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Net Worth And Lipidity

“2 more reps, and I’ll let you think there’s a chance that someone like me would ever ask you out.”

 

We recently discovered this awful place called Planet Fitness, which demonstrates how financial objectives can sometimes get in the way of more important ones. (Yes, we just admitted that some things are more important than money. Not many, mind you.)

We’ll get to the personal finance aspect of this in a second, but first the non-financial parts. Planet Fitness is a gym chain that, while we weren’t looking, opened up over 500 locations across the country (including 3 in our hometown, no less.) The chain recently entered into a sponsorship deal with NBC, where it’ll serve as the home gym for some show about fat people trying to get thin.

Last month we wrote about free riding, and how the unmotivated members of a gym chain (or any other membership business) subsidize the frequent users. Planet Fitness found a way to get even more money out of the clichéd husky bunch who sign up for gym memberships every January 1 and then disappear. Those folks were great for an annual shot of revenue, but there had to be some method of getting them to come back throughout the year without having them run the risk of improving their bodies even slightly.

Planet Fitness’s secret? Pizza! And candy! We are so, so not joking. Get a load of this, and if you think it’s an Onion News Network parody, you wouldn’t be the first:

 

 

Here’s a partial transcript (FF to :45):

Member: One of the best parts about the gym is the Tootsie Rolls.

Manager, who looks like he could use a real gym himself: …Let (members) know that fitness doesn’t have to be this serious thing, “Oh my God, I’m going to the gym, like, I’m going to have to work out, it’s going to be awful”, like, you can come, you can have fun, you can reward yourself for what you’re doing here.

Yes, because that’s how fitness works. Expending sufficient anaerobic and aerobic effort entitles the subject to consume fuel that makes it harder to further expend said effort. That’s why Usain Bolt has 4 chins and a belly, because after he works out he “reward(s) himself for what (he’s) doing”.

At Planet Fitness, if you do a set of exercises to failure (the only non-pharmaceutical way to tear muscle so it can build back stronger) and drop your weights to the ground, or make the guttural noises that naturally accompany exerting one’s body and recalibrating its limits, doing so will set off an alarm on the gym floor. (Again, you think we’re lying. 5:10 on the video.) The alarm sounds like an air raid siren, is 8000 times more annoying than any grunt could be, and of course is designed to get the attention of the other members who are meandering through their low-impact visits.

Which would be reprehensible on its own, but it’s made far worse given the perfect irony that Planet Fitness bills itself as a (and has even registered the trademark of) Judgement Free Zone®.

This is utter genius. Planet Fitness took a bogeyman – the nonexistent catcalls fat people suffer at the hands of healthy people in real gyms – and turned it into cash. That’s in addition to the other ludicrous things those fat people believe about fitness, including and not limited to:

  • Getting fit is easy and fun
  • Quantification means nothing. If you think you’re fit, you are. (It almost goes without saying that Planet Fitness doesn’t have scales, which is like a doctor’s office not having blood pressure monitors.)
  • A gym that offers its customers pizza and Tootsie Rolls, and doesn’t even charge them extra for it, is sincere about getting its fat members to lose weight.

Planet Fitness’s target audience is convinced that legitimate gyms have created a culture of intimidation. In these members’ solipsistic minds, should any of them walk into a gym where strong and healthy people are working out, those same people will stop what they’re working on to point at and make fun of the pasty and flabby newcomers. (Doubling down on the irony, Planet Fitness offers tanning booths.)

The truth, of course, is that the pasty and flabby newcomers – Planet Fitness’ bagels and butter, as it were – create any culture of intimidation themselves. When they’re surrounded by beautiful people who have worked to sculpt firm physiques, they feel inferior. The Control Your Cash principals have spent much of their adult lives in gyms, and have yet to see anything similar to a reenactment of the Charles Atlas sand-kicking scene. Quite the contrary, in fact. For the most part, the most diligent gym members are only too happy to share their routines with aspirants.

But lies are more palatable than the truth, even without a schmearof cream cheese. Marlboros really are light. Corona really will turn your life into a beach. Lucky Charms really can be part of a complete breakfast. Planet Fitness has exploited this defect in the human mind, this wanting so badly to believe, to the tune of millions of dollars.

A membership is $10 a month (with a $29 signup fee), but that restricts you to a single location. A perversely motivated member could attempt to make it back in pizza. $20 a month ($39 signup fee) lets you travel. These memberships are quoted monthly but assessed annually. Activate 2 alarms, and you risk forfeiting your membership. Cancellation fees start at $58. You have to cancel in person or by certified mail, which for most fat people is going to be more embarrassing than passively authorizing another series of credit card payments.

If you want to be part of the exploitation, buying a franchise requires $500,000 in liquid assets and $1.5 million net worth.

“You get what you pay for” is an ancient observation, but it always fits. If you’re weak (in multiple senses of the word), Planet Fitness will gladly take your money and perpetuate the belief that lets you think you’re doing something tangible for your body while paying for the privilege. Other gyms will give you a venue in which to actually improve/maintain your body. Or if you’re the New Year’s Resolution type, a venue in which to subsidize the folks referenced in the previous sentence.

Exploiting the poor, gutless, naïve, gullible, stupid and self-defeating is part of the human condition. It will never change, and only a fool would think otherwise. Does that mean you have to either exploit or be exploited? Not directly. You don’t have to peddle snake oil, but you don’t have to buy it either. That being said, if other people are going to buy it, you can use that to your advantage. (See our comment about buying Altria stock.) Thus it goes for something as tangential to personal finance as personal fitness. Find out where the dumb people are throwing away their money (at Gold’s, 24 Hour Fitness et al.) and ride on their back fat.

The Streisand Effect, Revisited

Maybe she should invest in Revlon

 

To quote one of America’s dippiest celebrities on her investment strategy:

We go to Starbucks every day, so I bought Starbucks stock

Your humble blogger drives a Ford every day, and wouldn’t touch Ford stock with Ms. Streisand’s nose.

This is the stupidest way imaginable to invest. Equating the utility of a company’s products with the strength of the company’s finances is like saying “Brett Myers can throw a 91 mph fastball, therefore I bet he’d make a great husband.”

But back to the mentally deficient celebrity at hand. Ms. Streisand is more fortunate than you in that she can get rich (and did, and does) off active income. She’s one of those extremely rare people in that her talents alone made her a multimillionaire. She didn’t have to leverage her money and time, defer spending, and research investments in order to get rich. Her voice and acting chops did it for her. Furthermore, she can afford to lose millions in the stock market and not flinch. Depending on how big Ms. Streisand’s Starbucks position is, were the stock to tank, there’s a corresponding number of nights she can perform at the MGM Grand Garden Arena that will wipe the losses away.

 

Other companies we patronize daily include Nevada Energy (stock trading at close to a 52-week high) and Nestlé (makers of Friskies cat food, stock in a similar position to Nevada Energy.) Two companies, one a utility, one a multinational leviathan, both of which have something of a ceiling on their short-term growth. We need better reasons for investing in something.

Our investments include the following:

  • Netflix stock. Despite never being a member, and never wanting to. Your humble blogger hates both movies and subscriptions. But tens of millions of other people feel otherwise, and investing is more about considering what those other people are interested in, rather than what the investor is interested in.
  • Altria stock. It’s hard to imagine a stupider activity than smoking, but tell that to the billions of people around the world who see inhaling tobacco fumes as a perfectly normal thing to do. Hell, if it’s good enough for the President of the United States, why not?

If other people are going to behave irrationally (e.g. by smoking, or gambling, or drinking, or incurring credit card debt), and no one’s going to convince them not to, why not profit off them? It’s the responsible thing to do. Until mankind wakes up one morning and collectively decides, “You know something? Maybe actively introducing carcinogens into my respiratory system isn’t a bright idea. Time to stop now,” which it won’t, we’re going to continue to be indirectly responsible for selling them their poison.

  • Houses in lower-middle class areas. Because, as always, the price was right. Is right. “You make your money going in” is one of personal finance’s all-time great truisms. An inexpensive house that requires a minimum of upkeep (no lawn maintenance company to hire, no pool to clean) is easy to rent. The renters make the mortgage payments (and then some), leaving the landlord with a profit that requires just a little paperwork to maintain.

That’s exploitation of the poor.

Sure, if you say so.

Now that we’ve got the reactionary simpletons out of the room, let’s resume. Renting out comfortable shelter to people is the opposite of exploiting them. It’s providing for them – meeting the most basic of their requirements, no less. For a fair price, one made even more fair by the fact that these renters can’t afford to buy a house. We advocate home ownership on this site, multiple home ownership if you can do it, but not everyone’s in a position to buy. And we might as well make money off some of those otherwise disenfranchised people. Because someone is going to. So why not us?

It’s the same principle as that advocated by buying Altria stock. Say we were to wrap ourselves in righteous indignation and decide, “This is a travesty. Smoking kills 135,000 Americans every year – an entire Topeka or New Haven – and we won’t be a party to the wholesale genocide any longer.”

That position isn’t going to save a single life. And even if it did, why should we care? Altria customers gladly sign their own death warrants, in exchange for rich and mild satisfaction. On a far smaller and more benign scale, the same goes for Netflix customers. If they want to pay big markups for a service that we have no interest in, why should that be our concern? It might not be our business, but we’re making it our business. To the tune of increased returns (and in Altria’s case, years of ever-increasing dividends.)

Umbrage never made anybody rich. It’s a childish emotion…actually, that’s not fair. It’s an adult emotion. But it doesn’t matter. It’s an emotion. Any of which – anger, joy, trepidation – gets in the way of the subject at hand, which is earning enough money via our financial acumen that we can escape our unfulfilling jobs and subservience to The Man.

“Cold” is never intended as a compliment when attributed to a human, and “rational” isn’t regarded much better. But coldness and rationality are critical if you want to grow your money. If you’re going to get excited about a stock, do so because it’s grossly undervalued and no one else seems to notice. Not because its IPO is coming up and you think it’ll be fun to invest in it. Otherwise, have no emotions whatsoever.

Another company we have a big position in is Tesco, a name unfamiliar to most people on our continent. It’s the UK’s largest retailer, their answer to Walmart, with a smattering of stores around Asia and the rest of Europe. We’d say we’ve never patronized Tesco, only looked at the company’s financial statements, but it turns out that indeed we have given them our business.

Tesco also operates a few grocery stores under a different name in the United States: Fresh & Easy. If you’ve never been to one, and if you don’t live in the Southwest you probably haven’t, Fresh & Easy is one of the most self-righteous and condescending places we’ve ever patronized. When you shop there you make a statement, something along the lines of “Slap the word ‘organic’ on a package and I’ll nod my head in brainless approval. Plus I don’t have the budget for Whole Foods.” (If you’re wondering, the statement we made was “We’re stuck in Phoenix, we need milk, and this is the closest supermarket.”)

The parking spaces closest to the door are reserved for…well, here’s a picture:

 

 

(Aside: That’s not a handicap sign. It carries zero legal weight. Yes, we parked our 18 mpg SUV there and didn’t flinch. Besides, if management really cares about ecology, they’d let us park as close to the door as possible instead of forcing us to burn fossil fuels looking for a space somewhere else in the lot. A point we never got to share with the scrawny, disdainful man in the Nissan Leaf who gave us his approximation of a death stare when we disembarked and entered the store. A, You don’t know what’s under the hood, Slugger. B, No, we’re not going to pop it for you. Take it up with management. Guy looked at us as if we were ordering napalm strikes on the Amazon rainforest.)

The point is that this Tesco subsidiary is the kind of place we’d only spend money at under rare circumstances, and would rather make fun of. But the money rolls in, and as an investment, we love it. Tesco carries minimal debt, continues to build tons of market share, and has a history of dividends (even though its American operations are struggling – the company’s recently closed over a dozen stores.)

Smarmy environmentalism isn’t our thing, but again, this isn’t about us. It’s about the market. What other consumers want to buy. What producers, in this case Tesco management, want to offer. And that’s a far more sound investment strategy than “We visit ESPN.com every day, so we bought Walt Disney stock”, any day of the week.

A cupcake IPO? Seriously now?

 

 

Perfect for those weekends in Vegas with nothing to do

Yeah, this cupcake’s not feeling well and won’t be able to make it in today

 

NOTE: this post originally ran, in a slightly less libelous version, on Adaptu.

Intermediate readers, skip the next paragraph.

IPO = initial public offering. Refers to a formerly privately owned company finally making its shares available to whomever wants to buy them. The company now trades on a stock exchange and its financial statements are now public record. The biggest American IPO in history (not counting companies that went into receivership, became wards of the taxpayers and reemerged) was that of VISA in 2008. The heretofore private company opened on the New York Stock Exchange at $64.35/share. It peaked at $96.59 last April, and sits around 75 now.

On second thought, skip this paragraph too.

Somewhat evidently, every company has to do its IPO at some point. An IPO is obviously a big deal: and for many companies’ principals, who own options to buy the stock at a certain discounted price and will profit the second the company goes public, an IPO is as good as it’s ever going to get.

A few weeks ago, boutique cupcake retailer Crumbs Bake Shop went public. “Boutique”, by the way, is a French word meaning “small, but with cachet among urbanites and various other pretentious fools.”

Crumbs has 24 retail stores in the New York tri-state area, 6 in Los Angeles, 3 in D.C. and its environs, and 1 in Chicago with 3 more New York-area stores in the works. In New York and Los Angeles, they deliver to your door. The company is a public relations phenomenon, renowned as the creator of the Baba Booey cupcake (peanut butter frosting, chocolate cream cheese frosting, peanut butter chips) and the Artie Lange cupcake (chocolate cream cheese frosting, Vicodin filling, served in an edible wrapper doused in lysergic acid diethylamide).

Still, a company that can get Howard Stern’s attention is not necessarily a company worth investing in. If you’re old enough to remember Outpost.com, you know what we mean. Unlike VISA, Crumbs isn’t an internationally recognized name with decades of results behind it. Nor is it Microsoft (IPO 1986), nor Google (2004), with a palpable potential for growth and a revolutionary and established product line. Use whatever corporate buzzword you want with cupcakes, but “game-changer” doesn’t really fit.

Okay, what about its company history?
It barely has one. Crumbs was founded in 2003 by a husband and wife team – she’s a lawyer, he’s…well, here’s the relevant sentence from his official bio:

Jason started Famous Fixins, a manufacturer of celebrity licensed products, with such products as Britney Spears bubble-gum and NSYNC lip balm as well as products with high profile names such as Derek Jeter, Mike Piazza and Sammy Sosa.

We could go for a cool, refreshing, sturdy, gluten-free, Mac-compatible fair trade Sammy Sosa product right now. How about you?

Does it have goodwill – the accounting term that refers to intangible value beyond its assets?
Nothing you can quantify. To we middle Americans, Crumbs doesn’t even register. We’d even heard repeatedly about their novelty cupcakes, but couldn’t tell you the company’s name. The one New York cupcakery we did know the name of is Magnolia Bakery, and only because of that one Saturday Night Live bit.

Does the company have a competitive advantage that no one can replicate?
That depends. Do you have a kitchen and a couple of mixing bowls?

Crumbs’ IPO hit the ground with a valuation that now leaves it around $58 million. Granted, ExxonMobil has more than that in its petty cash envelope, but $58 million is a decent amount for a company that until this point has had only 2 visible owners.

The markup on a cupcake is enormous. Crumbs retails its cupcakes for $4.50. That’s each, not for a 4-pack. With that much profit baked into every bite, the company has designs on opening 300 more stores.

Making cupcakes can be profitable, maybe even in the long term. But a $58 million business? Here are a couple of schools of investing thought, each encapsulated in a single sentence:

You have to look at a company’s income, shareholders’ equity, how much debt it’s carrying and how much cash flows through it before you invest in it.
Control Your Cash

 

We go to Starbucks every day, so I buy Starbucks stock.
Barbra Streisand

It’s safe to say that Crumbs is counting on people who subscribe to the latter belief to help it grow into maturity.

But even Starbucks sells more than mere coffee. At one point the company went so far as to publicly consider itself the primary place to exist when you’re neither at work nor at home. The Wi-Fi and the music attest to that, and it appears to be working. Besides, when Starbucks went public it was far more entrenched than Crumbs is today.

It’s not that you can’t sell a capricious, semi-serious item in a recession – Altria and Molson Coors are both doing fine, and it’s slightly less harmful for society that overextended people stuff their faces with Baba Booey cupcakes rather than cigarettes or alcohol. But it’s hard. Let the lawyer and the manufacturer of celebrity licensed products build the business themselves.

We give the Crumbs founders our wishes for success. What we’re not giving them is our money.

McKesson has a $21 billion market cap and is trading at close to a 12-year peak. They sell payroll software to doctors, and prepare health claim management forms. You’ve never heard of them, which means they’re really underground. If that’s not hip and trendy, we don’t know what is.

**This article is featured in the Carnival of Personal Finance #314**