Who invented toms the shoe

But over time, the marketing scales tipped toward lifestyle, which is dangerous when an idea, rather than a shoe, is the heart of your brand. Scaling a for-profit business is hard. So is scaling a philanthropic organization. Toms' task is doing both, at the same time, and the only way it all works is if one doesn't overshadow the other. Given that challenge, Mycoskie may have been wise to prioritize Hoffman over recruiting a celebrity for the Oscars.

Although no longer CEO, he is still the company's public face , chief idea generator, and animating spirit. In that context, understanding his own motivations and behaviors is a core competency. At Hoffman, Mycoskie says, he recognized a vicious cycle. And then I feel guilty because I actually do love Toms. So I come back and I feel like I need to prove myself. I have to launch the new product and have the new silver bullet. And the whole pattern starts again. That pattern contributed to the rough patch at Toms.

For years, the company seemed almost magical--Mycoskie built not just a business but also a movement. Toms has inspired similarly high-minded imitators, including one-for-one companies like Smile Squared and Blanket America. Corporations such as Unilever and Walgreens have based promotions on the buy-one-give-one model. And high schools and colleges across the country have fielded Toms Clubs dedicated to volunteerism and social entrepreneurship.

But even unconventional companies suffer conventional-company ills. Toms and its nonprofit partners continued their good work in dusty schoolyards and rural community centers. But by , the business had hired new executives, and "all they wanted to do was talk about price and create funny videos that sell products," says Mycoskie.

True to his pattern, Mycoskie recharged and, in , came back with a more ambitious vision. Since then, Toms has undergone big changes. A private equity firm now owns 50 percent of the company; a new CEO is chief strategist. The culture is different too. Just as Silicon Valley companies are laboratories for new technologies and business models, so Toms is becoming a kind of Darpa for the social-venture set. And Toms is experimenting with its own giving model: expanding the definition of one-for-one, venturing into local manufacturing, and tweaking its use of donations to achieve more targeted goals.

With a mountain of village dust and a sprinkling of stardust, Toms is embarking on its second act. Playa Vista is a bland community on L. Nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac, Toms' headquarters is a whimsical outlier. A pirate flag flaps alongside those of the United States and Argentina. Three yellow camping tents provide outdoor meeting space for conference-room claustrophobes.

The building's interior, designed by the firm that did J. Abrams's office, is a warm, wooden confabulation of playfulness and inspiration.

Near the entrance, a barista serves beverages by Toms Roasting Co. The Toms story is everywhere, from a small museum that resembles a barn and holds company memorabilia to the immense photos from giving trips.

Toms' initial success, and much of its growth, derives from storytelling , of which Mycoskie is a master. And Toms has a damn fine story to tell. In , Mycoskie, a serial entrepreneur who was running an online driver's-ed business, travels to Argentina for a little polo, a little tango, and a little vino. Shaken by what he sees, Mycoskie wants to supply shoes himself, and to fund those donations through commerce rather than charity.

His solution is elegance incarnate: Sell a shoe, give a shoe. Cue the montage. Mycoskie fabricates his first shoes--an Americanized version of Argentina's soft, slip-on alpargatas--in tiny artisanal shops. Back in the States, Mycoskie wakes up an overnight sensation, thanks to a prominent article in the Los Angeles Times. Interns hide from Mycoskie's landlady in the bedroom of the Venice, California, apartment from which Toms will sell 10, pairs of shoes in one summer.

On his first shoe "drop" in Argentina, Mycoskie cries while slipping shoes onto children's feet. Today, Toms has employees and five product lines, each with an associated give.

The logistics of the gives differ in each country, as do the target consumers for some of the products, like handbags and backpacks. The inviolable core of Toms is a promise to the consumer that each purchase translates into a better life for someone halfway around the globe. Because the company sold so much, "we had to give so much," says Mycoskie.

Of course, Mycoskie didn't start an NGO. But accomplishing Toms' charitable goals requires collaborating with over NGOs and other nonprofit "giving partners" in more than 70 countries.

Much of its experimentation involves how it works with those partners. Shira Shafir, a UCLA epidemiologist brought in to run part of Toms' giving department, has a plaque on her desk with a quote often attributed to Einstein: "If we knew what we were doing, it wouldn't be called research.

Toms is always seeking better ways to give. In particular, it seems to be addressing one criticism that has dogged it for years: that it offers humanitarian aid rather than economic development. In , Widmer, who was then running a social venture fund, gave Toms an innovation award.

But he later grew skeptical. Being a giver of fish rather than a teacher of fishing "is not the way to deal with poverty," says Widmer. I got the idea for TOMS on something like a sabbatical. While in Buenos Aires, I met a woman who worked for a nonprofit, delivering shoes to children in poor rural areas. She invited me to accompany her, and the experience was truly life-changing.

In every town we were greeted with cheers and tears. I met a pair of brothers, ages 10 and 12, who had been sharing a single pair of adult-size shoes. Because the local schools required footwear, they had to take turns going to class.

I decided to do something more. Rather than go home and ask my friends to donate their hand-me-downs or make financial contributions, I would start a for-profit company based on the buy-one, give-one idea. My polo instructor, Alejo, and I persuaded a local shoemaker to help us make a more fashionable version of the alpargata, a canvas shoe worn by Argentines for a century. My goal was to sell pairs so that I could give away pairs in Argentina.

Back home, I hosted a dinner party for some women friends to get their advice. They loved the shoes and were even more excited when I shared my vision of helping children in need. They suggested a number of local boutiques that might serve as retail outlets, so I went to one of them, American Rag, and asked to speak with the shoe buyer. The store became our first retail account. On a Saturday morning soon after that, I woke up to find my BlackBerry vibrating.

At the time, the TOMS website was set to e-mail my phone every time we made a sale. Usually it was just family and friends placing orders, and the occasional buzzing was a nice surprise. But on this day the phone kept buzzing…and buzzing…and buzzing. By the end of the day we had sold 2, pairs of shoes. We had fewer than pairs in my apartment. We received a flood of additional press from Vogue, People, Time, Elle. Nordstrom insisted on carrying our shoes.

By the end of the summer we had sold 10, pairs. We had set ourselves apart in other ways, too: A third of our revenue was coming from direct-to-consumer sales via our website, and we spent virtually nothing on traditional advertising, relying instead on our 5 million social media followers to create word-of-mouth buzz.

In September Heather and I got married. I was relieved, but also deeply unsettled. The excitement and camaraderie of our start-up was beginning to be replaced by a more hierarchical culture. The leadership team was bogged down in personality conflicts and bickering, with key members insisting that we implement processes and systems similar to those used at their previous companies.

I noticed that longtime employees were starting to leave for more-entrepreneurial organizations, and I realized that, secretly, I wanted to follow them. It was more than a company to me: It was my life. So this period of uncertainty felt like having problems in a marriage. In February of , over , postcards were distributed by hand to Representatives throughout Washington D. Just 15 days later, the House passed H.

In , Richard Branson asked Blake to join The B Team, a group of worldwide leaders that support and promote a better way of doing business, advocating for the well-being of people and the planet. In , Blake was awarded the Cannes Lion Heart Award, which honors a person or a company that has made a positive impact through the innovative use of brand power.

Detailing his personal story, the book serves as a call to action for others to incorporate giving into business and, more broadly, to invest in their passions. In Blake founded the Social Entrepreneurship Fund, which invests in innovative and socially-conscious companies that exist to create change.

To date, the fund has invested in 15 for-profit companies in industries ranging from technology and education to food equality. Blake is an avid reader, traveler, and golfer.