Most booksellers regard signage as a store necessity, right up there with good lighting, informed staff and strong selection. But three successful bookstore owners in different parts of the country not only question the received wisdom regarding signs, they've chosen to make do with almost no signage at all. In contrast to the cluttered landscape that inspired the '70s rock classic Signs—"sign, sign, everywhere a sign"—these quirky independents seek to attract customers with their living-room—style ambiance (sans signs).
Rainy Day Books
For Vivien Jennings, who founded the 2,500-sq.-ft. Rainy Day Books in Fairway, Kans., in 1975, "the most important sign in our store is the one over the door. We meet you, we greet you, we engage with you. We don't really need signage. I think signage is very cold and, to some extent, inhibiting." Some shoppers, she posits, prefer not be identified by a particular category, such as self-help.
Jennings also finds it easier to mix categories if there is no signage strictly limiting what should go where. For example, one especially popular area of the store, frequented by book club members, pulls together selections from what other bookstores divide into literature, classics and poetry. On the teen shelves, YA favorites like Ann Brashares's Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants are mixed in with adult titles like Kaye Gibbons's novel Ellen Foster, Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mt. Everest Disaster and Orson Scott Card's SF/fantasies.
Jennings sees no reason to change her 30-year formula, which involves a high staff-to-customer ratio, but no signs. "The positioning for an independent is what makes it different from Barnes & Noble and Borders," she told PW. "We have to always be playing to our strength—that our store is personal. Our customers like that there are no signs; it's fun. They enjoy this pleasant experience, and then they have to go."
To enable shoppers to speed through the store, Rainy Day does lots of face-out displays. And, occasionally, Jennings does post a few signs: for Book Sense picks and for recommended books. Because her customers prefer not to have stickers on autographed books, she hangs wall sign noting, "These books are personally autographed by the author." "It's a magnet for people," Jennings said. "They go straight to that wall. I think it's better to have the signed books all in one place."
Lemuria Books
After three decades, John Evans, owner of Lemuria Books in Jacksonville, Miss., has made some concessions to customers who would like a better idea of where different sections are located in the store. Two and a half years ago, when the store grew to 5,000 square feet, he put together a store map. Although the store is named after a lost continent, he didn't want to make customers feel like they're wandering around in one.
Recently, the store added another 1,400 square feet in an annex store directly across the parking lot, and put up a few signs. Evans's description of them as "pretty unobtrusive" is an understatement. The placards are so small that even some of the staffers seemed unaware of the Plexiglas 3"×3½" signs glued to the edge of the shelves. A large sections like Southern Fiction, which occupies 12 cases, has only one teeny sign to identify it; others, like Psychology, have signs for each subsection, like Sex or Aging.
"I don't think the signs are disruptive," said Evans, who, in order to preserve the store's home-library feel, prefers not to have aisles or display tables. Instead, he piles key books on the floor. That way, he said, "it's easy for our customers to see what we're working on. We don't need signs. That's the whole thing about creating an atmosphere." On the other hand, the map and discreet signs are meant to counter concerns that the store can be intimidating for some customers, who are disconcerted when the staff asks what they'd like to read. "As Jackson has become a bigger metropolitan area, people have learned to become anonymous," Evans told PW. "It's a real mall-like experience. You don't want to be greeted; you're paranoid you'll be sold something."
Newtonville Books
When Tim Huggins, who began his bookselling career at Lemuria and regards Evans as his mentor, opened Newtonville Books in Newtonville, Mass., in 1998, he also chose to go signless. "It's part stubbornness," Huggins acknowledged. "The other part of it is I almost want to force a dialogue. To me, it's just like discounting. People told me if you don't have discounts, you're not going to make it. There are other ways to compete."
Initially, lack of signs "was the kind of thing where 60% of the people were indifferent; 20% really liked it; and 20% loathed it," said Huggins. "I was willing to lose 10% of the people who couldn't stand no signage. I lose a percentage of people because I don't have discounts." For Huggins, not posting section titles creates a sense of ownership without the distraction of signs. "It doesn't feel like a mercantile experience," he told PW.
He believes a signless environment can boost sales. "Fifty-five percent of books purchased are impulse buys," he noted. "When you design a store with a lot of signage to direct people to things, you're doing something that discourages discovery. It's the same reason you change window displays so different things will stand out."
The lack of signs hasn't stopped Newtonville from growing. Later this summer, the store will double in size and add a separate 1,400-sq.-ft. children's room. And while Huggins plans to create distinct sections within the new space, including a cove for young adult readers, it will not have any signs.
