So, you’re thinking about starting a business in Blackpool. Maybe you’ve had one too many sticks of rock and thought, “I could sell this stuff.” Or maybe you just fancy a change of pace from the soul-crushing commute to an office park. Honestly, bringing a business idea to Blackpool is a bit like trying to build a sandcastle right as the tide comes in—exciting, messy, and you will definitely get wet. But if you pull it off, you get a front-row seat to one of Britain’s most wonderfully bonkers seaside shows.
The locals aren’t tourists (and that’s your secret weapon)
Everyone thinks Blackpool is 100% hen parties and stickiness. But look closer, and you’ll see a proper community of folk who live here year-round, through the drizzle and the illuminations. These are the people who know which chippy does the best scraps and who will actually keep your business afloat in February. If you can win them over—by being useful and reliable—you’ll have a customer base that’s more loyal than a dog waiting for a dropped sausage roll.
Location, location, but maybe not on the Golden Mile
Everyone’s first dream is to get a unit right on the seafront. That’s the dream, until you realise the rent is basically a mortgage on a small Welsh village. And in summer, you can’t hear yourself think over the whelks and the seagulls having turf wars. The real trick is to find a spot a street or two back—cheaper, quieter, and you won’t have to fight a stag do for your own doorstep. Pro tip: look for a ginnel (that’s a local alley) that gets a surprising amount of foot traffic. It’s like finding a five-pound note in a wet sandal.
Seasonality is your annoying flatmate
Blackpool’s economy breathes in and out with the seasons. In July, you can sell ice to a penguin. In November, you’ll be twiddling your thumbs and trying to flog thermal socks to people who are just trying to find a bus. You need to plan for the slump like you’re prepping for a zombie apocalypse—stockpile cash, have a winter side hustle, and get really good at offering deals nobody can refuse. Think “two for one on hot chocolate” rather than “please, just walk through the door.”
The competition is fierce and fried
You will not be the first person to think “Blackpool needs a better fish and chip shop.” There are already 47 of them, and they all have a secret batter recipe passed down from their great-grandad. But here’s the good news: people here appreciate difference more than they appreciate perfection. Want to open a vegan donut shop? Go for it. A retro video game café? Do it. Just make sure you serve it with a smile and a bit of banter, because locals can always tell when you’re being fake. They’ve seen a thousand acts on the pier, and they know a phony when they smell one.
Tech? Yes, but keep it simple
Don’t go full Silicon Valley on them. You don’t need a fancy app to order a bacon butty. What you do need is a decent card machine that works when the sea mist rolls in, and a social media presence that’s actually funny, not polished. Post a picture of your dog in a raincoat outside your shop. That works better than any billboard. Blackpool folk love a bit of personality, and a good laugh makes them remember where you are when they’re wandering around hungry.
Permissions and paper (the boring but important bit)
Look, I know no one wants to talk about planning permission while they’re dreaming of candy floss empires. But Blackpool Council is actually pretty clued-up on helping small businesses, if you ask nicely. You need a street trading licence if you’re doing a cart, and check if your premises has a Premises Licence for selling anything after 11pm. It’s a bit more paperwork than a dodgy eBay transaction, but way less hassle than getting shut down during Illuminations week. And trust me, getting shut down during the Illuminations is a special kind of public humiliation.
Embrace the weird
Finally, don’t try to make Blackpool boring. This is a town that loves a giant novelty shoe, a talking parrot, and a seafront tram that plays tinny music. If your business is too serious, you’ll stick out like a sober person at a hen party. Instead, lean into the chaos. Put a funny sign outside. Name your sandwich after a local landmark. Own the quirks. Because in Blackpool, the businesses that thrive aren’t the most professional—they’re the ones that make you smile while you’re trying to find a parking spot. And that, my friend, is the real enterprise in this town: making people happy despite the wind.
