In Which We Pose the Question: Can Amazon Exceed the Standard Set (By Ivory Soap)?

Whenever I open a package from Amazon.com now I am curiously reminded of the promise of Ivory Soap: 99 and 44/100 percent pure. Why? Well, because I order from them a great deal and 99 and 44/100 of the time the order is pure perfection. Exactly what I ordered at the exact price and within two days. However, with such frequency comes the increasing incidence of flaws arriving 56/100s of the time. I hope I am not being too, too churlish when I suggest Amazon.com is set up for success and is clueless what to do about its occasional and random failures.

            Last Spring, near Mother’s Day, it was the arrival within an otherwise anodyne shipment of Tide and dogfood, of a coffee mug, personalized by a photograph of a 1930s-era couple, perhaps on their wedding day and obviously meant for them, or whichever one had survived to 2017. The lugubrious process through which I was ultimately and, then, endlessly contacted by someone somewhere in the bowels of AmazonWorld resulted in a weirdly 1984ish communique stating “my team says to tell you the issue has been resolved and you can use or throw out the item.” I didn't believe for a moment, of course, that any such resolution had somehow transpired, rather that they intended to wait until whomever ordered the object complained it hadn’t arrived.

            Roughly 100 shipments from Amazon (or six months) later, I unpacked the industrial-sized Downy fabric softener and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a wooden ball with holes drilled, the type you’d expect to find required for a bedpost or bottom of some sort of Ikea cabinetry you’d decided to assemble yourself. Imagine the irritation of whomsoever actually ordered the piece of furniture to find it was missing one perfectly drilled mahogany foot. Imagine the impossibility to engaging with anyone anywhere to find or replace the missing bauble.

            I imagine a robotic entity scurrying throughout the cavernous warehouse somewhere in Nevada unwittingly (obviously) and indiscriminately picking up an essential element of someone else’s home décor advance and tossing it into the box headed for New York with Downy. I frankly don’t have the energy to reach out to Jeff Bezos again. I am now becoming acculturated to the errant missive, sort of like the note in the bottle of my orders, letting me know the drones and robots are trying really, really hard to get it 100 percent right, but haven’t quite mastered the nuances. They learn, right?

Getting Attention & Paying Attention: It's Time

All the recent headlines – and there have been hundreds, it seems – attesting to some bad behaviors, horrible behaviors and increasingly inexcusable behaviors by powerful men towards girls, women and occasionally young men have put an aspect of our social contract under necessary scrutiny. We have all been complicit, I suspect, in our ‘boys will be boys’ latitude, our ‘locker room talk’ hall passes for the prevailing culture, our tacit willingness to adopt concepts into our vernacular, such as ‘the casting couch,’ without really forcing ourselves to consider implications for one half of our population.  

            All this inspection and introspection is devoutly to be desired, I believe. The less reported on phenomena laid bare is the seeming collective shrug offered up by human resources professionals throughout the rampaging, testosterone fueled corporate suites that are the denizens of the marauding power elite, aka, for purposes of this piece, men.

            We’ve spoken with dozens of people at the pinnacle of their corporate careers in recent months, seeking to clarify the role that human resources, talent management or rose by whatever name it goes. CEOs tell us essentially even if HR is given a ‘seat at the table’ it’s a provisional one: Since they will never become serious candidates for CEO, their voices just are not heard. The corollary is that since they ‘know where the bodies are buried’ they’ll never be fired, either.

            We asked these leaders what does make them honestly, authentically, really deal with daunting issues of corporate culture failure. To a person, they agreed on three drivers of change: A complaint to a board member, a sharp and obviously related decline in measured business metrics and a cultural change from the outside world that puts a hiccup in their business-as-usual.

            These three conditions are wonderfully attuned to the #metoo moment and its implications for business: Can there be a board which isn’t asking serious questions right now? If we liberated half the workforce from the work-a-day drudgery cum vulnerability of sexual harassment, can there be doubt radical business growth would ensue? Is there any business or businessman not looking inward and back to their own history and attempting to clean up a laissez-faire act?

            Now then, to you human resources professionals. What are you going to do differently? This is your moment too. #make a difference.

It's Time to Move the Earth, My Friends

We have done a great deal of work in the field of Altruism, particularly as it relates to brands and NGOs. The basic notion is fueled by the (by now somewhat trite) belief that brands and business can “do well by doing good.” The corporate impulse has been accelerated by the received wisdom that “Millennials care about what brands and businesses stand for.” Fair enough. Recently, however, a shift in the collective business unconsciousness seems to be unmistakable. Perhaps you’ve heard it too. Let’s call it Millennial Attention Fatigue, as in “Let’s just not talk about Millennials, okay?”

            We’ve been picking it up, as well, in our assignments. It seems to augur at least the return of life stage marketing vs. cohort messaging. The 42-year-old mother of an adopted newborn has more in common with a 21-year-old new mom than she does with her 20th college reunion attendees. We pick it up in our Altruism work, of course. While the drive of people who want to give back in some way is age agnostic, the pulse point of how they “do good” is often life stage linked. I can take time out to go build a home with Habitat for Humanity early and later in life, and I can do a 5K run this Saturday kind-of-thing.

            All this we’ve seen in multiple categories and industries. We’re on pretty solid footing, here. But the other day, I had a genuinely provocative conversation with Phyllis Dealy, a terrific colleague of mine from Hickory Farm and Cheerwine days. She’s taking the basic “doing well by doing good” edict and adding another element: Her question: Is it possible to do good without being good? That is, of course, a question historically reserved for theologians, philosophers and ethicists. But, increasingly and compellingly it’s one for brand and business stewards.

            The concept we talked ourselves through is a new approach to ‘brand awareness,” as in how aware is your brand of its business, social and cultural impact? As Archimedes posited: Give me a lever and a place to stand and I will move the earth. Brands have terrifically long levers: Where will you place your fulcrum to be and then do good? The earth needs moving, my friends. We’re working on a new model. If you’re interested in engaging in this discussion, lemme know.

As Retailers Fumble & Falter, One Survivor is Poised to Thrive

The New York Times recently (October 24, 2017) ran a piece entitled You’ll Wear What They Tell You to Wear, e.g. the rise of personal shopper (or their doppelganger algorithms) for brands and retailers. I was struck by how well this evolution of anti-shopping illustrates the demise of shopping as an enjoyable experience. We are just exhausted by the pursuit of stuff we think we might need, whether on-line or in-store. Ergo: The Infantilized Shopper. Mommy, find me something to wear.

            I contrasted the reporters’ shopping/buying experiences with various sites to one my daughter and I had recently had in Nordstrom in San Francisco, when we were out there visiting potential colleges. It was a revelation. We arrived in the store, quickly found the section she wanted and whoosh! before we could stumble aimlessly too far afield she’d found two pairs of jeans and double whoosh! there was a young sales associate asking if it would be helpful to go ahead and put the jeans in a dressing room for her? What a great question! No “May I Help You” script here. Those jeans safely nestled in the cubical, we found six more pairs worthy of her consideration, and two by two they were escorted to the dressing room to await my daughter's arrival. This is a well-oiled service machine. 

            No harm. No foul. She didn’t like the jeans and we moved on to another section, where she was met with equivalent enthusiasm, knowledgeable information on the winter coats on offer, a second luxy private dressing room without the usual blatant markers of suspicion that we were really there to shoplift. Also made obvious by their absence: No flop sweat induced SALE! signs pin-dotting the floor; no sales people mindlessly shuffling along glued to their Twitter feed. When it was time to pay, the young woman noticed the zip code for my credit card and asked if it might be helpful for her to ship the coat, shoes and pants, rather than our having to schlep them around San Francisco, back to our hotel and ultimately as homeward bound carry-on luggage.

            I read the piece in The Times and mourned a bit since Nordstrom is really the last store standing to offer such well-timed, tuned and trained service. But, not to worry. It turns out one of the personal shopping sites is from Nordstrom: TrunkClubWoman. How savvy is that? Meeting the customer exactly where she is. My prediction: In this world of moribund retail, decimated malls and undifferentiated brands on constant promotion, Nordstom is my bet for survival on a Darwinian scale.

My Gift to You: Shopping Avoidance Strategies for the Holidays

Well, with “Black Friday” nearly upon us, I thought it might be time to suggest some ways to avoid the communicable disease state known as Seasonal Flop Sweat Agita (SFSA), transmitted from brand to retailer to shopper, and occasionally to street corner Santa. One so wants to help us all elude the siren’s call of a coupon-clipped frenzy on Thanksgiving night (see above). So: Three strategies emerge: 1) Shop on-line, but not from cookie cutter retailers; 2) Avoid the whole notion and give gift certificates for respite; 3) Let the brand come to you.

            First up: Xsense.com. The first wave of ‘performance fragrances’ scientifically designed to help us play harder, work smarter, live better and, ready for this, sleep easier. This is a great antidote to the slings and arrows of modern American life. Not exactly the stuff that gets spritzed in your face when you attempt to shop in a department store and just exactly what we all need.

            Second up: European Wax Center gift certificates. Just go be pampered, prettied and prepped and then share the exhale with your besties. A fabulous curative to all the holiday hubbub, a bastion far from the madding crowd, and, gosh, a glimpse of what all those emptying malls are going to turn into: Personal service centers.

            Third: When you can’t bear the idea of getting new clothes, but really, really, it’s a bit past time for it, check out J. Hilburn: Beautifully tailored men’s wear and even some pretty fabby women’s shirting. And, hey!, they come to you, discuss the fabrics, take the measurements and whoosh! you’ve got custom-made gorgeous without the custom-made gorgeous price tag. Best of all, they have to figure out where to park.

C-Suite Dunderheads As Objects of Marketing Derision: Good B2B Strategy?

A few years ago, when I was working with Specialized Mountain Bikes, the CEO shared with me the creative vision proposed by his agency. Two words from the brief jumped out: Attitudinal and edgy. As in, the tone of the ads needed to give voice to the authentic (non-corporate), bike loving reality of the brand.

            I suspect there are quite a few briefs wending their ways through various agencies right now with those same two words – to which I suspect a couple of others have been appended: irritating and, yes, well, insulting.

            The two leading culprits to my mind: CA (Technologies) and BDO. What’s up here, people? What customer insight do these ads rest upon? Perhaps they’ve done research to suggest there are snarky middle management people within potential client organizations who want nothing more than to work with a firm called BDO whose representatives have apparently been trained to roll their eyes and mouth the words “take it or leave it” to the C-suite types. Perhaps these agencies have unearthed a coterie of CEOs who enjoy seeing themselves portrayed as not understanding a word of what the guy from CA is impatiently explaining to them.

            I am simply amazed by the chowder-headedness of these ads. But I know enough about the process through which creative approaches are wrestled into 30-second vignettes to know these commercials did not reach light of day without extreme vetting, to coin a phrase. But still. Attitude and edge may be necessary to cut through the clutter, but maybe screen out the snark?

Addenda:

1.    I heard from many folks about late night (after partying) shopping programs at Targets near college campuses. So the young fellow who proposed it at the panel discussion on retail in Greensboro should take heart.

2.    Quite a number of you wrote about the CostCo blog, e.g. the company already charges you whether you come or not via its membership fee. Lots of accolades for CostCo for doing so much right so consistently.

Making Retail Fun Again...CostCo is Figuring it Out by Charging You NOT to Come

I used to play a bit of a game with retail clients, asking “If customers had a pay an admission fee to enter your store, what would you do differently?”

            Fun question, right? And, not so very farfetched if you can remember the lines around the block of tween girls waiting to enter Hollister on Fifth Avenue or imagine what a teen boy would ante up to be taken seriously in a Victoria’s Secret. Beyond adolescent sex appeal, of course, it takes a bit more imagination to make a powerful platform come to life at a level for which customers are willing to pay, with their money and their even more precious resource, time. That, of course, is the retail conundrum we’re facing.

            My friend Serra, to whom I always turn for wisdom, advice, keen thinking has shown me a vision of how retail really evolves. We’re not paying to go – we’re paying not to go. Witness her most recent experience with CostCo. It now offers a personal shopping experience that is rather nifty, if tagged with a bit of a hefty price. She placed her order on line, was told that for some percentage more she could have a worker shop, pack and bring it to her: I suppose I could figure out the fee, but let’s just say it was $17 on a $190 order.

            Now pause for a moment to consider: CostCo is known as the club store with great food, great brands and great prices. So, it was considered worth the schlepp. But now, it is monetizing the anti-schlepp. Adding a remarkable service that is at once personal (Tyler is picking out your Duracell batteries now) and technologically driven (we don’t have your brand in stock, so we’re issuing an immediate refund). Serra could, from the privacy of her newspaper-reading morning ritual, monitor Tyler’s shopping and movement towards her from the store. Tyler arrived with goods in hand, just when the algorithm said she would. Now, Serra, rank her service and decide whether and how much to tip.

            CostCo, famed bastion of low price, big quantity deals, is pioneering the margin accretive anti-shopping moment, turning it into a revenue stream that is probably richer than many of its SKUs. This is a notion that sits right on reality. Don’t make us go in there. We’ll pay not to. The retail zeitgeist is moving on: It’s not about low price. It’s about high (albeit highly automated) service and the gamification gee-whiz of technology. That, and a dollop of immediate gratification.

          Suddenly, membership has a fabby new privilege. 

Watching Retail Deliver Its Knock Out Blow -- to Itself

A week ago or so, I was privileged to be on a panel discussion of retail trends, speaking to both undergraduates and business people. Hosted by the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, it was a fascinating discussion, capped by a ‘final question’ from the moderator, asking each of us to share one piece of advice for the students to take forward into their careers. One of the most charming panel members encouraged them to realize that ‘great ideas are not a function of age.’ He advised them to speak up and share their perspectives since ‘you are the future of retail.’

            I could not have agreed more.

            Then, the forum opened to questions from the students. The first of these was a young man who explained, “We’re young. We like to go out and party some nights. Why not have the stores open at 3 in the morning, so we can shop when we want to?”

            Very quickly, he was shut down: “We have our website so you can shop whenever you want to,” he was told. “There’s an ROI you have to take into account. It just wouldn’t work financially,” he was told. In other words, thanks for sharing, but no: We want to do things the way we do them and get a different outcome.

            Good luck with that.

            For my part, I was able to sneak in a “I love that idea!” before the mike dropped. And, I do love it. The stores wouldn’t have to be open every night, just big night on campus nights. The stores in the chain wouldn’t have to all be open, just the ones near a large, thriving campus. Can’t you imagine asking for sales person volunteers to work the late shift when the kids arrive, credit cards at the ready and in a joyous, party-animal frame of mind? Why not encourage them to head to the mall, rather than to binge on calorie laden munchies at Mickey Ds?

            Whoosh! Sudden relevance. A destination again. Why say no, before there’s a moment to consider where a tiny whisper of a maybe, perhaps, let’s try it may lead.

At Last, A Glimmer of Light At The End of the Retail Shopping Tunnel?

There is a fair amount of gnashing of teeth and rending of garments over the declining state of (real) retail in this country. I am perhaps one of the louder wailers and garment shredders on the topic. One so wants to see someone doing it right, right now, as well as preparing for next. One so rarely does. Thus, it was with an at first unwilling suspension of disbelief that I first heard (from a journalist calling for comment) the news that Westfield Malls was heralding a partnership with Uber. It seemed, frankly, odd.

            My initial take was right, as far as it went: Westfield was realizing that nobody wants to drive to and from a mall anymore, least of all the affluents it hopes to attract to its sites in Century City, Tribeca and beyond. By which I mean, the segment formerly known as Yuppies, e.g. Young, Urban Professionals, and DINKs (Dual Income, No Kids). I was dubious that simply offering up the bad boy of car services was enough to crack through the ‘too busy to schlepp’ zone.

            Yes, all 33 Westfield Malls will offer Uber Lounges and personal service kiosks, but really? Is that the hobble?

            Then, I thought, perhaps it is more that Westfield is repositioning itself as an upscale leisure activity locale, with shopping optional. That seems a good destination to head towards: The Experience Economy comes on the little cat feet of white table cloth restaurants, bars, bowling and luxuriously catered recliner seat movies. If you’re going about the business of encouraging people to kick back with an adult beverage or four, you don’t also want to encourage them to drive, right? Ergo Uber.

            As I was deciding between ‘too little too late’ and ‘cool, savvy, future focused idea,’ whoosh! came the news that Westfield is one of the initial investors in and soon first providers of the newest virtual reality experience: Dreamscape Immersive. It allows viewers to “buy a ticket, step into the story, and experience it as never before,” according to the chairman. Now, that’s worth leaving home for. So, I’m coming down on the side of ‘cool, savvy and future focused idea.’ Well done. What’s next?  

           Perhaps partnerships with your retail apparel mall neighbors to offer wardrobe options to advance the story, express the character's character and allow for benign, umm, trying on and purchase? Just sayin'. 

When Production Values Compete with Interest, You Lose

When my daughter was quite young, she loved watching Mary Poppins on a VHS player. “Poppins! Mama. Poppins!” was the cry. While VHS morphed into DVDs and ultimately into Netflix and other streaming services, her love of movies has remained constant. But I remember well the first time she watched a television show with commercial breaks. She screamed. She just could not figure out why the story kept stopping.

            I have something of the same feeling as I watch “Morning Joe” at the gym. I want to scream when the same commercials come on day after day. I understand the need for the interruptions, not just the repetitive, continuous loop of the same commercials over and over again. I avoid network entertainment shows at night opting for Amazon Prime, Netflix and HBO, not only for the amazing quality of their programming, but also because, well, the fall off to repetitive-to-the-point-of-irritation-and-avoidance commercial interruptions prompt such a nose bleed.

            No. It’s not that the commercials aren’t gorgeously filmed. They are.

            It’s more that if we’re watching MSNBC each morning we’re seeing them over and over. Yes, the cost of such productions is enormous, from a financial as well as managing messaging risk perspective. Tremendous on- and off-camera talents, tremendous legal fees to bullet-proof, tremendous research costs to make sure there’s no offense: The desire is to get a lot of ‘wear’ out of each commercial. Instead of the Old School three or four iteration pool out in a campaign, it seems now there’s just the one. Over and over again. And then again.

            I just look away to reduce the grating. I’m trapped on the bike; I can’t leave. But I send my mind away. At such a moment, I think if the news can change moment by moment, why can’t the ads? We’ve got the best cameras, editing equipment, artistic talents and marketers on the planet to draw from, why can’t these 15- and 30-second productions generate enough entertainment quality to sustain interest through multiple pathways into the message?

            It is doable: The fellow who seems to understand it is the guy who sells PCMatic, right? Nearly every couple of days there’s a new message from him, sometimes extolling the virtues of his product, sometimes of his approach to building a ‘work from home’ business (gotta love that chopping tomatoes with his wife scene, right?), sometimes explaining why the world needs the equivalent of MPG way of ranking virus protection effectiveness. See. I pay attention.

            Speed to market, people. We’ll forgive the occasional hiccup or bad wardrobe choice in favor of made fresh daily. Big Pharma, I’m talking to you. And Big Cola, too. Don’t think you’re getting away with it, Big Banks and Mind-Numbingly Equivalent Big Investment Firms.

Kate

P.S.     Thank you to everyone who shared the best alternative to LensCrafters, last week. I get it: Warby Parker. Crisis solved.

High Quality Eyewear In Just About .... a Month?

This could seem like a rant, but it is in the service of a larger point.

            Honest.

            On July 26, Mattie and I went to our nearby LensCrafters on a mission: New glasses before she starts her senior year of high school. Seems fair, right? Her prescription hadn’t changed, just a new fashion statement required to tempt her into actually wearing them.

            I think first of LensCrafters because I used to do a fair amount of work with them: High Quality Eyewear in Just About an Hour. Indelibly etched. “Why send your glasses to a far-away lab, when we make them right here, right now, right in front of you.” Perhaps you don’t remember the positioning with as much clarity as I, but it’s in there. A generation of advertising, augmented by a forced march of mall by mall, market by market expansion. Begun by an ex-P&G guy, Dean Butler: A man with a plan and a vision. “No no signs” was another of his mantras. A fabulous and welcoming retail experience – sure you can use our restrooms; of course, go ahead and enjoy that ice cream cone; what a cute puppy! – that shook up the industry and remade it, in slightly more than an hour, but wicked fast for sure.

            We even helped create their “Give the Gift of Sight” program, which morphed into the One Sight Foundation. A big, beautiful non-profit arm doing great work.

            However.

            Let’s just say with the sale of LensCrafters to another firm and then again to yet another, the days of the far away lab are back.

One month after placing our order and exchanging $675 for a bright yellow receipt and the promise of new glasses in seven to 10 days, we still didn’t have her glasses. We did have a wide variety of stories, however: “It’s business days, not calendar days.” “The lab said said they’d shipped.” “The lab said the frame was discontinued so they couldn’t make them.” “We’ll know for sure tomorrow at noon.” My personal favorite: “They should be here by now.” Indeed, If I’d been confident there was another, better game in town, I would have decamped the first-time Kendra offered to refund our money with her sincere apologies (about two weeks in.) “They should be here. I don’t know what happened.” We went on vacation. To Greece. And came back. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. They should have been here by now. I was sure they would be here by now.”

            On and on in the petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded conversation. Finally, I got the number of the customer service person in the home office. She, too, was wildly embarrassed, but, miracle of miracles, she got through to the far away lab (Atlanta) and two days later a flabbergasted Kendra was breathlessly telling me the glasses had really and truly arrived: A full month from when we’d ordered. But hey!

            Deconstructing what happened, of course, isn’t simple, but it seems that the petite bullies in the far away lab did not believe they had to respond to a lowly floor person in the store on 83rd Street. So, they flubbed around and made up excuses and left poor, earnest, but ineffective Kendra to promise to call by noon and then decide to skip it. Once Leslie, in customer service, called the regional manager, the molecules began to shift. My phone began to ring: The regional manager. The store manager. And, at long last, blissfully, Kendra, with the news.

            Dean Butler: I imagine you in an affluent gated community on a gorgeous, well-manicured course. You are in the clubhouse bar, regaling neighbors with stories of your keenly considered beginnings. I just hope you don’t need glasses anytime soon. Indeed, I hope none of us needs anything approximating empowered customer service from any retailer.

Episode by Episode: The Story is in the Phone

One of the truly great things about those last lazy days of August is our ability to sink softly into the sofa and binge on old and new-to-us television series, uninterrupted by duty or commercials. I mourn their passing, as much as I leap up to the refreshing joys of lower temperatures and invigorating breezes hinting at fall and returned phone calls on the horizon. Of course, there is no real rest from noticing cultural nuances, whether the insight dawns during an admitted completist’s return to Pretty Little Liars, The L Word or Downton Abby.

            We all wonder: Wither Retail. I suddenly had an (albeit minor) epiphany last month as I careened from one seven or eight season series to the next. Pretty Little Liars came to a halt this year after seven seasons. Meaning it arrived in 2010 and left in 2017. The L Word lasted six seasons, from 2004 to 2009. Both of these were contemporary stories: The characters and stories exist in the eras in which they appear. Downton Abby, on the other hand, is a period drama, spanning the years from 1912 to 1926.

            What struck me this time through them is, in the first two cases, how little the fashion changed from one year to the next. Even watching them now, there are no glaring fashion faux pas or shocks to the system. What did change: The phones. When both Pretty Little Liars and The L Word came to the TV set, it was the flip phone era. When they left, they exited with smart phones in hand. Even the cursory viewer of Downton Abby, on the other hand, sees the remarkable evolution of fashion as the leading visual cue of time’s progress. Yes, there are telephones arriving, and horse drawn carriages departing, but gee-whiz, the wardrobes of men and women were in far more motion.

            I can’t help but hypothesize that perhaps another leading indicator of retail’s declining relevance is we’re just not that into badging ourselves through fashion or other one-time bastions of excitement and identity, preferring to obsess in their stead to just one thing: Fashion accessory, statement and toy for all ages. Indeed, Toy For The Ages. Thus does the Apple Store swallow the old FAO Schwarz iconic outpost on 58th Street and Toys ”R” Us suggests bankruptcy may be just around their corner.

RockAuto.com: Branding the Retail Apocolypse

Anyone seeking to understand the declining fortunes of physical retail need look no farther than the current RockAuto.com advertising. The ignorant and diffident sales help, the inherent inconvenience of driving somewhere to get the right part coupled with the unlikelihood of having a range of solutions readily on offer at various price points: All combine in a toxic brew that makes a website with the look and feel of 1990 Prodigy on-line grocery service seem thrillingly cutting edge.

            You know the ad: “All the parts your car will ever need” sung with the irritating ear worm equivalent only to a Kars4Kids jingle.

            The genius of RockAuto.com’s ad is that it plays to the first stage of shopper engagement: Anticipation. They know and we know the fresh hell of searching for one specific piece of our daily puzzle from stores and sales staff who don’t share our sense of urgency, fleeting though it may be. Rock Auto brands the entire retail experience for its own benefit. Well done, you. But, oh! poor us.

            Our experience suggests there are five “stations of the cross” of shopper experience. Three take place within the shop itself and thus get the most, albeit scripted, focus: Entrance, Engagement, Exit.

            What most retailers overlook, however, are the other two building blocks of the shopping experience: Anticipation and Reflection. Why are these steps overlooked? Because they are hard to script. Hard to predict. Not so simply tethered to the cash register’s ring. Yet, our work shows the causal link of these two, not just as predictive of purchase, but of non-discounted buying decisions. In other words: There’s margin in figuring out the meaning in the shopper’s hopes, fears and contemplations. Not through a brain-dead survey, please. Or a cents-off on future purchases in exchange for an email through which to continuously harass.

            Anticipation is hard at work at nearly every price point and category, but chocolate chip cookie decisions to wedding dress evaluations. Products and brands we look forward to buying are imagined for their ability to resolve issues, ranging from what to serve for dinner to what to wear to the office Christmas party to what car seat to use for my two-year-old. These are not spontaneous, spur of the moment, buying-out-of-boredom decisions, but rather ones already known to be central to some greater personal identity marker. They may require research, word-of-mouth and expert opinions. When we enter the door of the store, we are ready to engage, if the store is ready to help.

            Reflection is a tougher hurdle to clear. What do we think about after we buy and leave the store. Are we happy with ourselves? With the purchase? With the shop and its assistance, its expertise. One retail expert (albeit writing in 1920s America) said the true test of a great shopping experience was that after the purchase the customer should like the store, the sales person, the goods – and herself better than before. That’s the criteria we need to embrace – and quickly.

            Retailers and mall developers: Looking for a way to re-ignite retail sales? Meditate on the twin powers of anticipation and reflection. Done right, they complete the shopping engagement circle. Done the way the industry delivers now: Anticipation of poor, stumbling service, coupled with Reflection on its many indignities after the fact, sends us to Amazon, Zappos and yes, RockAuto.com.

Hey Big Brand! Ready to Be A Hero? Try Purpose-Based Co-Parenting

We are doing a great deal of work ion ‘purpose led and fed’ business and brands of late. An early hypothesis suggested the primary appeal would be among millennials, yet that has proven not to be the case. Yes, indeed, this cohort is demanding to know brands’ POV on critical issues facing the planet – sustainability, world hunger, impact on the ecosystem, child labor – the list goes on and on. Our work illustrates compellingly that each of us at nearly every age and stage is engaged by either making less bad choices or actively encouraging good through our brand decisions.

            Our deep-dives, through our signature consumer hypnosis protocol with Hal Goldberg, surfaced some further powerful guardrails, helping brands come at this social engagement strategy authentically, rather than a flavor-of-the-day promotion. One of these insights is particularly compelling, because it suggests approaches that are genuinely, well, fresh. How often do we see that in the marketplace?

            Our “altruism platform” has been constructed on learning that early memories encode the meaning and thus power of helping in the face of injustice, institutionalized deprivation and catastrophe. That help lies somewhere on a continuum spanning brand preference decision-making all the way to picking up a hammer and heading to a devastated area to re-build.

I headline this insight as “Co-Parenting with the Consumer.” That first memory of societal difficulty happens when we’re six or seven. As one fellow explained:

I went with my mother to deliver Meals on Wheels. We went to the apartment of a woman who was elderly. I thought she’d be eager to eat the meal we brought, but she just put it aside for later. Once we left, my mother explained that as we age our appetite can decline. That was a revelation to me. I had thought life just kept getting better as you got older: Learning to talk and walk, getting your permanent teeth, being able to sleep over at a friend’s house, learning to play the piano or ski, whatever, growing up: getting older was all about growth and progress. Suddenly, I realized that it wouldn’t be endless: There comes a time when things start getting worse. I was shocked and upset. I couldn’t even tell my mother how tragic this seemed to me. It was my first glimpse of mortality and I was frightened.

            What can a brand do to help us co-parent our children when they confront harsh reality? Isn’t this white space for brands and businesses? The parents may be making the brand decisions today, but social engagement begins at home. Helping them help their children become concerned and empathetic adults who believe they can make a difference in the world is a remarkable – and loyalty generating – differentiator. Think about what it could mean for your business.

            Then, give us a call.

Retail Would Be Grand, If It Weren't for Those Nasty Customers

I recently gave a speech in Atlanta at a meeting attracting hundreds, perhaps thousands, of small retailers and the folks who sell to them: AmericasMart. The topic was Reinventing Retail – and, of course, the talk and follow-up Q&A surfed on a powerful tide of urgency. The storm is upon us.

            The good news/bad news equation for this audience is straightforward: Good news: Shoppers love the “discovery” showcased by small, bespoke shops. Second piece of good news: We want to learn the backstory of goods worth shopping. We want to know the merchant behind the goods cares about her wares.

            Net-Net: If there’s heat to be found in retail, it is here. Whether for tabletop “upcycled colored silver” home decor, tribal print fabrics, bespoke Christmas ornaments, custom costume jewelry, and one-of-a-kind fashion looks. Walking the floor was revelatory. Discoveries all over the place.

            The bad news: These folks are typically located within malls, strip shopping centers and commercial streets in urban areas, which are pretty much dusty, dying and, in many cases, already decaying. As Sears, Macy’s, Bloomies, the Gap, Limited and others drop away, there won’t be enough traffic to ensure discovery happens at these well-curated boutiques.

            But wait, there’s more. Bad news that is. Most of these charming entrepreneurs had adopted the sort of herd mentality already shown to be ineffective by the ‘big guys.’ They’ve created an on-line presence and figured out how to discount their wares, further eroding both margin and meaning from the shopping experience.

            Thus, the worst news from my perspective: At a time when human interaction (albeit of the anonymous, Starbucks and movie theatre variety) demands a premium, these proprietors were irritated to have children coming into their emporia, angered to realize new customers weren’t willing to immediately commit to their design suggestions, and frustrated by the emerging vagaries of retail commerce. But they save their most sincere outrage for – wait for it – the customers themselves.

            “Shoppers never look up from their cell phones,” one complained bitterly to me. “No matter what kind of window display I create, they aren’t looking. They stumble in and stumble out in a daze of texts, Instagram photos of meals their friends are having without them, all the while SnapChatting with people they’ve probably never met. They are giggling and staring into their screens, so who has time to discover anything in the real world?”

            I left Atlanta both energized by the creativity of the goods on display and enervated by the disruption wrought by mutual incivility: As goes retail, so goes the world. Retailers may love mankind, but they don’t think much of people. And vice versa, I sadly suppose.  

Our Manifesto for Meaning

One of the benefits of taking time off from commercial television (whether to binge on an ever-expanding range of series from our current Era of Great TV or simply as a fit of pique exit from our Era of Depressing Cable News) is that when you return, there’s been obvious evolution in brand messaging. Some are based on consumer insight. Others on laws of diminishing benefit return. A couple on public policy backlash potential

“The one starting with F” campaign for Farxiga instantly tells us patients are having a hard time keeping straight the various diabetes treatments about which to ask their doctors. Really, people? That’s the meaningful attribute you decided can best connect the promise of a chronic disease breakthrough to the ever-escalating number of diabetics?

“Only Tylenol has laser-drilled holes” tells us the world of pain relief is getting weird. Desired consumer response: Gosh! That’s the aha! for which I’ve been waiting to switch from Aleve. I demand laser-drilled holes.

“McDonald’s: America’s first best job” suggests a repositioning of minimum-wage employment to be a remarkable career track decision, working (dare we say it) overtime for the brand as an image-enhancing defensive move against living wage legislation. Communication: Let’s bring a tear to their eyes and they won’t see this makes no sense. White manager. Multi-racial crew of all ages. Best first job for whom?

Our world is a remarkable place to be born into, as beat poet Ferlinghetti told us. Actually he said it was a beautiful place, if you didn’t mind certain things. I’m the one saying it’s a remarkable place. The marketing world, that is. If you don’t mind certain things. Like the fact it is chock-a-block with real, but tenuously relevant, or sometimes purely imaginary benefits. Spending top dollar to reach a declining audience with declining interest in differentiating their identity based on your decliningly differentiated brand message.

We believe we can tell the story better, based on the authentic drivers of real emotional meaning. We believe we must do it in a way that generates genuine margin. We believe we can put anticipation of brand engagement back into the equation, exciting, invigorating, indeed, enchanting the consumer. We believe we can because we are doing it, every day.

It’s a journey we want to begin with you today. Or else, in the middle of all this marketing-as-usual “comes the smiling mortician,” as Ferlinghetti also told us. The trash bin of dead brands. No recycling.

We didn’t get into this profession to be ones to figure out the patient can only be trusted to remember “the one starting with F.” You didn’t. I didn’t. We can do better. Call me.

Kate@katenewlin.com

212-227-0220

PS: I’m speaking at AmericasMart in Atlanta this weekend. If you’re in the ‘hood, come to the 1 p.m. session. Re-inventing Retail for Relevance. ‘Bout time.

The Price of Retail Irrelevance...

An article in the Styles section of The New York Times today about the fired Vogue editor Lucinda Chambers suggests a fascinating hypothesis for the decline in retail sales: “In magazines we are always trying to make people buy something they don’t need. We don’t need any more bags, shirts or shoes. So, we cajole, bully or encourage people.” If this is true – and I believe it is – we need to explore it.

            Thought One: Lucinda Chambers says fashion has become “irrelevant.” It seems to be true as judged by declining sales in luxury goods in multiple categories. The term “Vanity Capital” has been used to describe the type of luxury brand expenditures showcased in the pages of Vogue, as high net worth individuals use price tags as scaffolding to facilitate construction of self-confidence.

Thought Two: We’re seeing that confidence (self- and otherwise) becoming vested elsewhere, e.g. number of Facebook or Twitter followers, photos showcasing investments in experiences rather than the thinginess of things is fueling a loss in the joy of shopping, exacerbating the nose-bleed drop in the sense of personal significance gained through acquisition. Thus, the commitment to conspicuous consumption becomes, well, irrelevant.

            Thought Three: Consider some recent stats.

·      Only three percent of high net worth feel the quality of goods purchased is worth the expense.

·      Only 25 percent of high net worth individuals enjoy the shopping experience.

·      Most high net worth report the sales staff is not knowledgeable: about the goods, the inventory or the world in which they live.

Thought Four: When fashion is irrelevant at the highest reaches of quality design, fabrication and service, the downward slope gets increasingly slippery. Imagine the trickle-down theory implications for items created for the lower echelons of the retail ecosystem.

The challenge for retail is the same as the challenge for shoppers. Putting meaning back into the calculus: Relevance matters.  Apple has figured it out. Why can't other brands? 

What say you?

Hey! Coffee Drinker! Brew Your Own. I'm Here to Make Sure You Pay!

Much of what is discussed about the decline of (physical) retail focuses on the change in consumer behavior wrought by on-line sales. Of course, that is entirely appropriate. Consumer behavior has changed: On-line sales show the power of software, automation and algorithms to facilitate its evolution. The efficiencies are also obvious: On-line requires few human interactions and those which are necessary tend to cluster in the shipping department, which is quickly becoming robotized.

So, retailers in the physical world attempt to follow suit, searching for efficiencies. Post-human efficiencies.

            Early on, Macy’s installed scanners so shoppers could check the price on marked down goods, rather than employ sales associates to do the physical labor.

            Then, came the dread check-out scanners, installed to reduce the need to pay people to do the actual chore. CVS, Walmart and grocery retailers went with the flow. Shopper frustration notwithstanding: The theory being shoppers would ultimately learn to check themselves out without human assistance.

            Yesterday, in various airports, the logical consequence of such automation was made manifest – in the coffee shops. Not just self-service, but Keurig kiosks and self check-out. No one there to assist in any part of the product acquisition process.

There was one person on site, however. What was he there for? To make sure I didn’t shoplift my coffee. That seems to be the one essential retail task requiring human intervention.

            Let’s pay attention. If that is the sole requirement of human staff at retail – “shrinkage prevention” – then, what are retailers telling us about human behavior? Every shopper, left to her own devices would steal what she wants? Do we imagine shoppers don’t feel that suspicion? That consumers don’t resent Urban Outfitters’ decision to refuse to let both mothers and daughters in the fitting room at the same time? That shopping on line isn’t preferable? Far more preferable? Except, of course, for a cup of coffee before an early flight to Rochester.

            Let’s just say, I believe Starbucks is positioned for even and ever greater growth.

Genuine Brand Purpose Aligns with Consumer Emotional Needs

Identifying and leveraging the emotional content of brands is our core competency here. What we’ve learned during our 17 years of business is that personal brand experience is the prime mover of the emotions. Consumers under hypnosis can recall their individual experiences and we listen for the ‘through lines,’ the common themes that unite to form brand meaning.

            We map the brand narrative and the consumer narrative. Where there is alignment, the path forward seems to rise before us. Where there is divergence, we need the emotional equivalent of geo-locators to help us on the journey. But always, experience is north on the compass.

·      Sugared cereals are a mark of independence and autonomy at age seven. Your mother has always told you no, but then there’s a sleepover at a friend’s house and whoosh! Your BFF’s mother allows her kids to eat Trix. Wha-hoo! You strike the bell of independence and there’s no unringing it. What role does advertising play in helping the mother through your transformation?

·      Salty potato chips are your ‘drunk uncle’ during the Super Bowl, but Pringles are the personal, private snack you have in your room, because the lid is resealable and your fingers aren’t greasy when it’s time to work the keyboard. Where should Pringles really be stocked in the store and with which brands does it genuinely compete?

            Our case studies are filled with endless insights and implications. Yet, we’ve never seen any brand experience as strongly felt or memorably expressed as those that take us “out of life as we know it.” We’re working a great deal in the world of brand purpose, mapping where it collides with consumer altruism. The key thus far is in immersion in an alternative reality: Not my life as I live it, but my life lived for a moment out of context.

            One implication is that purpose led brands must meet consumers more than half way in reaching a better vision of themselves, the meaning of their lives and the role brand partners can play in a consumer society.

            We’ve got a great “Lunch and Learn” presentation. When your brand is ready, we will come.

Kate

Who Survives? Might Some Thrive?

            We’ve been posting a great deal recently about “retail-magenddon,” which is, of course, fast upon us. Every day, headlines trumpet the latest retailer to go belly-up: 300 bankruptcies this year alone, many mom and pop shops, but some majors. The sea change in how we shop is real. So is the upheaval to our retail landscape.

            So, who survives?

            My bet is there will be a few ‘last man standing’ brands. A smaller footprint, of course, but still. When Kmart, Sears, Macy’s, and Bloomies have exited the mall stage left, who will anchor and for what will they serve as anchor?

            I’m thinking Penny’s is a survivor, helping the lagging tail of the bell curve folks who don’t want to order everything on line find what they need. Acceptable prices, acceptable selection, acceptable service. Okay, available and cheap. And, gee whiz, with parking, and an external entrance and exit to allow those folks to buy what they need in high convenience mode without ever actually visiting the rest of the wasted spaces.

            Wither then, the mall? A high touch bastion devoted to services that are hard to acquire at home: Manicures, pedicures, waxing, haircut and color for women and, yes, some men; car service and repairs, technology updates and cellphones for all. Things that, at least for now, are harder to deliver directly and benefit from human interaction. Those and, of course, movie theatres and social entertainment activities, stuff for which we really like to leave home.

            Oh, yes, and Starbucks, for sure.

            Where do you place your bets? Which retailers will find a way through the emerging wasteland? 

            Kate