In most competitive markets, when an organization offers a new benefit, others will quickly move to match it.
This means that it’s hard to justify the hard work of creating something better, because it’s just going to become a new standard. It doesn’t pay for a credit card company to invest in customer service, the thinking goes, because that won’t pay for itself, it’ll just raise costs for the leader and for all of its competitors. That’s how the race to the bottom begins.
Perhaps it pays to simply focus on being better at making a profit, or being better at getting new customers, or being better at making the stock price go up. These proxies push short-term thinking and aren’t resilient.
What truly changes the game is when an organization decides to commit to being better at being better.
That’s hard to do and difficult to compete against.
That’s the tempting question. How much hustle, hoopla and initiative do we need to get this idea ignited in the marketplace…
But the much better question is: How much kindling do we have?
Kindling doesn’t happen all at once. It’s the result of investments over time. We can earn the benefit of the doubt, create remarkable products and services and develop the empathy for the people we seek to serve.
If the wood is wet, it actually doesn’t matter how many matches you have. But when we do the hard work to create the conditions for an idea to spread, one spark might be enough.
Don’t exploit friends and family. Surgeons shouldn’t do surgery on their kids, and investment advisors shouldn’t manage their dad’s retirement fund. It doesn’t matter if you’re sure you’re the best in the world. Swap with the person who’s second best.
Demand that clients ask hard questions. Don’t be offended if they shop around or ask you about your training and performance stats. In fact, that’s precisely what you want.
Say, “I don’t know.” Then find out.
Embrace technology that amplifies your judgment while increasing benefits to your constituents.
Call out the bad actors and the forces that push you to do a lesser job for the people you serve.
Eagerly refer people to someone more specialized than you whenever it makes sense for the client. “I’m not for you,” is a symptom of care and confidence.
Don’t show up because you feel like it. Show up because you said you would.
The best way to complain is to make things better.
Complaining can be a form of intimacy. It’s a useful way to explain our behavior. And best of all, it gives us a way to communicate as we work to create community action. The best sort of complaint requires generosity and courage.
Complaining isn’t whining, though. Whining is communication that exasperates others, because it is complaint without benefit or action. The best traveling companions are often those that don’t whine, even when they have a very good reason to. Whining is empty commentary where no action is possible, about something we already understand.
We spend a lot of time in our own heads, certain that our path and our method make sense. We often become more certain in the face of criticism or even suggestions.
This confidence is essential, as it allows us to lean into our project.
Once in a while, though, it might help to model the alternative. What if they’re right? How would that play out? If they’re right, what could I do with that insight?
No project is going to exactly match every hope you have for it.
And even before you ship the work, you’ve already succeeded. No project is totally worthless.
So, given that failure and success are on a spectrum, at least partly out of our control, the real question is:
Now that you’ve signed up for this window of time and effort, how will you spend it?
We can’t possibly control the future, but we can certainly focus on right here and right now. Any effort we spend on controlling the uncontrollable bits is wasted.
If attention is what you seek and attention is what you measure, it’s likely you’ll create drama. And drama is inherently short-lived.
The managing director of Jaguar said, “We’ve certainly gathered an awful lot of attention over the last few weeks.”
Choosing the word “awful” was appropriate.
Here’s the design that made Jaguar iconic:
Sixty years later, it still turns heads and fuels dreams.
And the logo that went with the car did its job as well.
It’s easy for attention-confused marketers to get distracted. They think a rebrand and a re-logo are the same thing, they’re not. A rebrand happens when you change the promise that you make, and the expectations we have for you. A re-logo is cosmetic. Rebrand at your peril, especially when the old brand is trusted, iconic, historic and connected to a basic human need. It’s a mistake to focus on clicks, not magic.
The director of Jaguar finished his statement with a sentence that is almost certainly not going to stand the test of time: “We need to make sure that Jaguar is relevant, is desirable, is future proof for the next 90 years of its history.”
There are potholes to avoid here, even if you’re not a car designer or marketer:
Clicks are not purchase intent.
Awareness is not desire.
Gimmicks are not marketing.
Social media followers aren’t following you.
Noise is not information.
Burning down your house draws a crowd, but it’s a lousy way to renovate.
[Whether or not I like the new design is irrelevant. This is actually about the promise a brand makes and the way it measures success. What’s the promise of the new brand? How does the design make this promise?]
Design is story telling with utility. But if the story is only noise and outrage and the utility is missing, the design, by definition, is incompetent.
The thing is, we’re not running out of noise, but we can always use more beauty.
There are many ways to ask and answer this question. Authorship used to be rare, but now, all of us write something.
If you’re putting your words on a social media platform, you might be surprised to discover that they could disappear at any moment. Some platforms acknowledge that they own the relationship you think you have with your readers, not you. Others go so far as to insist that they can take your username and transfer it if they choose.
The words (and images) you share could be harvested for the data they contain as well.
At a more metaphorical level, in community discourse it’s easy to get in the habit of parroting talking (and arguing) points. Take a moment to think about whether you mean what you just said or perhaps are simply cheering for your team. If they’re not your words, you still might be responsible for uttering them.
More mundane but important: If you’ve ever been asked to sign a release, take a moment to read it. It probably insists that your words (and even your likeness and reputation) now belong to the company that asked you to sign. I consistently refuse, and I’m surprised that they’re surprised that I take the legal document seriously.
Words can change minds, build our culture and make an impact. They only work when we share them, but they still belong to us.
Tom Brady is an elite athlete. Few have even approached the stats he had playing football. And Catherine Walker, NSTA Science Teacher of the Year, is an elite, because her pedagogy and understanding give her the ability to create better outcomes for her students. There’s a hospital for special surgery, but all surgery is special if it’s surgery on someone you care about, so we seek out an elite doctor because outcomes matter.
Our culture prizes performance, we spend a lot of time ranking and measuring output. Fans of a team are rooting for their side to win, because identity is easily hooked into performance.
But this is not at all related to elitism. Elitism is a barrier, where we use a label to decide who gets to contribute and who is offered dignity. A law firm that only hires from a few law schools is elitist–they have no data to confirm that these recruits are more likely to contribute than others, they’re simply artificially limiting the pool they draw from.
Opening our filters and seeking a diversity of experience undermines elitist insecurity and creates the possibility for even better solutions and connection.
Elitism also shows up when elites who are arguably very good at something believe that this means that they’re also good at everything.
The scientific method isn’t elitist, nor is a stopwatch used to record the 100 meter dash. Seeking coherent arguments, logical approaches and a contribution that leads to better outcomes isn’t elitist, in fact, it’s precisely the opposite.
We can celebrate elite performance without being elitist. In fact, it’s the best way to do so.
December 4, 2024
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