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The downside of keeping up appearances
The other day, on the treadmill at my local gym, while watching Sky News, I was struck by something.
No, not a dumbbell or a gym shoe. But a thought.
Am I the only person in the world not dyeing my hair?
Now of course I’m not, but watching the newreaders, sports reporters and correspondents, you could be forgiven for thinking that we live in a world where grey has been banished forever.
Salt and pepa (and more salt)
OK, time for a little test – on me.
Here’s the photo you’ll see popping up all over my site. It was taken a few months ago, and (if you get up close and squint) it shows some grey hair:
Let’s indulge in some time travel. Fast-forward and we get this:
Now I don’t know about you, but I think that looks pretty distinguished.
I’m thinking George Clooney, French Finance Minister Christine Lagarde, or even erstwhile Chancellor of the Exchequer Alistair Darling (minus the caterpillar eyebrows, obviously).
On the other hand, I could decide that grey was a bridge too far, and go for the raven’s wing look:
Hmm.
East End car salesman? Dodgy geezer at Newmarket offering odds on the gee-gees? Desperate-but-loveable on a dating site?
I don’t think so.
Maybe instead I’d go for a halfway house solution, the preferred choice of newsreaders everywhere.
The silver wingtips that they hope that will make people think He couldn’t be dyeing his hair. If he were, he wouldn’t have grey bits on the side.
Oh dear. Now that’s just sad.
And the problem is that the greyer – or whiter – the wingtips get, the bigger the difference between the sides and the unnaturally dark top.
Cruella de Vil here we come. Not for me, I think.
The colour of money
And the connection with copywriting, marketing and the world of business? I hear you ask, weary after last night’s office party and struggling to follow my seasonal meanderings.
It’s simple.
Everything you do sends out a signal – including trying to appear to be something you’re not. It speaks volumes about your honesty, integrity and credibility.
The business equivalent of a hint of a tint might be:
- Pretending your company is bigger than it is (we, we, we).
- Claiming the offer is free when it’s actually free*.
- Talking about a product that’s worth X so that Y seems a really good deal by comparison.
- Dodging responsibility for a problem that’s clearly of your making.
- Talking in a language that overblown, larding it with marketing hype and a generous dollop of business buzzwords.
And the solution? Well you could try to:
- Be yourself (people might just like you).
- Humanise your company (people might just like it).
- Admit your mistakes (the sky won’t fall in).
- Not conceal yourself behind pompous circumlocutions and grandiloquent expressions (like those ones). Talk normal.
And remember, if everybody else is coming over all black-and-silver-wingtips, being different can set you apart. Keeping up appearances and doing a me-too means you blend in with the pack.
The bottom line? It’s OK to be grey (as long as you’re not dull, that is).
And if you’re still not convinced, here’s one last test. Santa A or Santa B?
Thought so.
Merry Christmas.
P.S. Is it just me, or do you start humming Nessun dorma when you look at B?
Getting hands-on, seeing the light and losing the attitude
Where’s the year going? It’s Copycam time again. Who would have thought it?
I’ve been snapping away with my trusty Nokia when cheeky marketing, bright ideas and clever copy tickle my fancy.
So what’s tickled?
Touchy feely
When I was in London recently, I dropped in on the new Apple store in Covent Garden.
I’ve been there before – or rather, I’ve been to what was there before before. The folks from Cupertino, you see, took over a restaurant and refitted it to create the world’s largest Apple store.
Before you start lamenting the loss of another eatery in the maw of a voracious multinational, let me tell you that as a restaurant, it was never that good.
I ate there once, and it was a classic West End tourist trap: overpriced, bad food, even worse service. And punishingly hot patio-heaters that made me feel like I was in a sauna.
Once was enough.
So out with the cheesy pizzas and glutinous pasta, and in with a big helping of Apple.
And what a feast: iPods, iPads, iTouches and Macs appetisingly laid out for punters to taste test.
Which I did. And I almost ended up buying a new Nano. And an iPhone 4. And an iPad.
And then I remembered my resolution not to snack between meals. But the takeaway wasn’t lost on me.
Lesson 1: let people try out your product or service. Nothing, but nothing, you say can conjure up the feeling of really letting them have a go. So let them have a go.
Switch and bait
How do you feel about low-energy light bulbs?
Yes, me too. I know I should like them, but I don’t. That deathly greenish glow they emit, combined with the odd shapes they come in, is enough to put me off.
In addition, you can’t dispose of them as you would with normal waste. Instead, the advice is to go to the local dump and put them in a special skip.
Except my local dump is four miles away, and I’d have to drive. So there’s my low-carbon footprint gone up in smoke.
Also, if you break them, the recommendation from the Department of the Environment is to vacate the room for 15 minutes.
So dangerous and difficult to dispose of? My politically incorrect attitude is looking more sensible by the minute.
And I’m obviously not alone. Now that the EU has banned 100w incandescent bulbs, they’ve become a sought-after item.
Which a lighting shop down the road from me has realised.
So an otherwise unprepossessing shop on a busy road with no parking has found a clever hook to attract customers. Who might just buy something else.
You pop in for a light bulb – and come away with a light bulb and a rather expensive Art Deco lamp.
Clever.
Lesson 2: find a difference. Shout it from the rooftops.
Hola boys
Time and time again, I have to tell people to lighten up. In their attitude to the written word, that is.
Yes, we’re serious businesspeople – all of us. And no, insurance-premium tax or IT support or web security isn’t a laughing matter.
But that doesn’t mean that you have to go all formal on people. After all, which would you respond more to in a meeting – a starchy, unsmiling, sanctimonious suit or an open-collar, first-name smiler?
As long as the smile was backed up by bright ideas, solid solutions and good service, it’s a no-brainer.
People do business with people, not businesses. And what’s more, with people they like.
Like those cheeky chappies at Nanna Mexico, an eatery in Cambridge that probably doesn’t have an apple in sight.
Big ass burritos. Don’t you just want one? A big burrito, I mean, not…well you get my drift.
You see this and you think good service, great food, lots of fun. And you haven’t even been inside the door, let alone sampled the fare.
So it’s already set itself apart from the Pizza Huts and Bella Italias of this world.
Now not everybody is a funky, happening, off-the-wall Mexican joint. So if you’re a City-based wealth-management company, you can’t talk about big ass portfolios, for example.
But you can take a leaf out of the Mexican book. Just look at the How’s my driving? question. How many times have you seen that before? Lots, I’ll bet.
But usually, it’s followed by a bland, anonymous email address – info@, contact@, reply@. I once even saw one that said noreply@, which was funny and tragic at the same time.
But luis@ makes me feel it’ll go to a real person. A real person who cares.
And that matters.
Lesson 3: lighten up, get personal and connect with customers (however big and important you are).
Find out more:
- See the light. The EU’s characteristically inaccessible press release on low-energy light bulbs.
- Buen apetito. If you’re heading up Cambridge way, why not grab a big ass burrito at Nanna Mexico? Tell Luis I sent you.
- Forbidden fruit. Something’s bound to tickle your tastebuds at Apple’s new Covent Garden store.
Do you understand what makes your customers tick? Really?
Summer’s here – or at least, in theory it is.
It’s mid-August, school is out, and people are on holiday. Never mind that it’s only 15 degrees and we’ve seen more rain in the past few weeks than for the last year.
And what’s a little bad weather anyway when it comes to enjoying yourself? Slip on your takkies, pull out the braai and have a lekker jol.
Come again? I hear you say. Has he taken leave of his senses?
Well no. Or rather, yes, temporarily, but it’s all in a good cause. Stick with me, and it’ll become clear.
If you understand any of the lingo above, chances are you’ve spent some time either in South Africa, or with South Africans. And in the process, you’ve tuned in to the way they talk.
So you know that it’s time to slip on your trainers (it being warm and all), pull out the barbecue and have a grand old time.
And if you haven’t been to SA or mixed with Seffricans, perhaps you’ve simply taken the time to read Visit Britain’s latest market profiles.
Released in advance of the London Olympics, they’re a mine of useful information on the cultural quirks of tourists who are expected to flood to these shores in two years’ time.
Don’t mention the…
If a Japanese person smiles at you, what should you assume?
That they’re not happy, of course.
Be careful when pouring wine for an Argentinian – do it backwards and they’ll take offence. Arabs don’t like being told what to do and Indians can appear rude.
Try not to wink at somebody from Hong Kong. If a South African says they were held up at the robots, they simply mean the traffic lights were against them. (Unless they really were held up at the traffic lights, in which case I’d change the subject if I were you.)
Never call a Canadian an American. And never mention the war to…
…a Mexican, of course. That would be the US-Mexican War of 1846-8, naturally.
But then I expect you knew that.
Knowing me, knowing you
Behind the odd assortment of mildly amusing national traits is a serious purpose, of course.
Visit Britain wants to make sure that even more people do what 30m have done annually in recent years.
Visit Britain.
And sensitising hoteliers, restaurateurs and other tourism professionals to the cultural differences is a powerful way of giving customers what they want.
The lives of others
When you’re communicating with clients, prospects and…well, with anyone you want to communicate with, you need to remember one simple rule.
It’s not about you. It’s about them.
So how do you connect with them? Well how about trying to :
- Lose yourself. Here’s a simple exercise: pick up the first piece of marketing material that comes to hand, or check out your website. Right now. Take a random page, and see how many times you use we or us. Now count the instances of you. See what I mean?
- Adapt your style. Or rather, styles. When you’re talking to people, one size fits one, so don’t use the same tone for everybody. And if you are addressing a mass audience, imagine yourself talking to one or writing for one. The perfect, ideal, 100% fits-the-profile client. Conjure them up, make them real and address them directly.
- Dig around. Are your audience young or old? Married or living together? Straight or gay, rich or poor, or somewhere in the middle (between rich and poor, I mean)? The more you know, the more you’ll connect with them. Don’t know? Find out. You’ll be glad you did (and so will they).
- Follow the money. Where do your customers hang out? Be there. Blogs, forums, Twitter, Facebook. Whatever it takes to find out more, see what they’re saying and adapt your message.
It’s only by defining your target audience – as Visit Britain’s detailed market profiles do – that you can make sure your marketing strikes gold. It’s basic stuff, but all too easily forgotten.
As I discovered a while back, when I took a call from a potential client.
“And who’s your target market?” I asked.
“Target market?” she said, as if I’d asked her the square root of pi. There was a long pause, and much shuffling.
“He wants to know who our target market is,” she said finally to her colleague, her hand muffling the sound as she covered the mouthpiece.
“Target market?” he said. “Hmm.”
More shuffling. And then the line went dead.
Oh dear, I thought. She’s cut herself off. She’ll call back in a minute.
But that was six months ago.
Rude, I hear you say? No, no. I’m sure it’s just cultural. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Find out more:
Authenticity and the art of looking the part
“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:
High tech is so yesterday. Try low tech instead.
Recently, I phoned a friend of mine.
He runs a small consultancy: just him, a friend and a Burmese cat. Plus a big server, and a couple of phone lines.
He’s built a very successful business, based on personal service, attention to detail and the sort of creative ideas that have you saying Now why didn’t I think of that?
He could grow bigger, but he likes small. Small is good. No corporate politics, no form-filling, no strategy sessions with tedious flip charts and chunky multicoloured pens.
He and his partner come and go as they please, but are always reachable, available and ready to listen.
Except on the day I phoned.
Instead of bouncing Bill* with his jaunty telephone manner, I heard a creepy voice that sounded like Hal.
“Welcome to Acme Ltd*,” it intoned. “You now have four choices.” And he/it/the machine listed them, to my mounting horror.
I phoned Bill on his mobile.
“What on earth have you done?” I asked.
“You mean the telephone menu system?” he said, barely registering my incredulity. “Yeah, it’s so cool, isn’t it? And so simple to set up and manage. It’s got the best control panel ever.”
(* Names have been changed to protect the innocent – and the not so innocent.)
I am what I am
Not a week goes by that I don’t talk to somebody trying to appear bigger than they are (corporately speaking, I mean).
One-man (and one-woman) bands want to look like small businesses. Small businesses want to look like big businesses. Big businesses want to look like very big businesses.
And what do very big businesses want to look like?
Small businesses, of course.
They want to say We’re big, but really, we’re small – small enough to care about you.
Because ironically, it’s big business that understands that they really need to work hard to connect with the one person who’s watching their advert, reading their email or browsing their website.
They know that they have to go the extra mile to get up close and personal.
And here’s the thing: technology often gets in the way. We can blast out an e-mailshot, so we do. We can send an SMS to thousands of people simultaneously, so we do.
And we can head callers off at the pass with telephone menu systems. So we do.
It’s the relentless march of progress, we tell ourselves, and we’re right in the vanguard. It’s the way of the future.
Except it’s not. It’s the way of the past. Because the way of future can be summed up in three words.
People like personalisation.
Bzz off
Remember BzzAgent? I wrote about it a while back. They recruit people to test-run new products and services, and spread the word among their friends.
Well, keen as mustard, I signed up. I ran through the online guides, and waited for something to happen. And weeks – several long weeks – later, my welcome pack arrived.
And it looked like this:
Isn’t that special?
Just to make me feel really individual, they included my user name and my BzzAgent serial number. 52901. 52901. 52901. Kinda catchy, isn’t it?
I mean, 20 years of mail merge technology, and this is the summit of personalisation? Doesn’t it make you feel all warm and fuzzy?
No, me neither.
(Inside, by the way, there was a recap of everything I already knew from the website, plus pages and pages – and pages – of perforated invitations I could give to friends to join BzzAgent. As you can imagine, I could barely control my enthusiasm.)
I am not a number
Nothing replaces the personal touch. Technology might make things easier and quicker, but for whom? You or your client?
Do you want to feel special? Yes, me too.
And so does every client you interact with. High tech lets you reach more of them, but makes every touchpoint just that more impersonal.
A bit like my friend’s telephone menu system.
“So,” I said to him, lacing my words with as much irony as I could muster, “what do your clients think of your new system?”
“Dunno,” he said, his confidence sounding momentarily dented. “I haven’t spoken to any of them today.”
I rest my case.
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