If you’ve ever looked closely at one of my listings—really closely—you may have noticed something slightly unexpected at the very end of the price. Again and again, they end in 747.
People ask about it all the time. Sometimes it’s a client. Sometimes it’s another broker. Recently, while I was walking through a townhouse with a young buyer from England, he stopped and laughed. “What’s with the seller at one million six forty-nine seven forty-seven?” I smiled and told him I thought the sellers were into numerology. We both laughed. But the truth is simpler—and much more personal.
I’ve been ending my listing prices with 747 for more than fifteen years, long enough that most brokers in Chicago recognize it instantly. Long enough that, when everything starts to blur together online, it’s the 747 that makes someone pause. It’s the part that feels just slightly off. And because it’s off, it’s remembered. That was always the idea.
I've never been motivated to lecture colleagues or teach them new tactics. Instead, I want to leave a mark and be someone’s forever broker, the person they call again and again as their life unfolds. And because I believe in that kind of continuity, I think about remembrance. How do I stay present in someone’s mind? How do I imprint, quietly and honestly, over time? For me, 747 has become that imprint.
When listing prices aggregate across the MLS and every platform imaginable, most of the numbers disappear into sameness. But that final sequence—the 747—stands out. It’s a little strange and unexpected. And as anyone in media relations will tell you, it doesn’t really matter whether people love something or question it. What matters is that they talk about it. Conversation creates memory, and memory creates connection.
The interesting thing is, 747 didn’t start as branding. It started as a part of life. A dear friend of mine used to read playing cards (not tarot cards). She used to joke that she didn’t really need the cards, but people would think she was a witch if she didn’t hold something in her hands! She wore a black hat. Garter snakes used to show up on her front porch. She was unforgettable.
And my friend loved sevens and fours. I loved her. I later dedicated The Caterpillar and the Butterfly to her. When she spoke, I listened.
Another part of the story comes from travel. Stephen and I love to fly on 747s because we adore the upstairs seats. There’s something about the perspective, the romance, and the feeling that you’re slightly removed from the hubub and can see the world from a higher vantage point. Over time, the numbers and the plane began to merge in my mind. Sevens and fours. Movement. Perspective. Possibility.
The decision to use 747 as a quiet moniker built over time, the way meaning usually does, and then it took hold. Over the years, a few brokers have tried using 747 for their listings, but it looked foolish and ended quickly. This symbol works because the story behind it authentically belongs to me.
For me, 747 is a small, consistent signal of how I think about my work and the people I work with. I choose relationships over transactions and continuity over moments, building slowly as I go along.
At the end of the day, the number is just a number. But repeated with intention, it becomes something else entirely.
A signature.
A quiet promise.
A reminder that details matter—especially the ones chosen with care.
And if you’ve ever noticed the 747 and paused, even for a second, then it’s already done what it was meant to do.
Happily Ever Always.™
