Marketing

There are many reasons why I am thankful for “wasting” so many years in the restaurant industry. A restaurant is a sort of microcosm of human social and business interaction. Problems occur and are solved (or blundered) in real-time. Sales and service are inextricably linked. And at the end of each night, all the servers drink and have sex.

I had a self-imposed rule that determined how I interacted with and treated my guests (if you worked at any decent restaurant, this is how you refer to “customers”). It arose out of a conversation I had with a manager at my very first job as a server:

Manager: “Ian, those are VIPs at table 5. Make sure you take real good care of them.”

Me: “Everyone’s a VIP.”

Manager: “Uh, yeah but they are [very important people].”

Me: “For me to treat them better would imply that I treat other people worse. I serve everyone the same way: Amazingly.”

I was tongue-in-cheek like this a lot (which is why most managers either loved or hated me), but I was serious about my main point. To me, this seems like a pretty good maxim for customer service. Just don’t let it fall into the traditional fate of maxims–that is, being engraved on a plaque, placed in the lobby and forgotten about.

I heard a radio ad the other night, for some sort of diabetes-related service. The beginning went something like this:

“If you are suffering from diabetes, let me personally recommend a number…”

The emphasis isn’t mine; the man accentuated the word himself. He even added a few syllables. The man went on to explain the merits of the service to all the diabetics listening at 3:30 in the morning, then concluded by repeating “that number again” a few dozen times.

If you’re wondering why I’m referring to him as “the man,” it’s because during the course of his heartfelt endorsement, he never identifies himself. (It definitely wasn’t Wilford Brimley.) So a [probably] nondiabetic, anonymous voice actor is lending his “personal” recommendation? I’m sure the Type 1’s and 2’s are united in song, for their troubles are over.

What’s so funny about this is not so much that it’s nonpersonal. Most traditional advertising still suffers from that. If anything, it’s antipersonal. In effect, the ad actually goes out of its way to mock credibility. Wouldn’t it make more business sense to establish it instead?

Of course. But it’s a lot easier to mock things than establish them.

A scathing indictment of consumerism. Now available on this premium-quality limited-edition designer t-shirt from The Gap:

Make big promises; overdeliver.

If you can define great marketing in fewer words than that, you win.

Seth defines great marketing very well in that post. That’s not the surprise–in looking for such a definition, smart marketers would sooner turn to him than Webster. Here’s the surprise…I win:

Promise big; overdeliver.

Of course, I’m just joking and being pedantic, but it did get me thinking about that sweet spot of editing, when your writing is maximally terse while your tone and message are wholly preserved.

To paraphrase Marcus Aurelius, “knowledge holds its ground and illuminates what receives it, without striking at obstacles with fury.” (I don’t have the book on me, but I think that’s close.) A strong message will shine beyond most obstacles of syntax. But each of these still casts a shadow, and it’s the job of editing to knock them down, so more people can see. Content + Community.

Most companies have yet to evolve past the marketing practice of interruption, and this is understandable. It’s frustrating, but I’m not such an elitist that I necessarily blacklist or boycott a company because I didn’t like their commercial. But there is a point where noise exceeds the signal. When a tactic is so annoying, so flabbergasting that you refuse to do business with them out of spite:

Nice work, Buca. You’ve materialized pop-up advertising.