Unintended consequences and unexpected opportunities.
Many years ago, I rented a room in a house owned by an Italian woman.
Well, not really an Italian woman – at least, not on the outside. She had a perfect, cut-glass accent, and lived in one of the posher parts of London.
But on the inside, she was Italian. She’d spent her formative years with her English parents in Rome, and had later moved to Milan. And then to England.
What amazed me about her was that nothing ever got in her way. And I’m not just talking about her driving, which was fast, dangerous and highly illegal. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, especially in sedate West London.
No, it was the way she got around life’s little irritations that impressed me. Whenever a problem cropped up, she found a solution. Rules and regulations didn’t faze her: she simply found a way to circumvent them.
One day, after a particularly cunning solution, she smiled broadly at me, and came out with a delightful Italian expression: Fatta la legge, trovato l’inganno!
Which means that as soon as a law is made, the workaround is found.
More regulation doesn’t mean more compliance, or a more orderly society. The unintended consequence of laws is that people quickly find ways to bypass them. Make more laws, and people simply find more ways.
And the Italians are good at finding ways: it’s estimated that the black market would add another 30% to their GDP. In the UK, by comparison, it’s a mere 5-10%.
Penny dreadful
Unintended consequences are one of life’s unavoidable problems (or opportunities – you decide).
Whenever you take a decision – to change your pricing, launch a marketing campaign, target a sector of the market, expand your product range – there are unintended consequences.
When the Net Book Agreement, which had set fixed prices for books in the UK for almost 100 years, was scrapped in mid-90s, it was hailed as a good thing. Henceforth, the market would prevail as these old, outdated restrictive practices were swept away.
The result?
Big chains got bigger. Small bookshops couldn’t compete. Supermarkets started selling books, and set their selling price below the cost price of many bookshops. In some cases, supermarkets simply used books as loss leaders to draw people into the store to buy food.
Publishing houses took fewer chances, as blockbusters ruled the day. Large book chains demanded funds for marketing, and supermarkets vetoed book covers which they claimed wouldn’t work for their customers.
A good thing indeed.
The French – as they mostly do – took a different approach. Culture was an exception, they said. Books weren’t a commodity, to be sold like so many bottles of mineral water or tins of cassoulet.
And so in France, to this day, the maximum a book can be discounted is 5%, whether you’re a mega-supermarket, an online retailer or a tiny independent bookseller.
The result? More books, more bookshops, more choice.
Vive la différence.
Text maniac
You can’t stand still. And you can’t predict the future – so don’t try to. Unintended consequences are everywhere, unpredictable and mostly unstoppable.
And sometimes, the consequences cause a chain reaction:
Text messages, thought to be a nice-to-have-but-essentially-useless add-on to the mobile phone, took off in a way nobody could have foreseen. Today, they’re worth billions of pounds a year to mobile operators.
Twitter, building on SMS success, has come from nowhere to be everywhere. It makes no sense and defies analysis. But it is what it is, and it’s here to stay.
Burglaries have suddenly became easier, thanks to people’s constant tweeting about their movements. I’m just popping out to the gym, they tell the world. Leaving the house empty, of course – a problem that the daring website Please Rob Me highlighted to startling effect. (It’s since suspended its operations, having made its point.)
Stuff happens. It’s how you deal with it that makes the difference.
Think ahead, identify the most likely problems, and work out your strategy. Don’t let yourself get stuck in Indecision Alley – it’s dead end.
And when the unexpected happens – and it will – go with the flow and react fast. See if there’s an opportunity lurking in the midst of it all, seize it with both hands, and run with it.
Much as a software company I know did. They launched what they thought was a niche solution, aimed at a gap in the market. But they weren’t sure, as the saying goes, whether there was a market in the gap.
There was.
Such a big market, in fact, that they completely re-engineered their company around that one solution, which has since become a runaway success.
So you see? Good stuff happens too.
Ciao bella
When my landlady’s parents went to live in Italy, they thought it would give their daughter a second language, an appreciation of art, culture and fine wine, as well as a broader world outlook.
It did. But it also gave her a lifelong disrespect for rules, a fiery temper and a quirky method of getting out of a tight parking spot.
One morning, I stood at my bedroom window, gaping in disbelief as she drove her car a little forwards, then a little backwards, in the impossibly small space. She nudged the car in front, and the car behind, and in front, and behind.
Well I say nudged, but I did hear a pretty loud bump each time she made contact. Bump, bump, bump, bump.
And then, with just enough space to swing out, she was off. Hurtling down a suburban London road with reckless abandon, singing along to the sound of Claudio Baglioni on her car stereo.
Unintended. But pretty damned impressive.
Find out more:
Open House. The controversial website Please Rob Me highlights over-sharing information online. Next time, think before you tweet.
Last summer, I heard a radio interview with somebody from News International, who said they were considering charging for access to the online versions of The Times and The Sunday Times.
They were confident that people would pay.
Not me, I thought to myself. Not in a million years.
Why? Because I’ve been reading The Times online for free for over 10 years. And it’s good – but not that good.
And if I’m honest, I’m a bit of an online tart, so I also spend quality time with the Daily Telegraph and The Guardian (or if I’m in a more exotic mood, Le Figaro or Le Monde).
And then last week, the story was confirmed. From June, it’ll cost £1 a day or £2 a week to read the papers online.
I wondered what the reaction would be. I’m often out of step with the popular mood on these things. Perhaps other people – real, sensible, grown-up people – would think it was a good idea, and made sound economic sense.
After all, The Times gets 20m unique visitors a month. If even 5% stay with them, that’s a million people they can ‘monetise’.
Or perhaps not.
When I last looked, the story on the Times site had 472 comments, most of them negative. Some very negative.
And when I clicked on the ‘most recommended’ heading, I saw that a whopping 3,500 people had recommended the top comment. Which tells you how consistent the response was – for every one person posting, eight were simply agreeing with the most recommended (self-perpetuating, I realise) comment.
If I were James Harding, the editor, I’d be worried. Very worried.
Free and easy
Giving something away for free is a great way to attract people. But once they turn up, what do you do then?
A sprat to catch a mackerel is fine: you give a free e-book, or a free hour’s consulting, or a free website critique, because you hope to pick up more, bigger and paid work.
But if you’re giving away everything, as The Times was, then you’ve got a big problem.
It’s all a case of expectations.
Do you charge for your time? I do. So when somebody says “Let’s get together. I’m in Brighton – where are you?” I realise three things.
First, they’re a ‘meeting person’. Second, they don’t value my time – or at least, they’re not prepared to pay for it. And third, they haven’t checked on my website to see where I live and work (I’m often tempted to say “The Isle of Lewis. Why? Where are you?” to see what their reaction is.)
And almost every time, when people realise there’s a price tag attached, the meeting effortlessly morphs into a teleconference or a videoconference. Which is free, of course.
The thing is, people value what you value.
Just the other evening, I had a second helping of pasta at a friend’s house (tagliatelle carbonara, since you asked). And as I twiddled my fork, I suddenly thought how odd it would be to ask for seconds in a restaurant.
“Was everything OK?” the spotty waiter with the off-white shirt would ask.
“Yes, absolutely delicious,” I’d reply. “In fact, it was so good, I’ll have a second helping.”
“Certainly, sir – that’ll be another £11.50. I’ll be right back.”
Free. £11.50. It’s all a matter of context.
The naked truth
Would you walk down the street in skimpy underwear? Of course you wouldn’t (if you would, you should consider seeking help).
But what if that underwear was actually a bathing costume and the street was actually the pathway down to a shimmering blue pool?
But that’s different, I hear you say.
Is it really? Or is it simply a case of perception? You’re still as naked, but it’s just a matter of how it feels.
Free is the same. It’s a perception. You have to create the value first, before you can give it away.
And if you do go down the free route, remember a few basics:
It’s a powerful weapon, but it should be used sparingly. Once, I worked for a company that constantly bundled ‘free’ software with much more expensive software. So often, in fact, that it came to be the norm. And when the freebies disappeared, guess what happened? That’s right – the paid-for software sales fell of a cliff. Now in reality, the free software was a gimmick, and probably sat on people’s shelves or on their hard drive – either way, it was unused. But it had the magic word ‘free’ attached, and that creates value. Taking it away has consequences.
It works one way only. You can make something free that you’ve charged for, but it rarely works the other way around (as James Harding may well discover in June). Lotus, the software company, makers of the iconic Lotus 1-2-3, gave away their word processor, Ami Pro, to boost sales way back in the 90s. Then, they decided to start charging for it. Charging? For free software? You must be joking, thought customers. And nobody bought it.
It should really be free. Not FREE* or Free (++) or even FREE^^^. If you’re going to hem in your offer with endless terms and conditions (what’s the difference, by the way?) then you might as well think of another offer.
So free is easy, but not that easy. You should think long and hard before you start giving things away, and make sure you have an exit strategy.
Much as I have with The Times.
There’s still another two months to go before everything disappears inside a walled garden, but I’m already weaning myself off their columnists, correspondents and diarists.
“The really depressing bit for me,” said my friend, “was to hear the word authenticity used as a marketing term. Something is either authentic or it isn’t.”
He wasn’t talking about mobile phones or cars, life coaches or insurance salesmen. No, it was worse – much worse.
Politicians.
We’d both heard the same edition of Analysis on BBC Radio 4, which talked about pitching for the female vote in the upcoming general election. Its title, Babies and Biscuits, was inspired by David Cameron’s appearance on Mumsnet, a million-strong online network of mothers.
Mothers with votes.
Questions ranged from childcare vouchers to ID cards, with brief detours via nappies (aka diapers) and his favourite biscuit (he had an answer he prepared earlier – unlike Gordon Brown in the Biscuitgate scandal).
Perception is reality
Authenticity is on everybody’s lips these days. Everybody wants to be real, honest, and open – or at least, to appear so.
So we’re all doing the open-kimono thing, trying to show the real us, trying to connect with prospects.
My gym certainly is. LA Fitness have mugshots of real staff members plastered all over the gym, the web and in magazine advertising. Real people, warts and all.
Estate agent Carter Jonas has taken the same approach, relaunching its brand so the focus is not property, but…you got it, people.
So Sinéad likes Latin American dancing and Marie is a champion golfer. Geoff sails dinghies and Kevin enjoys cooking (he’s welcome to it).
Does this all feel authentic to you?
No, me neither. You get the feeling they’re trying too hard to be something they’re not. And by shoehorning them into roles they – and we – feel uncomfortable with, nobody’s being done any favours.
Easy does it
The thing about being honest and open is that it’s a hard sell. Tell somebody you’re honest, and their instinct is to doubt you. Why is he telling me this?
It’s a bit like telling somebody you’re talented. Isn’t that something they should be able to work out for themselves?
Going back to basics is another option. I’ve lost count of the number of times people have said to me I want to be more like Innocent.
Innocent Drinks, that is. With the cute cartoons and the cutesy taglines. It works very well – for them.
But here’s the thing. It isn’t the result of some focus group or creative brainstorm. It’s not designed to deceive or deflect. It’s a simple idea, with a simple execution.
And I do think it’s authentic. In fact, unless I was being spun to, I know it is.
Years ago, I bumped into one of the Innocents at a networking event in London. An ex-teacher, he’d abandoned the classroom and thrown himself into smoothies instead (metaphorically speaking, you understand).
And when it came to copy, he decided to give it a go himself. He’d keep it simple, straightforward and… innocent.
And it worked.
But that bandwagon has passed, and it’s too late to jump on. So don’t. Instead, create your own, start a trend and set yourself apart.
Be authentic, but do it your way.
And remember that being is one thing – doing is another. You’ve got to deliver, otherwise you’re just a likeable incompetent.
As Seth says:
… ‘being’ is too amorphous and we are notoriously bad at judging that. Internal vision is always blurry. Doing, on the other hand, is an act that can be seen by all.
Can I quote him on that? Oh yes, I just did.
And finally
So was Cameron being authentic, or just playing the game in a cynical attempt to garner votes?
Well, June 3rd is the last date on which an election can take place. So on the morning of the 4th, we’ll see how the cookie crumbles.
Or the biscuit. (Mine’s a ginger nut, by the way.)
Find out more:
It’s a duck: Seth Godin‘s take on authenticity (and Mother Teresa).
I could have taken umbrage, but I didn’t. What she was really getting at is that her mind functions very differently to mine. Her spelling is often patchy, but she has a wonderful sense of colour and shape. She’s hopeless with foreign languages, but has a keen ear for English accents.
Her comment came after I’d mentioned that for me, days had colours. Monday is green, Tuesday is blue, Wednesday is orange, and so on.
Before you get worried, I don’t taste numbers or smell words or feel images. I just do the day/colour thing. That’s all.
I know what you’re thinking (maybe)
I thought about that episode again just recently when I watched Temple Grandin’s talk called The world needs all kinds of minds at TED 2010.
Grandin herself thinks in pictures, and says it took her a long time before she realised that others perceived the world in a very different way.
She identifies three groups, and gives examples of what professions they’re best suited to:
Visual thinkers, who make good graphic designers, photographers and creators.
Pattern thinkers, who often go on to become programmers and mathematicians.
Verbal thinkers, who want to know everything about everything, and make good journalists or actors.
Minds, audiences, messages
So how does all of this relate to your sales and marketing messages? The mailshots you send, the websites you put up, the brochures you write?
Well, it means that you need to really think about your audience.
And often, we don’t. We assume they’re visual, when actually they’re verbal. Or that they see patterns, when in fact, they see the whole picture. Or that they’re details people, like we are – but really, they’re not.
So what can you do to get around it? Well why not:
Use pictures and words. Combine strong graphics that send out a clear, positive message, backed up by enough detail to satisfy the curious.
Summarise and give detail. If you use headings and bullets, skimmers can skim. And details-focused people can read the bits in between.
Offer them a choice.Looking for technical details? Step this way, sir. Want a marketing overview? Second on the left, madam. If you structure your copy so people can branch off, you’ll keep all the minds happy.
And always remember, that what you think is obvious may not be that obvious. As sure as night follows day.
And as sure as Saturday is red (but then, you knew that, didn’t you?).
Remember the last time you saw a photo of yourself? I’m betting you didn’t like it. Maybe it was a bad angle, or the light wasn’t too good. Maybe you were caught unawares. Or maybe you just don’t like being photographed (I know where you’re coming from).
But another part, a big part of seeing a photo of ourselves, is that we don’t recognise ourselves. Why not? Because everything’s in reverse, the wrong way round.
Except it’s not.
That parting on the left-hand side is actually on the right in real life. The freckle on your nose is actually where it looks like it is. And your good side is actually your bad side.
The thing that throws us is that we’re seeing ourselves as others see us.
And that’s always a bit of a shock to the system.
Dog bites man
When you’re putting your message out, you need to have a little out-of-body experience now and then. In fact, the more often you do it, the better.
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I worked for a big software company. For a product launch, our ad agency – a bunch of hip dudes and dudesses with more attitude than a classful of teenagers – came up with a great series of adverts.
Everybody loved them.
But the one that caught my eye featured a man tussling with a woman, topped off with what (to me, at least) looked like a slightly sexist headline.
It was daring, different and what would nowadays be called ‘edgy’ (back then, edgy meant irritable).
I thought it wouldn’t work, and said so. All eyes in the room turned on me, like a pack of ravening hyenas.
I stood my ground, repeated my opinion, and left it at that.
Two weeks later, I was sitting behind a two-way mirror with my colleagues watching a focus group run through the ads. When they came to the sexist one, I held my breath. But I think I was the only one – everybody else was convinced the ad would go down a storm.
It didn’t. It bombed from the very start.
And oddly enough, it was the men who thought it was most unacceptable. Perhaps it was because they were in mixed company. Perhaps it was because they knew there were under observation.
Or perhaps it was because it really was an awful advert.
Whatever the reason, its fate was sealed there and then, and it headed for cutting-room floor.
And the campaign? It was a huge success, boosting software sales and winning awards.
Step away from the campaign, sir
So what if you can’t afford a focus group? Well why not:
Phone a friend. Ask an acquaintance, family member or networking contact. Try not to prejudice them by over-explaining the concept (you won’t have that luxury with real prospects).
Walk away from it. Leave it for a day, weekend or a week. I guarantee it’ll look different after you’ve taken a break.
Get round the other side of your desk. No, really, I mean it. If you have space, get round there now. Be somebody else – taller, shorter, female, male, older, younger. Pretend you’re not yourself and look at it as objectively as you can. You’ll be surprised what emerges.
Ask your clients. After all, they’re the ones who are destined to see it. Pick a few key clients that you know and trust, and run the idea by them. They’ll be chuffed you asked, and you’ll get some great insights.
And if you’re still not sure? Do a Dr Pepper (what’s the worst that could happen?).
Run it anyway, but be prepared to make changes. Measure from Day 1, and make course adjustments. Stay nimble and agile. Set yourself a cut-off date, and if it’s not working, and you’ve tried everything, jettison it and move on.
Third degree (honorary)
If you call me with a great idea for a campaign you’d like to run, don’t be surprised if I ask questions. Lots of them.
It’s not that I don’t think you’ve got a great idea – it’s just that it’s the first time I’ve heard it, and I’m standing back, then getting up close, kicking the tyres and running my hand over it.
It allows me to see it objectively, evaluate it, and gain some perspective. And it allows you do to the same.
Wow, said a potential client recently, you’re so clever. You ask things I’d never even think of.
Clever, me? Maybe. But actually I’m asking questions from a position of complete ignorance.
Which is just another name for objectivity.
But don’t tell anyone.
Find out more:
Two wrongs might make a right. Yes, you can make mistakes – in fact, you should, otherwise you’re not trying. Check out Sunny Bates on Linchpins, Passion and Fear and you’ll see what I mean.
Feedback frenzy. Diamond Shreddies vs. Square Shreddies – can you tell the difference? They can (well they think they can, and that’s all that matters).
