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With a battle cry of "to the sorority!," John Earle - better known as Johnny Cupcakes - leaped off the back steps of the Martin J. Whitman School of Management, charged to the front of a 30-student crowd and sprinted across Walnut Avenue to the Delta Gamma Sorority house.
The wild charge was a fitting end to Earle's even wilder three-hour long lecture sponsored by the Entrepreneurship Club. Earle, the offbeat 26-year-old designer and entrepreneur behind cult clothing line, Johnny Cupcakes, spoke to a packed auditorium in the Whitman School of Management last night before leading a crowd of fans to the Delta Gamma house.
Earle warned students to protect their brands against infringement - a point he drove home on his charge to Delta Gamma. The sorority used the Johnny Cupcakes logo without permission on a number of their T-shirts.
"Do you guys know anything about this?" Earle demanded, as the 200-strong auditorium crowd clapped and yelled in response. "How are you gonna rip off my logo and use it for a friggin' crappy sorority?"
After the lecture, about 30 students waited for Earle to finish signing autographs and talking to fans before they followed him to Walnut.
"I think it's really cool that he's meeting the (copyright infringement) head on," said Joe Raimond, a freshman political science major who has been a Johnny Cupcakes fan for several years and followed Earle to the house. It's a small sorority, but he's making it known."
The crowd stood outside the Delta Gamma house for more than 30 minutes, yelling "public apology," "say you're sorry" and "sue their asses" while Earle spoke with a crowd of sorority sisters inside.
"Johnny's the bomb," said Jacob Howorth, a freshman business major in the crowd. "feel sort of bad for them, actually. But Johnny deserves an apology from those women."
Earlier in the night, Earle drew a similarly enthusiastic response from fans with "that's what she said" jokes, zany anecdotes and tried-and-true tips for making it big without selling out.
"I had to decide if I wanted to sell my soul or keep it," Earle told the crowd. "I could have made hundreds of thousands of dollars in one day off of shirts with cupcakes on them. But I would rather have something that's going to last forever than something that any Joe Shmo who shops at the mall can buy. Then it's not cool anymore."
Earle's rise to fame, which he narrated during his three-hour talk, was both improbable and meteoric. The brand was born entirely by accident: Earle made a shirt with the nickname "Johnny Cupcakes" on it and wore it to work as a joke. Customers and coworkers alike wanted to know where they could get one, much to Earles' surprise.
Decorating with pop-culture caricatures and his self-admittedly random cupcake motif, Earles began selling shirts out of the trunk of his car and out of a suitcase he took on the road with him. Before long, he had made enough money to open stores in Boston and L.A.
"We made over $20,000 in one day off of T-shirts with cupcakes on them. T-shirts with cupcakes on them," Earles said. "Come on guys. I'm gonna say that a couple of times. It's crazy!"
Everything about Johnny Cupcakes is actually a little crazy, but it's entirely intentional. Earles' L.A. store is decorated with colored oven doors that open and let out steam at random. His employees all wear aprons, and his T-shirts all have oven mitt-shaped tags.
When Earles started shipping T-shirts out of his parents' house, he included objects like batteries and dolls heads in the packaging, so that people would bring up his brand whenever they saw dolls heads or batteries. His new shirts all have "secret messages" or trivia hidden on the inside; some future shirts will function as lottery tickets, where buyers can win trips and other prizes if they get the winning design.
"But it gets weirder!" Earles said, before launching into a story about one of the store's Halloween parties. Later tangents included a discussion of his ex-girlfriend's infidelities and a run-in with "street thugs" outside his Boston store.
Innovative, hilarious and easily distracted, the self-proclaimed "Willy Wonka of T-shirts" is known for his avoidance of advertisement and outside venture capital. He has turned down offers from stores like Urban Outfitters, Nordstroms and Macy's, relying totally on customer dedication and word of mouth.
His advice for Whitman students: don't rush, don't get bummed if you go broke and most importantly, do what you love.
"You have to be passionate about what you do," Earle said. "You have to be in it for more than just the money."
Money certainly wouldn't have motivated Earle to run from Whitman to Walnut with a crowd of Cupcakes-wearing fans at his heels. In the end, however, the confrontation ended passively. At first, Delta Gamma told Earle that the girl who designed the T-shirts was not there, but Earle said she eventually came downstairs and apologized.
"They gave me one of their T-shirts and offered to make me food," Earle said. "I might go back later if I get hungry."
The wild charge was a fitting end to Earle's even wilder three-hour long lecture sponsored by the Entrepreneurship Club. Earle, the offbeat 26-year-old designer and entrepreneur behind cult clothing line, Johnny Cupcakes, spoke to a packed auditorium in the Whitman School of Management last night before leading a crowd of fans to the Delta Gamma house.
Earle warned students to protect their brands against infringement - a point he drove home on his charge to Delta Gamma. The sorority used the Johnny Cupcakes logo without permission on a number of their T-shirts.
"Do you guys know anything about this?" Earle demanded, as the 200-strong auditorium crowd clapped and yelled in response. "How are you gonna rip off my logo and use it for a friggin' crappy sorority?"
After the lecture, about 30 students waited for Earle to finish signing autographs and talking to fans before they followed him to Walnut.
"I think it's really cool that he's meeting the (copyright infringement) head on," said Joe Raimond, a freshman political science major who has been a Johnny Cupcakes fan for several years and followed Earle to the house. It's a small sorority, but he's making it known."
The crowd stood outside the Delta Gamma house for more than 30 minutes, yelling "public apology," "say you're sorry" and "sue their asses" while Earle spoke with a crowd of sorority sisters inside.
"Johnny's the bomb," said Jacob Howorth, a freshman business major in the crowd. "feel sort of bad for them, actually. But Johnny deserves an apology from those women."
Earlier in the night, Earle drew a similarly enthusiastic response from fans with "that's what she said" jokes, zany anecdotes and tried-and-true tips for making it big without selling out.
"I had to decide if I wanted to sell my soul or keep it," Earle told the crowd. "I could have made hundreds of thousands of dollars in one day off of shirts with cupcakes on them. But I would rather have something that's going to last forever than something that any Joe Shmo who shops at the mall can buy. Then it's not cool anymore."
Earle's rise to fame, which he narrated during his three-hour talk, was both improbable and meteoric. The brand was born entirely by accident: Earle made a shirt with the nickname "Johnny Cupcakes" on it and wore it to work as a joke. Customers and coworkers alike wanted to know where they could get one, much to Earles' surprise.
Decorating with pop-culture caricatures and his self-admittedly random cupcake motif, Earles began selling shirts out of the trunk of his car and out of a suitcase he took on the road with him. Before long, he had made enough money to open stores in Boston and L.A.
"We made over $20,000 in one day off of T-shirts with cupcakes on them. T-shirts with cupcakes on them," Earles said. "Come on guys. I'm gonna say that a couple of times. It's crazy!"
Everything about Johnny Cupcakes is actually a little crazy, but it's entirely intentional. Earles' L.A. store is decorated with colored oven doors that open and let out steam at random. His employees all wear aprons, and his T-shirts all have oven mitt-shaped tags.
When Earles started shipping T-shirts out of his parents' house, he included objects like batteries and dolls heads in the packaging, so that people would bring up his brand whenever they saw dolls heads or batteries. His new shirts all have "secret messages" or trivia hidden on the inside; some future shirts will function as lottery tickets, where buyers can win trips and other prizes if they get the winning design.
"But it gets weirder!" Earles said, before launching into a story about one of the store's Halloween parties. Later tangents included a discussion of his ex-girlfriend's infidelities and a run-in with "street thugs" outside his Boston store.
Innovative, hilarious and easily distracted, the self-proclaimed "Willy Wonka of T-shirts" is known for his avoidance of advertisement and outside venture capital. He has turned down offers from stores like Urban Outfitters, Nordstroms and Macy's, relying totally on customer dedication and word of mouth.
His advice for Whitman students: don't rush, don't get bummed if you go broke and most importantly, do what you love.
"You have to be passionate about what you do," Earle said. "You have to be in it for more than just the money."
Money certainly wouldn't have motivated Earle to run from Whitman to Walnut with a crowd of Cupcakes-wearing fans at his heels. In the end, however, the confrontation ended passively. At first, Delta Gamma told Earle that the girl who designed the T-shirts was not there, but Earle said she eventually came downstairs and apologized.
"They gave me one of their T-shirts and offered to make me food," Earle said. "I might go back later if I get hungry."