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.
Bryson on brochures that suck
Flickr: way opening
Are you in the habit of researching good vs. bad brochures? There’s dangerous room for error. The tacky pamphlet is out and, according to Bill Bryson’s words of 14 years ago – it’s been out.
“[I] eventually ended up at the tourist office, feeling mildly lost and far from home. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing here. I looked through rack of leaflets for shire horse centres, petting zoos, falconry centres, miniature pony centres, model railways, butterfly farms, and something called – I jest not, I regret to say – Twiggy Winkie’s Farm and Hedgehog Hospital, none of which seemed to address my leisure requirements.
Nearly all the leaflets were depressingly illiterate, particularly with regard to punctuation – I sometimes think that if I see one more tourist leaflet that says “Englands Best” or “Britains Largest,” I will go and torch the place – and they all seemed so pathetically modest in what they had to offer.
Nearly all of them padded out their lists of featured attractions with things like “Free Car Park,” “Gift Shop and Tearoom,” and the inevitable “Adventure Playground” (and then were witless enough to show you in the photograph that it was just a climbing frame and a couple of plastic animals on springs). Who goes to these places? I couldn’t say, I’m sure”.
Bill Bryson, Notes From A Small Island, Doubleday 1995
We’re all going on a summer holiday? No thanks.
Read a few sleuthing tips on how to unearth your better brochure.
(And don’t forget to send me your illiterate bingo victories as they occur).
Textbook stuff! “Features vs. benefits”
This was the email I got last month from a top holiday destination. It’s a very lush place. James Bond would stay here.
Spring promotion! High Season rates are applicable instead of Peak Season Rates.
Ohhh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Fail!
I hate marketing jargon – hate it! – so let’s dissect this email as real people. High season…not prime reason. Riiiight.
So if I’m not put off by the sub-text (“Yep! We’re still charging top dollar – fancy being gouged?”), I’d have to do the following:
- Look up their website
- Find the rates page
- Write down the applicable figures
- Find my calculator
- Do some math (and I hate math in the morning)
- Work out the savings
- Ask myself “can I afford this?”
(It took 3 minutes, 3 seconds…the rates page was nicely hidden).
Lucky me, working to unearth a supposed benefit.
Was this a Christmas morning pressie? No.
Did it make me look forward to the possibility of a holiday?
…No.
If you’re offering clients or customers a deal, a special offer or a benefit (!), word it as such.
Wrap it up properly. Throw a handwritten card on top. Drape diamonds from it. Then tease a little bit before you jump out, “surprise! Look what I’ve got for you!” Make it feel like a benefit. (And don’t forget the cake).
I’d re-write the email along the following lines:
Stay with us during our spring promotion and save enough to indulge in a few holiday extras! Perhaps a spa day or private sunset cruise? We’d be happy to arrange either. Our current offers are 22% below the normal rate, meaning there’ll be plenty left in your bank account on your blissed-out return. This rate applies through [date], so email us [here] to let us know when you’re coming. We’re chilling the champagne already.
One of these emails is not like the other.
One leaves my face scrunched in annoyance, the other conjures up my holiday, on a yacht, champagne in hand. Cheesy, yes, but I’ve seen it and I don’t want to give it up.
Benefits! Use them!
Related post:
Sold! To the only website properly bidding
Sold! To the only website properly bidding
“Guess exactly how many dollars I’d pay you to bring me a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie right now?”
The answer was a million, but nobody jumped at my offer.
So, last night, I had to make the cookies myself. Had to. The snag was, I didn’t have any butter. And it was cold outside.
No problem. Like any resourceful genius, I sized up the few apples we had: you will become apple sauce and then cookies and then I’m going to eat you.
Heave ho, Google away!
“chocolate chip cookies made with apple sauce”
In the first 5 results, only 1 recipe promised that my efforts would produce something completely delicious and utterly chocolatey:
This is one of the best chocolate-chip cookies you’ll ever make–and it doesn’t scrimp on chocolate.
Sold! No other recipe made an emotional claim, they simply proceeded with instructions.
My belaboured point? All the features in the world will never trump adding one simple, tasty benefit.
Check your sales copy and make sure you’ve made a similar promise. It could make all the difference.