NAME: Nick Schiffer
COMPANY: NS Builders
Last year, I spent a lot of time reflecting, and at one point, I was sitting down with some of my team, staring at the ceiling, and I said, "You know what I feel like I'm doing? I feel like I have seven balls on this flat field, and I’m trying to push all of them across. It’s taking forever because I’m pushing one a little, then moving on to the next. If I had just focused on one ball, I’d have reached the other end of the field by now.”
From the outside, it might look like I’ve got it all together, but the reality is I struggle just like anyone else. I’m a big fan of Alex Hormozi, and he pointed out something that hit home for me. You often hear, "You’ve got to take a cold plunge," or "You need seven streams of income to be successful." But the truth is, while multiple income streams are great, that’s not how you build your initial wealth. That was a lightbulb moment for me.
When I think about everything I’m involved in—owning a business, partnering in a few others, real estate development, speaking, hosting a podcast, consulting—the dollars add up each week. But at the end of the day, what do I want to do? I want to build cool stuff with cool people. Right now, "cool stuff" means homes—really interesting homes that challenge everything we know.
All these ventures, like NS Builders, Materia Millwork, Motif Media, and the Modern Craftsman Podcast, contribute to that goal. Materia is key to our project interiors, Motif documents what we do for the world to see, and the podcast has allowed me to learn from over 300 industry pros. While you get to listen to the episodes, I get to selfishly absorb all that knowledge.
Everything I do feeds into that ultimate goal—building incredible homes. The challenge is prioritizing my time and energy. 2024 is about systemizing and creating standard operating procedures, which we’ve been building for the last few years. It’s time to streamline and focus.
I don’t know if it’s a core memory or just something my parents drilled into my head, but ever since I was a child—like two years old—I was swinging a hammer. One story my grandmother loves to tell is how, when they were redoing the kitchen, she sat me on the floor with a hammer and nails, and I just sat there happily hammering nails into the floor.
Another story is from a trip to the hardware store with my grandmother. She asked me what I wanted, and I pointed straight to the screwdrivers. Apparently, I had a taste for tools from a young age.
As a kid, I was building BMX ramps, treehouses, and even a shed in my backyard. I used to watch home improvement shows on TV and then go out and try to recreate what I saw. When I was 11, I started working for my dad at his residential fence company, Canton Fence. I enjoyed the work, and let’s be honest, I liked having some cash in my pocket. I’d go to the movies with my friends, pick up the tab, buy the extra-large Slushy, and feel like a big shot because I had money and no bills.
I worked at Canton Fence for 11 years, starting as a laborer—cleaning the shop, organizing stock—but I was eager to prove myself. I learned to drive the trucks and equipment at a young age, and eventually, I earned the respect of the team. I ended up running the wood shop, building all the wood products we sold. One season, we lost our metal fabricator, so I taught myself to weld and took over the metal fabrication too.
After school, I’d head straight to work, put in as many hours as I could, and then work Saturdays—sometimes even Sundays. Summers were all about working every day. When it came time for college, I felt the pressure to go, even though my dad encouraged me to jump right into the family business.
Honestly, I’m not sure how they found me—probably a list from my school of construction management graduates. When they called, I declined, saying, "No, I promised my dad I’d stick with him for about a year, and then I plan to start my own company." But they called me back a week later, insisting I at least come in for an interview.
I had never driven into the city before, so I left my house at 5:30 AM for a 9:00 AM interview, just to be safe. I arrived two hours early and remember texting or calling the guy I was meeting, asking, "What should I wear?" He told me, "Just a polo and khakis, you’re good."
When I finally went up to the office, I shook his hand, and he said, "Your hands are filthy!" I apologized, thinking I’d scrubbed them well, but he replied, "No, I appreciate that. I can tell you work hard." He offered me the job on the spot, with a salary two or three times what my dad was paying me.
Telling my dad was tough—it crushed him. Our relationship was strained for a while, but we’re great now, especially since I started my own company. But back then, leaving was rough, filled with a lot of anger and regret on both sides.
I started as an assistant superintendent and worked my way up to an assistant project manager. We built a high-rise in Downtown Boston, and I was there for almost four years. Two and a half years in, I started doing side work again—carpentry.
Initially, it was about the money and scratching the itch of carpentry and craftsmanship that I wasn’t getting at work. I appreciated the coordination and planning in commercial construction, but when we got to the finishes, it killed me—they were designed to last only a couple of years.
I started showing up at company events I wasn’t invited to, dressing more for the part I wanted. I was an APM on the job site, but I wore fitted khakis, a nice sweater, and a button-up shirt. I’d tag along to lunches with the development managers and even bought a fitted suit to crash an awards event. They’d ask if I was interested in getting my MBA, and I’d say yes, having no idea what that meant, but I wanted to keep my options open.
Yeah, I definitely would’ve had to pick one. I wanted to know which path would allow me to grow faster. I got close with the development side, and they told me I’d need an MBA to pursue that path. Meanwhile, I was asking my direct report in construction, "How do I get your job?" I was just trying to figure out how to climb the ladder and interact with people at the highest level.
When the CEO showed up, I’d introduce myself and offer to walk him through the job site. My PM was in New York, so when questions came up, I’d answer them myself instead of calling. I wanted to make sure I was adding value. Eventually, I gave my notice because I saw the opportunity with the amount of side work I was doing and decided to start my own company.
They did, and the offer was tempting. Everyone around me said, "Take the money and start your company in three months." But I felt like if I stayed another three months, they’d make an even more attractive offer, and I’d keep putting off my plans. So I said no, thanks, and they hired three people to replace me—which I always found funny.
I had a kitchen renovation lined up for good friends of mine. Shortly after deciding to leave, I let everyone know, and I developed a great relationship with an architect on that project. He mentioned he’d just bought a house and wanted to do a full renovation. I ended up getting that job, and it was just me, working around the clock, doing all the carpentry, managing the subs, and finding new ones as I went. I didn’t have a huge pool of contractors at that point, so I was collecting people’s information and asking for recommendations.
That project in Lincoln was a full gut renovation, and I took it from start to finish. It was a great project, but looking back, I have no idea how I made money. I was probably working 16-hour days for about $10 an hour, but it opened doors to more work, more referrals, and more opportunities.
Yeah, an interior designer reached out to me through Instagram for a project we didn’t end up doing, but it was eye-opening. I realized there was real value in showcasing our work through social media. When I get interested in something, I tend to get a little obsessive. Instagram became a tool to catapult our business, and I started paying attention to what Gary Vaynerchuk was doing.
Exactly. I decided to start filming our projects. I reached out to Doug, a friend from college who was into film, and he’d drive down from Maine, film all day, and then I’d do direct-to-camera interviews. We did this series called "Tuckerman," which is still on my YouTube. It was our personal home renovation, but we never finished the series because we both got too busy.
Snapchat was big at the time, so I used Instagram for photos and Snapchat for behind-the-scenes content. When Instagram added stories, we shifted away from Snapchat.
We bit off a lot. I was doing renovations in Boston, hiring some of my first guys who have since grown into supers and project managers. I realized there were others in the industry who wanted to do as good of a job as I did. So, instead of working solo, I thought, why not build a team?
In the early days, I imagined I’d just be a carpenter with a few guys, working every day with my tool belt on. But 10 years later, that dream has changed drastically. I’m not even sure where my tool belt is these days, but I really enjoy what I’m doing now.
We took on all sorts of projects, big and small, to get as much work as possible and promote it through every channel we could.
Yeah, I had my wedding photographer, who became a close friend, come out and photograph not just the completed projects but also the work in progress. I wanted to tell the story of who we were and what we were doing.
Eventually, I hired Doug, the videographer, full-time because I saw the value in capturing everything. It’s been essential to our business—it keeps us accountable because we’re filming and photographing everything. If something isn’t up to par, we fix it. Documenting our work has promoted what we do, improved our team’s skills, and established us as thought leaders.
It’s everything. Filming and photographing everything holds us accountable—there’s no room for subpar work. It’s improved our promotion, our skills, and our market awareness. At the end of the day, I want to be known for building the craziest homes out there, the ones that make people say, "How did they do that?" But I also want to give back to the industry and help others as I learn. I don’t want to wait until I’m 60 to share what I’ve learned.
I’m all about self-development and business development books, especially those focused on leadership and customer relationships. One of the best books I’ve read is "Extreme Hospitality," which talks about how every customer experience matters. Even though it’s about the restaurant industry, the principles apply to any business.
There’s a story in the book about a barbershop where the service keeps changing with each visit—champagne one time, no champagne the next, and the barber stops addressing the customer by name. That inconsistency drove the customer away, even though he didn’t consciously decide to leave. It just didn’t feel right anymore.
That’s what I take from these books—it’s all about relationships and consistency, whether it’s with customers or developers. Marketing isn’t my formal training, but I find it fascinating and critical to our business.
There’s a saying that comes up a lot in my company: "The best decision is the right decision. The second-best decision is the wrong decision. The worst decision is no decision." I remind my team of this all the time. The worst thing you can do is not make a decision. Even if it’s wrong, there’s usually a way to fix it, and it’s better than doing nothing. If a wrong decision is so detrimental, then that’s on me for putting someone in a position they weren’t ready for. Otherwise, there’s usually a 50% chance we can work with it.
We’ve gone from a hodgepodge of roles to a more structured organization. I work closely with Julian Miller—we’re like yin and yang. I’m the visionary, he’s the integrator. We’ve developed a structure with dedicated project managers, site supers, and a clear carpentry team. This structure has allowed us to grow significantly.
Julian’s background is in building multimillion-dollar hillside residences on the West Coast. So when we’re working on million-dollar renovations here, it’s not as exciting. We’re focused on moving toward bigger projects, targeting bigger clients, and showcasing our ability to deliver on that scale. Our marketing has to be top-notch to attract those opportunities and prove that we can handle them.
Exactly. Everything we’ve done has been client-based until we bought 45 White Oak last year. It’s our property in Wellesley, and we’re developing it on spec with a world-class designer. We’re spending a lot on marketing, design, and construction, but it’s a one-of-a-kind product.
This isn’t a spec house designed for the masses. It’s a statement piece that defines who we are as a business. We’re not looking for a thousand people at an open house; we’re looking for the one person who understands the vision and wants to buy it. That’s riskier, but it’s worth it to create something truly unique.
This project will pivot our business into the realm of architecturally distinct homes—pieces of architecture that are tied to our brand and ethos. We’re committed to delivering exactly what we set out to build, with no compromises. A great example is the windows at 45 White Oak. We could have gone with a faux white oak interior for a savings of $300k (theres more to that cost obviously), but we chose the real thing because we knew that one discerning buyer would notice the difference. We’re committed to doing it right, even if it sounds a little psychotic.
I believe so. Our commitment to quality and intentionality has become almost a trademark. It’s about the use of space, light, and materials to create an experience in motion. Every time you turn a corner, there’s something new to discover—a view, a framed tree, a creek. The materials we use are honest and cohesive. We’re not trying to make anything look like something it’s not. It’s about creating a home that feels right in every way.