Starting a store seemed like a good way to do something creative with those interests.

I understood technology. I understood operations. I had opinions about necklaces.

What else could possibly be involved?

Sis.

The jewelry was the easy part to love

Dopamine Alley started with a feeling: finding something that makes you stop scrolling and think, “Oh, absolutely.”

A necklace with presence. Earrings that refuse to be a supporting character. Something a little bolder than you meant to buy, but very much what you meant to wear.

Turning that feeling into a store required decisions.

Then more decisions.

Then decisions about whether the first decisions had been properly reflected in the settings.

I started with fifty-five supplier favorites and had to narrow them down. This was difficult because the person responsible for enforcing restraint was also the person who had favorited everything.

I briefly became enthusiastic about a children’s line called Tiny Rebels before remembering I had not yet sold a single piece of adult jewelry.

Excellent name. Questionable timing. Management has been spoken to.

Management remains me.

ChatGPT helped. I still had to be in charge.

I used ChatGPT to brainstorm, organize the work, develop the brand voice, and turn a crowded head into something I could actually act on.

That part was useful.

It also became clear that “help me think about this” and “go ahead and do this” needed very different instructions.

I had to get specific about what could change, what needed to stay exactly as approved, and what was absolutely not ready to meet the public.

I developed strong feelings about the word Draft.

There were supplier descriptions that returned after I had rewritten them. Products that were not appearing where I expected. A theme change under pressure. A duplicate footer, because apparently one bottom of the website was insufficient.

That experience eventually led to a much stricter approach to sourcing, material claims, and documentation.

None of those problems cared how much professional experience I had.

Rude, but instructive.

Why I’m telling you this

When you visit Dopamine Alley, you see the pieces I selected and the store I built around them.

You can see the latest part of that experiment in New Dopamine.

You don’t see every rejected idea, corrected description, or moment when I stopped and said, “Wait. Why is it doing that?”

I wanted to share some of that side too.

Because I’m proud of this store. Because the learning has been real. And because pretending I arrived here with a flawless plan would require a level of fictional writing I have chosen not to pursue.

Instead, I wrote I Was Bored So I Built a Store.

Then the hobby acquired a paperback, because apparently the original project did not contain enough production steps.

It’s a funny, practical account of building Dopamine Alley with ChatGPT: the decisions, the mistakes, the tools, and the processes I developed after discovering why I needed them.

There are prompts and checklists. There is useful advice. There is also a technology leader investigating the wrong supplier with considerable confidence.

I have left that part in. You’re welcome.