rarefied company, she learned to make a virtue of her humble origins
(did she mention she suffered from dyslexia?) and to turn her utter lack
of self-consciousness to her advantage. She dressed up in “gypsy” garb
and offered tarot readings at a real estate trade show, despite not hav-
ing the slightest idea how to read a tarot deck. She flooded the Upper
East Side with Corcoran Group postcards featuring herself posing in a
series of wacky getups (traffic cop, dog walker). And she once impressed
a group of Italian developers by claiming to be a former nun.
But it wasn’t all wacky antics. In a canny bid for respect, she invented
something called The Corcoran Report, an official-sounding market
update based on little more than the company’s own internal sales fig-
ures, which the New York media treated as gospel. Sure, she fudged
the numbers a bit, Corcoran admits now, but nobody ever checked. “It
created instant credibility,” she says, “If you’re quoted byThe Wall Street
Journal,you’re as smart asThe Wall Street Journal.”
Her knack for public relations was so legendary that no less a real
estate pitchman than Donald Trump once described her as “a little over-
exuberant,” adding, “She’s a natural promoter. She can’t help herself.”
By 2001, having turned the Corcoran Group into an industry leader, a
luxury listings empire with more than 850 employees, Corcoran decided
to cash in her chips and focus more on her children, selling the business
for $66 million. A year later, though, she got itchy. Being a homebody
wasn’t cutting it. Corcoran frankly admits she loves attention, and she
pursued it aggressively, jumping back into the limelight with regular
appearances as a business commentator forGood Morning Americaand
later, theTodayshow. In 2009, Mark Burnett tapped her to star on a
new reality show,Shark Tank, and she’s been a regular ever since.
Shark Tank, which has won several Emmys and has ratings that
rivalThe Bachelor, is appealingly simple: Up-and-coming tycoons pitch
their startups to a panel of angel investors, who can then choose to put
up their own money for a share of the businesses or declare “I’m out,” in
the show’s low-key if devastating catchphrase.
Corcoran admits the job came with a steep learning curve. Though
many of her early investments went bust, she has gradually found her
way, and she claims that around 25 percent of her investments have
been successful. Although she carefully vets prospects, requiring detailed
information about each entrepreneur’s finances, intellectual property,
corporate structure, and sales history, her decisions are largely based on
gut instinct. Some of the worst founders, she has learned, are those toting
fancy MBAs. “The more well-educated the entrepreneur is in business,
the less I trust them,” she says. “The ones that do it for me are the scrappy
ones, the ones who have something to prove. They have to be good on
TV, high energy. And the ability to get knocked down and not spend any
time feeling sorry for yourself is the number one most important thing.”
It’s an insight that has driven many of Corcoran’s Shark Tank invest-
ments. “I have closed on businesses where the financials really wouldn’t
dictate that I should, but I just liked the guy,” she tells me later. “I’ve
learned to treasure that more.”
L
ong before she began sizing up eager-beaver snack barons on
national TV, Barbara Corcoran built her business empire on her
feel for people. She knows how to recruit the best personnel, slot
them into the right jobs, and motivate them to perform. It’s an
area where she’s often seen founders go wrong. “They start hir-
ing—marketing manager, public relations agency,” she says, roll-
ing her eyes. “They get fancy fast. And that’s terrible for business. It’s
more tempting withShark Tankbecause they get quick success. It’s hard
for them to have good judgment when the whole world is adoring them.”
One of Corcoran’s favorite management tactics when she ran her
own company was to elevate two top salespeople and set them up as
rivals. But she also worked hard to create a corporate culture in which
her employees felt cared for. Long before tech startups started piling on
the perks, Corcoran hired masseuses to dole out office back rubs. She
regularly bought team members flowers, and for a while she awarded
show ribbons for big sales. Her staff parties were legendary.
These days, she treats her portfolio companies the same way. Each
year, she takes a group of top performers on a trip—often to one of her
own properties—during which founders swap tips and horror stories.
Blowing off steam at these events is, of course, heartily encouraged. As
a result, many of her entrepreneurs consider her ability to form a strong
emotional connection one of her best qualities as an investor.
“Barbara really sets people at ease,” says Rick Hinnant of Grace and
Lace Apparel (season five, episode 10). “Obviously, she’s more suc-
cessful and more wealthy, but she’s not a poseur; she’s not fake. She’s
a normal person like us.”
“She calls and texts us more about our personal life, health, and
well-being than about the business,” marvels Sabin Lomac, cofounder
of Cousins Maine Lobster (season four, episode six). Shortly after
Corcoran invested $55,000 for a 15 percent stake in the company, which
at the time consisted of a single food truck, she made the trip to Maine
to witness the catch for herself. While offering hotel recommendations,
Lomac jokingly invited her to crash at his place, and Corcoran surprised
him by taking him up on the offer—with her daughter in tow. “At that
point, we felt,This is not just some rich, famous investor. This is a fam-
ily member,”he recalls. That may be true, but Corcoran’s contribution
has gone deeper than warm fuzzies. A while back she suggested Lomac
start a franchise business. He did. Revenues soared.
38 /ENTREPRENEUR.COM/January-February 2018
→ POP STARS
Pipsnacks founders andCorcoran mentees
Jen and Jeff Martin.PHOTOGRAPH BY NAT CHITWOOD“ If you’re more joyful,”
SHE SAYS, “the customer
feels that. You make
more sales. Everything
else happens.”