Google’s Click or Treat gets an A+
There’s no laurel-resting at Camp Google. After last month’s UFO mystery caught our attention, they’ve gone for the details yet again with today’s Click or Treat.
Love it.
Does your website have a quirky underbelly to amuse and reward visitors that pay attention?
Mine does. I blatantly reference 2 of the best movies ever made on pages of my main site. I’ll give you a prize if you find them. (And I’ll even tell you the movies – Jurassic Park & Bring It On – but don’t you dare disagree on their cinematic perfection).
When SEO goes slightly haywire…
Yesterday I let you inside my Google Analytics for a peek at what’s frustrating my visitors the most. Running with this behind-the-scenes theme, here are a few more of my all-time favourite visitor keywords.
Things I can help you with:
- “stickies widget that dont look stupid”
- “make your own scattergories game“
- “steps for proofreading“
- “define ballywick“
- “desk plant benefits“
- “kids white socks that stay up” (vindicated!)
- “canadian slang for urinate” (I’d go with “piss” or the more polite “pee”)
Things I can’t:
- “bailiwick tattoo supplies” (should I branch out?)
- “ballywick apple sauce” (you only have to ask…)
- “incest pit”
- “college drunk oops” (try Facebook?)
- “how should i hold the strings while raving” (um…. in your fingers?)
Your site’s lost tourists and why they won’t ask for help
Flickr: Jen SFO-BCN
Ever sat and watched hopelessly lost tourists? Those so far wrong they might never return? With noses in maps they’ll fight and tussle, much later conceding defeat to ask a local. Maybe.
With no way of gauging the stupidity of their question, they’d rather not ask at all.
People don’t like to look stupid.
My scientific test.
The other day I walked slowly, deliberately, past 4 groups of lost tourists.
- I was smiling.
- I wasn’t walking a pit bull.
- I didn’t have on headphones.
- I wasn’t in a hurry.
- No tattoos.
Short of wearing an “Ask Me, You Bloody Idiot” badge, there was no better option. Nope. They all preferred to suffer. Each group in my little test stood, bewildered, for ages before heading off in (3 times out of 4) the wrong direction. Hey, they had their chance.
People never ask.
Online, such reticence is, in part, user laziness. Yet where most questions burn unasked – you’ve got confused and lost prospects simply afraid of looking stupid.
- The subject matter is too large or too new for them.
- They can’t gauge how much they don’t know.
- They assume the answer (or Vancouver’s Sun Yat Sen Garden) can’t be far off – they’ll find it one way or the other. (Ha!)
- They don’t want to interrupt you or waste your time.
- You seem busy… and kind of mean.
- They’ll work it out themselves.
Where do you come in?
If I’d walked up to these 4 groups and asked them, “Can I help you?” they likely would have been thrilled. But that’s not my job. Online, we’d better make it so. I’ve already written about how Freshbooks does exactly this and approaches their lost tourists directly. Yet most of us don’t maintain relationships with registered account holders – we just want to come off as best we can to our nameless, faceless traffic – visiting unannounced.
- Do you have a Google search feature?
- Do you have easy to find FAQs?
- Do you have ‘contact us’ options for the visitor too impatient to read your FAQs?
- Are your FAQs categorised and linked within an inch of their life?
- Do you have different FAQs for different types of customers?
- Do you have ‘self-help’ guides or easily understood PDFs for the stubborn DIY crowd?
- What do you tell visitors to do if their question isn’t answered?
- Does it include a contact form?
Hold the phone. Hold the bloody phone.
Your contact form.
The vile contact form is the online equivalent of the city centre help desk that’s closed. Why bother waiting?
- I’ll just get a robot response.
- My email will get lost in the ether.
- They’ll take 2-3 business days to respond and I need the answer now.
- I can’t be bothered to fill in all that info – it’s just a simple question.
- Oh well, never mind.
Here we have a visitor willing to possibly look stupid, weighing the added price of sticking out her neck to receive no answer at all. Why should I trust your shoddy form? I just want a few seconds of someone’s time. A person with a name and a smile.
Call to mind a time you were lost, out of your depth and didn’t speak a word. You didn’t want to trek across the city to find a help desk that may or may not have helped. You wanted the smiling face of someone who seemed trustworthy, who spoke your language, now.
What does your contact page say?
- Do you reassure there are no stupid questions?
- That you’ve got the time and are happy to help?
It should be inferred, right? It’s not. Many of you have companies or service departments small enough that you can provide a name and maybe even a photo. (Stand up to the firing squad if you think for a second we’re going to fall for a stock photo of some insipid ‘90s girl in a bad suit and headset, manning her telephone. No, no, no).
Dial down the crap and insert a human face.
“Questions? Of course you have. Call us now to speak to a person – if you have to sit on hold for more than a few minutes, we’ll buy you a piece of pie. If you’d rather email us, don’t forget to let us know your X, Y and Z requirements. Your query will arrive at Henry’s desk – he’ll know exactly what to do with it and how best to answer you. He checks his email every 2 hours so put your feet up and let us work out the rest. Thanks and speak soon.”
Any sized brand can take steps towards this – to laying out a welcome mat and removing the ‘beware of dog’ sign.
You’ve been warned.
If you don’t minimise the hurt, the potential for embarrassment and go out of your way to hand visitors their answers on a plate, they’re going to end up lost (or in the neighbourhood with the highest per capita heroin usage in North America). They won’t come back.
Why you should fear stupid socks
Do you ever wear those little ankle socks? You know, the kind you wear with running shoes when you want people to see how shiny your shins are and how sculpted your calves? I love and hate these socks.
They would comprise about 50% of my freelance footwear, except for a minor inconvenience. They don’t stay on your feet. Ever. 6 minutes into running (walking? waddling?), they’re somewhere up by your toes in an uncomfortable, irretrievable ball. Laces you’ve spent ages tying just so have to be undone as you wiggle to get your shoes off, one then the other, on a busy road as drivers honk and idiots leer. (Foot fetishists, I presume?)
Suddenly, shiny shins and sculpted calves don’t seem much of a benefit. The features suck.
My point.
The product’s not defective. If the socks arrived with holes, you’d complain. Yet it’s silly to return them – whether to store or manufacturer – explaining,
“These fall off my feet.”
Who could do that with a straight face? So I’m stuck with a cache of stupid socks. The supply will never know of the demand’s dissastisfaction.
My point for real.
Do you give your clients and customers a way to give you every kind of feedback? Even the broad stroke “your socks are stupid” kind? I know these socks will fall off and I buy them anyway. Embittered, begrudging customers – I’m guessing – aren’t who you’re after.
FreshBooks, god bless them, makes interaction easier than any business I know. You can’t avoid it – they come to you. Every time you log out, there’s the question. “How are we doing? Got something to say?” No need to find an email. No guilt for feeling like a whinger. You’re not complaining, they’re asking. It’s a huge difference.
If FreshBooks made socks, I wouldn’t feel stupid for begging MORE ELASTIC!
Comment cards are everywhere – banks, hotels, car rental agencies. I suspect people are hanging back with things to say – things you need to know. Put the card in their hands. Tell them who reads it and what action will follow. Make it clear who’s doing who the favour.
Be a FreshBooks, whose customers love you because you so obviously get it.
***
P.S. My May newsletter went out today, full of sunshine. Want a copy? Subscribe now.
What else has been written about socks?
These are my socks. Sparkly white. Now please knock them off.
3AM. Car alarm outside. What do you do?
3AM. A car alarm goes off on your street. It’s not your car.
Do you:
A) Roll your eyes, grit your teeth, wait for it to finish
B) Think nasty things about the idiot who trips his own alarm
C) Consider calling the police – there’s clearly a crime taking place
My guess is A and B – rarely, if ever, C.
The false alarms and the made-you-looks far outweigh the unfortunate events requiring actual action. Sick of feeling like a fool, they’re just something else to tune out and ignore. The car alarm has lost its voice.
What else is sounding off, day and night, in your life? Dozens of email newsletters. Do they make any difference to your life or are you growing deaf from white noise? Chances are, they’re not worth listening to.
Where once these marketing pieces held popular attention, it’s unlikely that today you feel inclined to take any action at all.
5 representative emails – from companies I know and like – waiting for me, unread:
- New [Service], New Savings!
- [Company] May 2009 newsletter
- [Type of] Holidays – Summer Season Discounts
- May 2009 [Company] Newsletter
- [Company] Sale – 2 days only!
Delete, delete, delete, delete, delete.
Imagine now that you’re jolted from a dead sleep by a megaphone:
“Call the police! Someone’s stealing my car! It’s a silver Chevy! Quick!”
Now that would stand out. You’d at least think twice. And you’d probably bring it up in conversation the next morning.
Next month you come to write your newsletter’s headline – listen to this (seriously, click it).
SCREECH SCREECH SCREECH SCREECH
It sounds defeaning to you, the car owner.
This is our message!
This is our news!
This is everything that’s going to fix your problem and make your life better!
It’s not. No one’s going to listen. We’ve become inured. Every other newsletter headline on earth sounds just like yours.
Make sure we listen! Fix your newsletter headline.
***
Make your marketing copy more lovable than a White House pup. Learn a few more tasty tricks while you’re here:
- Set sail for awesomeness: why you need new website content
- Why I should write your Christmas letter
- 90s week: What the 90s taught us about copywriting | Day 1
The Winslet factor
Let’s recap.
- She’s funny, clever, well-spoken
- Dressed up or down, she’s gorgeous
- A talented girl who works even harder
If Kate Winslet was selling, wouldn’t you buy?
Experts advise companies in their infancy to give their brand human traits. ‘What does he do on weekends’ or ‘what does she read’?
To build a company (or tweak an existing one) with the Winslet Factor would mean ensuring a brand’s likability, humility and balanced gratitude when the hard work finally pays off. An admirable advantage she may not realise she’s set. It’s affirmation that it is possible to be the best and the nicest…and still come out on top.