Here today, there tomorrow: Are pop-ups worth it for small businesses?

SINGAPORE – In an ideal world, Danial Roslan would have his own physical store, a homey, Instagrammable unit evoking the breezy serenity of an Italian villa.

The interior designer by training has mapped out the space in his mind: The cashier is on the right side of the store; a salesperson in a lab coat is stationed at the entrance, handing out scented samples. At the back is a prayer room, where customers can catch a moment of quiet contemplation. 

“A man can dream,” laughs the 27-year-old entrepreneur behind Danhomme, a home-grown fragrance brand that exists, for now, mostly online. 

Danial mixes his scents in his HDB flat in Sengkang, in a windless room with no air-conditioning, the fan switched off so as not to interfere with his measurements. Any physical interaction he has with customers comes in snatches, typically on the weekends, at one of the pop-up markets that have become his bread and butter. 

Since starting his brand in May 2024, the Temasek Polytechnic graduate has participated in around 40 markets, from intimate craft fairs in Joo Chiat to sprawling conventions in Suntec City with hundreds of vendors and formidable crowds. His bestseller is his 5ml roll-on oil-based perfume, priced at $10. Still, he has yet to devise a formula for success. Big events do not always yield commensurate earnings, and in the past, a tiny trickle of intentional customers has proven more valuable than a sea of indifferent shoppers.

 To small businesses like Danhomme, these pop-ups are indispensable. But just how financially viable are they? And why are so many entrepreneurs willing to sacrifice their weekends to stand for hours behind a table? 

How pop-ups popped up 

The rise of pop-ups, a phenomenon that started in the early 2010s, coincided with a broader cultural shift away from permanent, ownership-based consumption towards a more ephemeral style of shopping. This is how C. Keerthigha, a lecturer at Republic Polytechnic’s School of Business, explains it: “Put simply, the older model was about buying something once and keeping it for good, like furniture or a car.

“Liquid consumption is the opposite: people would rather access or experience something for a short while than own it outright, the same instinct behind taking a Grab instead of owning a car, or streaming instead of buying DVDs.” 

Pop-ups are a retail expression of that same shift, she says, arriving in Singapore alongside services like Airbnb and Uber that built their appeal on the same premise.

Though slow consumption has swung back into fashion in recent years, pop-ups are very much here to stay. Shoppers are spoilt for choice. Each weekend, makers’ markets, food fairs and thrift bazaars vie for their time and money.

Has the scene become oversaturated? Perhaps, says industry veteran Kent Teo, but that does not necessarily mean more indiscriminate events. On the contrary, it forces organisers to tighten the conceptual drive of their pitches. 

Catch-all retail buffets are out; community-driven events with a tightly curated list of vendors are in. For instance, shoppers might seek out pet-themed fairs, where they can meet other “pawrents”, or events designed to make a positive social impact. 

“Information is everywhere now, so we see fewer impulse buys. People are more intentional about which events to attend, whereas in the past, they might just head down without knowing what’s going on,” says Teo, 41, the founder of Invade, a space activation agency that brings festivals like Artbox to Singapore. 

According to Keerthigha, pop-ups remain relevant because they are mutually beneficial to all stakeholders: online brands courting customers by letting them “touch and feel” their products; smaller players hoping to pounce on the crowd drawn in by an anchor brand; even host venues – pop-ups have been shown to lift foot traffic at malls by around 15 per cent. They also help operators maximise dead space and scout potential tenants.

“A pop-up costs a fraction of what a permanent retail lease does, letting small business owners test an idea and reach customers without the upfront capital a full shop requires,” she adds. 

Even smaller markets act as a test bed of sorts. Here, budding creatives who are not ready for a bigger fair can dip their toes in the pop-up economy.  

Paul Ho, 38, co-creator of Mad Market, a medium-sized market of 40 to 50 vendors, situated at places like Capitol Singapore, says: “We felt too intimidated to join bigger markets with zero data of proof of concept and whether our product sales would cover the cost of rental, so we started our own market. This meant we had a safe place to potentially fail and learn while not incurring too much of a financial loss.”

His rates start at $99 a day for half a booth. In comparison, vendors might have to pay over $500 for a booth at larger markets with hundreds of stalls. 

Which markets are better for business? 

Entrepreneurs like Denise Toh have tried both. The 26-year-old ceramicist, who specialises in star-shaped necklaces, ran a booth at AutumnFest, a two-day market at Suntec Singapore Convention & Exhibition Centre featuring over 100 brands in October 2025. She is also a regular at Mad Market’s smaller-scale events. 

“Usually, markets in Suntec or Singapore Expo are the best,” says the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts graduate, who previously worked in early childhood education. “A bigger company is usually more organised. They already have a system, so it’s very easy to apply and send in your details. They can be stricter about the amount of space you get, though.” 

However, she adds that it really depends on how well the organiser promotes the event. Bad marketing can cripple a fair at a lucrative location, while creative social media videos can turn even an industrial building into the weekend’s buzziest hot spot.  As a general rule, though, she typically avoids markets that are too small – those with fewer than 10 vendors, for instance – because patrons are unlikely to travel to such a tiny event. Shopping malls are not her cup of tea either. Mallgoers tend to drift past with no intention of buying anything, she says. 

She participates in pop-up markets once every other week and tries to pace herself. Boothing at three weekend markets in June nearly caused her to burn out because of the long hours.

To turn a profit, she needs to sell around 50 necklaces a day at a bigger market, and 30 to 40 at a mid-sized fair. Her necklaces retail at $38, while larger items like cups and plates cost upwards of $50. 

Danial says a profit margin of around 30 per cent is healthy for him, which means selling 55 bottles at an event like Asia Art & Craft Fair, where he paid around $500 for a booth in 2026.

More important than the size of the market itself is the kind of crowd it draws. This was a lesson he learnt the hard way in 2025, when he temporarily set up shop along Haji Lane. 

“I was initially quite excited because it’s such a vibrant district, so I thought there would be many people there shopping and relaxing,” he says. 

As expected, the market drew over 2,000 visitors over two days, he says. To his dismay, however, he managed to sell only two bottles. His essential oils and room sprays are priced between $10 and $35. 

“I felt so embarrassed and defeated. I even started giving away a few bottles because I felt so down,” he recalls. 

It was only later that he realised what the problem was: The crowd at Haji Lane was too young and had no need for home fragrances. “My customers are usually older, in their 30s, and have their own homes, which they’re very proud of. They want to turn it into a sanctuary and make it smell good, but teenagers don’t really care about this sort of thing.” 

Still, every market presents a learning opportunity. If business is slow, he will focus instead on interacting with customers and growing his social media following. Their honest feedback is also useful. 

“Sometimes, they’ll tell me why they don’t want to buy anything on the spot. It could be because the timing isn’t right – maybe they haven’t gotten their salary for the month. So this helps me schedule when I do my pop-ups,” he says. 

While Danial and Toh rotate around various markets, other entrepreneurs find that the best strategy is to stay put at the same location every weekend. For instance, fans of jewellery brand Heymaeve know exactly where to find it. 

“I don’t jump around the island doing different pop-ups. I’ve decided to station myself at a location that works for my target audience,” says Heymaeve founder Alicia Sandve. 

Her company’s de facto home is Crane, a lifestyle venue in Joo Chiat Road. The 36-year-old is there every weekend for its pop-up market and will start renting a permanent display there in September to expand her customer base. 

In 2023, the Singapore Management University graduate, who lived in the US for nearly a decade, opened a store of her own in the same neighbourhood. At the time, her business, which was three years old, was popular in the US, but still relatively unknown here.

She thought that opening a physical store would be the best way to announce her arrival in the local market. But the inconvenient realities of expensive manpower, rent and inconsistent footfall felled her ambitions. Within 15 months, the store shuttered. 

The current arrangement suits her better. “I’ve found that what works best for me is being in an artsy neighborhood, with tourists and locals who come in looking for coffee or on their way to brunch. It’s just a good vibe,” she says. 

Joo Chiat’s affluent residents tend to be big spenders too, and each transaction easily adds up to a couple hundred dollars. “That’s something that really amazed me,” she adds. Initially, she was worried that Singaporeans, with their penchant for minimalism, would not appreciate her louder designs, which feature baroque pearls and motifs like roses and wings. Her necklaces typically cost over $100.

“But it really surprised me how willing they are to try new things. It’s why I love being there in person – I’m able to style customers, and they’re always very open to it.” 

Heymaeve’s operations are based out of North Carolina in the US. While Sandve could rely on online sales alone in the US, she sees pop-ups as a necessity in Singapore. “This is a place where people shop largely based on word-of-mouth recommendations.” 

Often, new customers return the following week with friends, and those friends in turn spread the word to yet more people. “That phenomenon is much easier to achieve quickly and cost-effectively with pop-ups versus paying for ads online,” she says. 

So even though it means spending her weekends at Crane instead of with her American husband, who is based here, and their two daughters, Sandve calls this a worthwhile sacrifice – albeit a temporary one. “I don’t think I’ll be doing pop-ups forever. It’s just that in this season of my business, it’s what I have to do to build some strong roots for the brand in Singapore.”

Future of pop-ups 

As the scene diversifies, the concept of a pop-up has evolved beyond craft and thrift fairs. Players in the food and beverage scene have come to embrace limited-time collaborations too, as a way to maximise resources and test new concepts.

In May 2025, Johannes See and MX Yang – the duo behind activations consultancy Pour Decisions – started Last Call, an initiative aimed at helping F&B businesses unlock what they call “idle real estate”. 

Basically, they step in after hours – for instance, once a cafe closes at 5pm – and turn the space into a pop-up bar, complete with themed drinks. So far, they have collaborated with establishments like Cheeselads, a Tyrwhitt Road cheese shop and restaurant, and Kobashi, a bakery in South Bridge Road. 

What they offer these businesses is a fresh pair of eyes, says Yang, 41. “We are there to help them break up repetitive programming, dispel lethargy, and serve as a test bed for ideas. Some outlets do not want new ideas to be tested within their regular menus or regular programming, so we step in to help.” 

The duo, who also run the Dead Poets Society Bar in Raffles Place, say pop-up concepts come with pros and cons. “With pop-ups, you’re frequently on your toes, thinking about what’s the next move, how to market it, how to present it. But with a physical store, the good thing is that it already has its own programme. But in both cases, you cannot remain stagnant,” says Yang. 

He has also come to realise that it is possible to build a brand without a fixed physical location. “In F&B right now, space is just space. Guests today are not so easily impressed any more. You really do need hospitality at the forefront – people follow us because we have great hospitality.” 

Customers might be convinced, but collaborators sometimes take a bit of coaxing. Yang says they do not always see the point in partnering with Last Call because profit is not guaranteed. “We can’t always pay them a fee because the event may flop, so we need to make them understand it’s a risk we’re both taking,” he says. They usually split a proportion of sales with the venue. 

Their most successful events are those that involve their hosts as well. “We really want the venue to feel like it has some skin in the game too. We’re not just here to do our own thing. We want to put the focus on the venue, and we want guests to come back to this place during regular hours,” says See. 

For businesses that do not survive the inhospitable conditions of Singapore’s F&B industry, pop-ups also offer a second shot at life. In July, heritage fish soup brand Ka-Soh was resurrected at Tanglin Mall restaurant Tanglin Cookhouse in the form of a temporary menu. 

After Ka-Soh’s final outlet in Greenwood Avenue shut in September 2025, third-generation owner Cedric Tang decided to focus on selling frozen fish soup from home instead. He wanted to refine its recipe and eliminate the fishy odour some customers complained about. 

It was this period of research and development that eventually gave him the confidence to reintroduce his fish soup to the public. Three Ka-Soh dishes are now available at Tanglin Cookhouse for a limited time: Claypot Seafood Soup ($38++), Prawn Paste Chicken Mid Wings ($15++ for eight pieces) and Signature Fish Noodle Soup ($18++). An end date has yet to be announced.

This merging of worlds has brought a wider range of customers to the restaurant. “Sometimes, we’ll see children wheeling their grandparents in, or Gen Zs who have never tasted Ka-Soh trying its fish soup for the first time. It’s so fulfilling,” says Andie Chen, 41, chief marketing officer of Creative Eateries F&B Group, which runs Tanglin Cookhouse. 

For Tang, who had his hands full juggling the culinary and business sides of Ka-Soh at Greenwood Avenue, this collaboration carves out some much-needed breathing room. It allows him to test new recipes and ideas without sinking a chunk of his savings into another restaurant or hawker stall. 

“I’m not really in it for financial viability. For me, it’s really more of seeing whether this collaboration opens more doors and leads to more opportunities,” says the 41-year-old. 

In Keerthigha’s view, these limited-time experiences are only going to get more popular. “From a psychology perspective, scarcity and novelty are likely to become even more important,” she says. After all, consumers who put a premium on access will naturally gravitate towards experiences that are temporary and exclusive. 

So while Danial still has his sights set on eventually opening his own store, he is trying to make the most of his time as a travelling salesman.

He says: “I’m focusing on growing my business first, and then hopefully, in three to four years, I’ll have accumulated enough cash to rent something.”