Burt Shavitz didn't really care about your chapped lips. Honestly, he probably didn't care much for the $900 million corporate machine his name eventually became, either.
If you’ve ever looked at that yellow tube of lip balm and wondered about the scraggly-bearded man in the drawing, you’re looking at a guy who lived in a converted turkey coop. No running water. No electricity for a huge chunk of his life. Just a man, his golden retrievers, and a few million bees.
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Burt from Burt’s Bees was the ultimate accidental entrepreneur. He wasn't some Harvard MBA with a five-year plan for world skincare domination. He was a guy who liked being left alone in the Maine woods.
From Manhattan Streets to Maine Hives
Before he was "Burt the Bee Man," he was Ingram Berg Shavitz. Born in Manhattan in 1935, he actually had a pretty sophisticated life before he went feral. He was a photojournalist in the 1960s. He shot photos of Malcolm X and John F. Kennedy. His work appeared in Time and Life magazines.
But New York started feeling like a cage. He once mentioned seeing an elderly neighbor who never left her window and thinking, That’s going to be me if I don’t get out. So, he did what any self-respecting 1970s hippie would do. He packed a Volkswagen van and drove north. He ended up in Maine, found a stray swarm of bees on a fence post, and decided that was his new life. It was a literal act of God in his eyes. He started selling honey out of the back of his yellow Datsun pickup truck.
The Hitchhiker Who Changed Everything
The brand "Burt’s Bees" wouldn't exist without Roxanne Quimby. Period.
In 1984, Burt picked up Roxanne while she was hitchhiking. She was a single mother and an artist; he was the local eccentric with a beard down to his chest. They hit it off. While Burt was happy just selling honey in gallon pickle jars, Roxanne saw something else. She saw the leftover beeswax.
She started making candles. Then they made $200 at a local craft fair. Then $20,000 in a year.
By 1991, they had the lip balm. You know the one. That peppermint tingle was the catalyst that turned a Maine hobby into a global powerhouse. But as the money grew, the distance between the two founders grew even wider.
The Ousting of the Namesake
Here is the part the glossy brand stories usually gloss over. Burt didn't retire to his cabin with a billion dollars and a smile. He was basically pushed out.
The story is messy. Around 1994, the company moved to North Carolina to find better tax breaks and labor. Burt hated it. He hated the heat, the offices, and the "upper-mobile rising yuppie" lifestyle. Around that same time, his relationship with Roxanne fell apart.
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There were rumors—and later admissions in the documentary Burt’s Buzz—about an affair Burt had with a young employee. Roxanne reportedly gave him an ultimatum: leave the company or face a lawsuit. He took a settlement that included some property in Maine and a relatively small amount of cash (around $130,000).
Years later, when Roxanne sold the company to Clorox for over $900 million, she eventually gave Burt another $4 million. But compared to the massive payout she received, Burt was essentially the face of a company he no longer owned or even really understood.
Why Burt Shavitz Still Matters
Burt died in 2015 at the age of 80. By then, his face was in every CVS, Target, and airport gift shop in the world.
He stayed in his 300-square-foot cabin until near the end. He didn't have an alarm clock. He didn't have the internet. He used to say that "a good day is when no one knocks on the door."
There’s a weird irony in a man who shunned consumerism becoming the face of a massive consumer brand. He was a living contradiction. He'd fly to Taiwan to promote the brand and be treated like a rock star, then fly back to Maine to chop wood and hang out with his dogs.
What we can learn from the "Bee Man"
- Simplicity is a choice. Burt had the means to live anywhere, but he chose a turkey coop because he preferred the view.
- Ownership matters. If you're the "talent" or the "face," make sure your legal ducks are in a row before the company hits the stratosphere.
- Authenticity can't be manufactured. Clorox bought the company because they wanted Burt’s "vibe." They actually moved his cabin from Maine to their headquarters in Durham, North Carolina, as a museum piece.
How to live a little more like Burt
You don't have to move into a shed to capture his energy. Honestly, just turning off your phone for an hour and sitting outside is a start.
If you're interested in the "real" story, go find the 2013 documentary Burt's Buzz. It’s a raw, sometimes uncomfortable look at a man who was very grumpy, very private, and totally unbothered by what people thought of him.
Next time you use that lip balm, remember the guy in the hat. He wasn't a corporate mascot. He was a photographer who got lost in the woods and found exactly what he was looking for.
Actionable Next Steps:
- Watch "Burt’s Buzz": It’s the only way to see the man behind the marketing.
- Audit your "must-haves": Burt lived on 40 acres with just the basics. Look at your own workspace—what's actually essential and what's just noise?
- Research the "National Park" connection: Roxanne Quimby used her payout to buy 87,000 acres of Maine wilderness and donated it to the National Park Service. It’s the one part of the corporate blowout Burt actually respected.