Who is teaching us to look deeper?
If you read a blog post, and it begins with an analogy about car dealers, is your instinct to say, "well, I'm not a car dealer…" and then jump to the next post?
When you see something working (or not working) in the marketplace, something you don't understand, do you stop to figure out why it's working (or not working)? Or is it easier to change the attention channel and get back into line?
I've discovered (the hard way) three rules for writing a blog post that will spread:
- Don't use unfamiliar words or concepts.
- Avoid subtlety.
- Try not to challenge deeply held beliefs.
Education, politics, marketing, tourist attractions–they all seem to work better when we keep people moving, behind the velvet rope, input & output, cause and effect, this then that. When the masses conform to the system we've built, the system works a whole lot better.
But who wants to be a cog in that machine? While playing it safe might work, where does it get us?
The best opportunity you've got to grow and to make an impact is to seek out the, "I don't get it," moments, and then work at it and noodle on it and discuss it until you do get it. Analogies and metaphors are your friends. Dense lyrics, almost indecipherable prose, mysterious successes–these are the places where you will leap forward.
I know there is now an infinite amount of media to choose from, an infinite number of experiences to have. But if you skip over the ones that aren't spoon fed to you, all you'll end up with is eating from a spoon.
October 16, 2013
The transcontinental railroads led to the invention of time zones. For the first time, everyone needed to be in sync, regardless of what village one lived in.
A few generations later, we're in all in sync, to the second, thanks to the computers in our pockets.
Time is borrowed, wasted, spent. We find the time, slow down time, take our time. Its Miller, quitting, clobberin time. We focus on the stitch in time, hard time, closing time, not to mention big, daylight savings, race against, first, last, due, nick of…
Time is so variable, so based on our experience, that the absolute measure of time is almost meaningless. Don't even get me started about relativity and time travel.
Time on a long bus trip goes so much slower than time spent doing what we love with people we care about. We'll pay $1000 to buy an hour in some circumstances, but refuse to pay a $5 premium to save an hour in others.
Time doesn't exist, not in a way that matters to most people. The story we tell ourselves about time, though, is the overriding narrative of our day to day lives.
October 15, 2013
Actually, many groups started more recently–I'm hearing about groups at big corporations, among friends, and in cities and villages around the world. I hope you're finding the first Krypton curriculum worth the effort.
One thing that people are finding is that the personal interactions are transformative. While it's tempting to believe that online learning is the answer (and no, doing this on a Hangout is not the same as doing it in person), what's clear is that the social anxiety that comes from forming a group is precisely the same force that pushes every participant to bring her best effort to the class each week.
Learn together is more than a catchphrase. It's the truth–that's how we do our best work.
Also! I'll be announcing not one but two new courses next week. Your group can choose to do one or the other, and don't forget, the courses stay online forever, so you can do them when you like, in whatever order you like.
Thanks for being part of Krypton.
October 14, 2013
It might be defended, or defensive.
If you're asking for feedback or coaching or an education, neither is going to help you very much.
The person who has ideas that are well defended isn't going to be able to listen carefully for the lessons that can help him change those ideas.
And the person who is defensive not only won't hear the ideas, but he'll push away anyone generous enough to share them.
Defenseless is the best choice for those seeking to grow.
A luxury good gets its value from its lack of utility and value. A typical consumer would look at what it costs and what it does and say, “that’s ridiculous.”
When a good like this (and it might be a service as well) comes to market, it sometimes transcends the value equation and enters a new realm, one of scarcity and social proof. The value, ironically, comes from its lack of value.
The owner of a $12,000 Birkin bag might tell you that it’s worth every penny. Obviously, one can carry a wallet and a few other essentials in bag that costs less than 1% of what this bag costs, and we can even imagine making something just like a Birkin for a fraction of the price. But that would be a copy, not the real thing, and so the story, the narrative, the specialness and most of all, the social element would go out the window. A Birkin bag is at its most valuable when your friends admire you for owning it, not when they admire its ability to carry your stuff.
The ring in the blue Tiffany box or the speaker cables that cost more than a car–these are purchased as (perhaps perverse) testaments to the (take your pick) power/taste/wealth of the person buying or owning it.
Discount luxury goods, then, are an oxymoron. The factory outlet or the job lot seller or the yoga studio that’s selling the “same thing but cheaper,” isn’t selling the same thing at all. They don’t offer scarcity, social proof or the self-narrative of a splurge. What they sell is, “you’re smarter than other people, but you know, you’re also a little bit of a fraud because this isn’t actually a luxury good, because it’s a better value.” Circular, but true.
It takes guts to invent a brand new luxury good from scratch. Shinola watches don’t tell time any better than a $16 Timex, but they do tell a better story. Their creation is part of that story, but so is the identity of the stores that sell them and the fact that they sell out regularly.
Jean-Baptiste Colbert, who invented the industry (yes, one person invented luxury goods as a category) understood something that flies in the face of the non-scarcity of the internet: social proof among the wealthy is based on beauty plus scarcity plus expense. The fact that others believe a good is overpriced is precisely why a certain segment of the market chooses to purchase it.
This even works in b2b situations. McKinsey certainly offers a luxury good (only the biggest, wealthiest corporations can afford them) as do furniture makers like Herman Miller.
We’re also seeing luxury goods being purchased by people not ordinarily thought of as wealthy. A teenager with a rare pair of new sneakers qualifies as luxury in her tribe.
It’s interesting to note that first class travel isn’t the luxury good it once was. The airlines stumbled, started playing with both service and scarcity, and unravelled the myth. Hence the need for a private jet as a luxury good, even when there’s a perfectly fine commercial jet going to that very destination.
One place where the luxury goods idea has been underutilized is philanthropy. The rich guy who gives $20 million to a university isn’t doing it because the school is likely to spend his money in the most efficient way. He’s doing it because they will name a building after him. The building is a scarce good, overpriced for what it appears to deliver, which is precisely why it’s a form of luxury.
One opportunity for non-profits is to use their true needs as only part of the conversation about giving. The dreaded gala, for example, is best seen as a luxury good. All the time and coordination and busywork are actually providing utility… not to the charity, but to those attending.
Sorry to drone on… wrapping up then, when luxury intersects with the web, conflicts ensue. First, because the net makes pricing transparent, which inevitably makes some people feel stupid for paying full price (and stupidity doesn’t work with the other pillars of luxury). And second, because the new sorts of social proof have to do with how connected and respected you are, not how much you paid for that handbag.
October 13, 2013
Ron Howard explained that while they were shooting the notorious episode where Fonzie jumped the shark, he knew the show had turned a corner. In the case of Happy Days, the corner was the chasing of ratings at the cost of integrity. In the case of corporations, the corner is usually the chasing of profit at the expense of the original mission.
These places don't run out of creativity. You don't jump the shark because you're empty, you do it because there's pressure to be greedy.
Google has been found to have hacked and stolen user data, circumventing privacy settings. They've recently announced that without asking first or sharing the upside, they may be selling the names and faces of people who use Google + to advertisers, to be included in endorsement ads. People expressing themselves online might soon find themselves starring in ads as unpaid, unwilling endorsers.
How does this happen? Public companies almost inevitably seek to grow profits faster than expected, which means beyond the organic growth that comes from doing what made them great in the first place. In order to gain that profit, it's typical to hire people and reward them for measuring and increasing profits, even at the expense of what the company originally set out to do.
Every company at a certain stage ends up with two sorts of employees… some that work hard to improve the experience and value for the original customers, and some that tear down that experience and value in order to please shareholders in the short run.
It's not surprising, but it's sad.
The irony here is that in the long run, what the advertisers are telling companies like Google they want isn't what is going to build it into an even better company (or even help the advertisers) in the long run.
Advertisers often seem to want pitchmen spraying perfume at every person who walks into the store, inserts stuffed into every periodical, pop up ads, complete data on every individual they target and the ability to spam at will. Great media companies fight back on all of these intrusions, because they know that what actually works is genuine connection built around remarkable products and services.
October 12, 2013
This video about income distribution in the USA is extraordinary. First, because it's so well produced, well researched and calm. Second, because it does a beautiful job of making statistics come to life. There's a story behind the numbers, and the producers bring the story to life.
There are two lessons to be learned about communicating about (as opposed to with) numbers here:
- As the data from the Harvard study shows, people are incredibly, almost willfully, bad at visualizing and understanding anything beyond really simple distributions.
- Giving people the appearance of choice, "if you could organize this, how would you," is a significantly better question than, "what's fair?" By reminding people that they actually do have a voice, you open the discussion wider.
If you agree or disagree with the 92% of the sample that is quoted in the video, my point is still the same: presenting information in this way, in a way that allows people to hear and see and think, is one of the most powerful tools available to people who'd like to make change. It's far more powerful than yelling.
October 11, 2013
My friend and occasional co-author Jay Levinson just passed away. He was eighty.
Jay helped invent the idea of the modern marketing book, pioneered Guerrilla Marketing (which has nothing to do with gorillas and everything to do with thinking independently and bravely) and influenced several generations of leaders.
But most of all, I want to thank Jay for living a generous life. He never kept a secret, never hesitated to teach, to point something out, to lift someone up.
Jay was at his best when, with a mischievous smile, he'd answer a question, turning a newbie into an expert with one of his many lists or with a clever story. The point of his many, many books wasn't that there was a formula to follow, but that there was an attitude, an attitude that could help just about anyone make a difference.
The core of that attitude was the lighthearted application of generosity, for no other reason than it was the right thing to do.
We'll miss you, Jay.
October 10, 2013
How do you compete with free? How does a wedding photographer or a travel agent—someone who used to make a good living performing a task that was hard to do without them—compete against ubiquitous free alternatives?
There's only one way: Sell something better than free.
Make a product or provide a service that's worth paying for.
You don't need a better way to talk about what you do, or a better gimmick, or a better social media strategy. In fact, you need to reinvent and rebuild what you make for a new reality, a reality where paying for something is an intentional act of buying something way better than the free alternative.
I'm sorry if this seems obvious. It's apparently not obvious to all the frustrated people I encounter who are still trying to sell the old thing in a new market.
If you're negotiating to buy something–a house, a company, even as the purchasing agent for a big company–you're also selling.
That's because it isn't a faceless transaction involving a list price and a credit card. The purchase involves faith and trust and risk and someone caring enough about the other person to do more than seek the highest possible/lowest possible price.
If you hope to buy for less than the clearing price, or get better work than average, in fact, you are selling when you're buying.
A friend was selling his house, and every time he showed one particular prospective buyer a new feature, the buyer discounted it, demeaning its value. This is a common strategy–denigrate the thing you are hoping to buy, question the judgment of the seller, make them feel desperate. After all, the thinking goes, a desperate person will sell for less.
Perhaps. But more often, a person being made to feel desperate will take her valuable goods somewhere else, to someone who cares more.
Why not say, "that's fabulous! It makes the house worth even more, well done." Recognizing the good work of those you hope to buy from puts you on precisely the same side of the table as the seller.
The brutal purchasing manager who uses RFPs like a club and nickels and dimes (not to mention dollars) suppliers–do you think he's actually getting their best work? When we're talking about emotional labor, it's not often about the money, it's about how the transaction makes the seller feel.
Or consider the used car dealer. His business is only as good as his inventory, of course. So where to get the cars that get sold? One strategy is to only buy cars from desperate folks, folks with no options. (Or to make the people you meet with feel desperate). What sort of inventory does that leave you with? Last resort cars from people with no options. When the dealer who sold me a car recently tried this tactic with the car I hope to sell, I walked away.
The good stuff is more likely to be sold to people who care. The things you'd like to buy are probably going to be sold by people who have other options now.
October 9, 2013
