Brandbath

Time for a haircut?

2010-05-10T06:00:00.002+10:00

A little while ago, I wrote here in statistical terms about a trip to my local supermarket.

1 item every 60 seconds. $5 every minute.

And even a brief browse through Freakonomics or their blog will quickly reveal just how much statistics relate to our everyday lives.

All of which brings me to the fact that I got my hair cut the other day. Not a particularly glamorous or extravagant event, as evidenced by the fact that it was a mere snip at $13.

I entered the barbershop at 8.03am.

I was seated by 8.04am.

And I was on my merry way by 8.17am.

$1 a minute.

Not so long ago, I used to get my hair cut at a salon. And, it used to cost me $47 and take about 45 minutes.

Also, $1 a minute.

And when I think about how long my beautiful wife will tend to spend at the salon when she has her hair done, it's generally a 3-hour exercise at a rough cost of $200.

Close enough to $1 a minute.

I'm sure by now you get my point, or at least my hypothesis. That there is no such thing as a cheap or an expensive haircut, only a long or a short one (at an approximate cost of $1 a minute).

The right brand of coffee

2010-04-29T06:00:00.001+10:00

I love coffee. I also enjoy a good conversation. And I'm certainly not immune to a spot of conservation.

So you can imagine my delight when I came across these takeaway coffee cups at the newly refurbished café at Centennial Park.

They're a great reminder of the natural environment and the wildlife with whom we share the park, as well as a reassuring piece of communication in a world where all too often cost and convenience erase all signs of character.

Now, if only someone could design a better lid.

The difference between write and wrong

2010-04-27T06:00:00.002+10:00

I receive a fair few résumés in any given week, and more so lately as I'm recruiting for a couple of roles.

Last week was no different, but one résumé in particular stood out from the rest of the bunch, albeit for all the wrong reasons. The front page led with 4 sentences, the first of which contained no less than 44 words and 2 errors – including misspelling the name of a previous agency.

From there, things didn't get any better.

80 words later, and I'd counted another 8 errors. Apostrophes turning up in the wrong places (or not at all), random capitalisation, the odd appearance of an ampersand or two, and commas missing in action or simply dropped into the middle of nowhere.

All I can say is that if you're still struggling with the difference between "who's" and "whose" after 25 years in the communications industry – and as a self-professed writer – then all is not well.

But what also struck me was the complexity of the language for something like a résumé, a piece of communication that ought to be simple, approachable and immediate. I've written here about the fact that using long words does not make you appear smarter (in fact, quite the opposite), and I was also reminded of the Flesch-Kincaid readability test.

This is a test that – as the name suggests – measures how easy it is to read a passage of text, and provides a score on a scale of 0–100. Reader's Digest aims for a score of 65 or more, whereas the Harvard Law Review tends to hover around the 30-mark. So far, this post gets a score of 60.

The 4 sentences on the front page of the résumé achieved a Flesch-Kincaid score of just 16. A pretty ordinary effort when you also consider the number of grammatical errors, and a stark reminder of the power of language, for better or for worse.

I sincerely hope that the author of the résumé finds a role, but I can't say for certain that it will be in communications.

Ads that do no more than pay the Bill

2010-04-19T06:00:00.003+10:00

It's been a little while since my last post, but I have renowned chef and restauranteur Bill Granger to thank for giving me just the jab in the kidneys that I needed to get back me into the blog seat.

On this particular occasion, Bill was not plugging his latest book but rather his love for Poliform kitchens – and I'm not surprised given that Bill's one of the few people that could probably afford one. But what grated about the ad that I saw (one of a series of ads including the one shown above) was the complete lack of imagination when it came to the copy.

My Poliform kitchen combines the best ingredients – elegance, functionality and quality and it's not as expensive as you think.

I'm all too well aware that clients often set incredibly tight deadlines, but surely the agency in this case had the time or creativity to do more than simply copy–and–paste the brief into the ad? But then if you don't know what you're doing, even the best ingredients can leave a bad taste.

Brand incontinence

2010-03-28T23:11:00.001+11:00

Over the years, the somewhat myopic response to the question of marketing effectiveness has too often been one where activity was initiated in the name of branding as a mere proxy for awareness, but with nothing more concrete or rewarding in place in terms of measurement.

It's a lazy response that makes for a lazy investment.

And last week, I heard a great quote in which a department head at a news and media organisation expressed his opinion on the impact of branding. Or, to be precise, the lack of it.

If I wanted a warm and fuzzy feeling that nobody notices, I'd piss my pants in a dark suit.

Conference confidence

2010-03-24T19:47:00.000+11:00

If I'm honest, I'd have to say that I hate the whole meet-and-greet merry-go-round that goes with conferences and seminars. And that's even though every rational bone in my body tells me they are unrivaled opportunities for meeting new people in an industry built on people, their ideas and opinions.

For me, they're the corporate equivalent of a high school dance – fun if you thrown yourself into the thick of it, but so easy to misjudge the mood and the moment as you break bread with strangers in a hotel ballroom that's seen better days.

Kinda crazy, really.

So I was curious to say the least when I noticed this tweet from 99%.

And with a tentative click, I decided to try my luck and follow the link to this post by Jodi Glickman Brown on the Harvard Business Review blog.

It did take me a couple of reads to get used to the idea of what she has to say, as well as interpret some of the cultural nuances in a more personal context, but deep down I know she's right.

The only question now is whether I attempt the Group Tackle or the Single Sideliner first.

So good they wrote it twice – or was that three times?

2010-03-22T00:09:00.007+11:00

Just last Friday, a good friend pointed me in the direction of what can only be described as a thrilling piece of copywriting.

The quality of the writing and craftsmanship is jaw-dropping. No word of a lie.

And here it is.

But a quick scroll through the comments on YouTube tells another story, one of perceived mistrust and deception. So much so that Penguin published their own blog post to defuse the story and acknowledge their inspiration, even going so far as to include links to two particular videos where this same approach has been used in the past, here and here.

Who knows the true story in terms of how events unfolded? Whether Penguin were transparent from the start or even knew that the video had been posted, or if it was those ever-watchful, web 2.0 vigilantes who caught them out with their own brand of cyber sleuth.

Whatever the case, you can be absolutely sure of one thing.

Jason LaMotte, the chap who wrote the script for the video, is a great writer.

And most certainly a far greater writer than the vapid vultures whose comments have so quickly picked to bits what is otherwise an inspired piece of language and communication.

Right or wrong, inspiration or imitation, I know whose words I'd rather read.

My Sunday shop, statistically speaking

2010-03-19T06:00:00.000+11:00

Last Sunday, I became the Main Grocery Buyer in our family for a day.

It's true that I spend a fair amount of my week with my head in the world of retail, but I have to admit that I rarely ever get the chance to experience a store as a happy-go-lucky, Sunday shopper.

Thinking about doing something is never quite the same as actually doing it, a point well-proven recently by a good friend who used his blog, Brand Habits, to dabble in the world of crowdsourcing with $150 of his own money – you can read about the highs and lows of that experience here.

And so it was that the whole experience was a real eye opener for me.

Quite literally, seeing as I spent most of the shopping trip feeling incredibly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information that was being pumped to my brain by my eyes. So much so that my brain is still compulsively processing much of the data, and every so often I feel my hand reach out in front of me to grab what it thinks is a tub of Philadelphia cream cheese or some other sundry item from a shelf in my mind's eye.

But as much as I was pretty overwhelmed, I was equally amazed by the fact that I didn't return home with a single incorrect item (although I did forget a few things and/or ran out of time as my 18-month old son ran out of patience). However, as I scoured the shelves for what looked like stuff that usually turns up in our fridge and freezer, cupboards and drawers – without a shopping list, I should add – shapes and colours were the things that invariably guided me to the right item.

In fact, those semiotic design cues are the only reason that a shopper can make it through a supermarket in anything like a reasonable amount of time – and I give my full sympathy to any label readers out there for the amount of time it must take them.

As for my trip, I was in the store for 90 minutes.

In which time, I bought 98 items.

Which means, on average, I was putting into my trolley 1 item every 60 seconds.

No wonder I was feeling overwhelmed, that's quite a workout – mentally and physically – but one that would be impossible if it weren't for the role of design.

But that's not all.

In total, my shopping came to a total of $464.96.

That's over $5 for each and every minute I spent there.

Which strikes me quite a high amount for something that is meant to be built around a low service, value model. Imagine spending $5 a minute at a cinema or restaurant, experiences where service comes at a premium. (As an aside, feel free to check out this post I wrote about Paul McCrudden and his 6 Weeks project to read an interesting take on the value of the time you spend with brands.)

For me, those two statistics say it all.

On the one hand, the supermarket shopping experience is fast and furious, a flurry of split-second decisions as you charge up and down one towering aisle after another.

On the other, it's hardly a cheap way to spend your time with a brand that typically provides barely more than a large warehouse full of commodity-priced produce – I admit that is something of an over-simplification, but you get my drift.

As I write this, both Coles and Woolworths are locked in what looks like shaping up into a mammoth battle for our time and money after years of dominance by Woolworths. What's more, the launch of Thomas Dux by Woolworths and the store renewal program at Coles are both strong signals of what's to come.

After years of stack 'em high, sell 'em cheap, they are now becoming far more interested in how we spend our time, not just our money.

A healthy dose of insight

2010-03-16T15:30:00.000+11:00

My wife is currently studying medicine – through Google, it seems.

Whenever she or one of our sons is sick, her first port of call is always to type some pithy description of the symptoms into the search field. That way, she can at least rule out any terminal diseases before preparing herself for discussions with her assistants at the local surgery. It all comes down to access to the right information – not that there's anything wrong with that.

But what I'm finding more and more is that the age-old adage knowledge is power is no longer true.

In fact, it's now more accurate to say that information is power.

And that, I think, is a problem because you'd have to be crazy not to acknowledge the gulf that exists between the two (as does my wife, fortunately).

Knowledge comes through understanding and experience, whereas information simply litters our lives, an often random sequence of data, symbols and other bits and pieces. Knowledge makes sense of information, whereas information on its own can often be senseless, unless of course you know what to do with it.

Which brings me to research.

Focus groups are typically the whipping boy for why research is so often so flawed, but that's too easy and obvious a target – plus, my friend Ingrid over at Aesthetics of Joy (the Christmas trees, remember) already wrote this article a few years ago that perfectly summarises the bigger issues.

But what frustrates me is the seemingly blind proliferation of information churned out by your typical research agency.

They can tell you what was said. In fact, they'll happily write dozens of slides in 8-point type, and even throw in the odd piece of Clipart for a little light relief – if there's space on the slide, they'll be sure to fill it.

But they can rarely tell you what it means.

They'd rather leave that to a mother of two from Castle Hill who you've just paid $80 for 90 minutes of her time to design the pack or write the tagline for you. Easier than making the decision yourself, plus you've now got someone to blame just in case.

Research has its role to play and there can be no doubt that the most successful brands are consumer-informed, but they are never consumer-led. If that was the case, then we'd all be riding faster horses, to paraphrase Henry Ford.

In the case of research, knowledge typically makes sense of information through insight.

But unless more research agencies are able to transform all this information into even the smallest morsel of insight, then my wife may not be the only one turning to Google for the answers.

Eyes wide open (thanks, Grace)

2010-03-15T01:30:00.002+11:00

Not so long ago, I wrote here about The Writer, just one of many posts about the way in which brands use language to distinguish themselves – in both senses of the word.

And it reminded me of uncompromising brands like Gym Jones, a gym in Utah that prides itself on nothing less than Power, Speed, Endurance, Suffering and Salvation.

As you can read for yourself in this exert from their website, they're pretty serious about what they do (and don't).

I wish more brands took themselves so seriously that they held to such an unwavering view of their place in the world, rather than allow punters to wander into a focus group and make all the important decisions for them. But alas, such instances seem few and far between.

Unless, that is, you know where to look.

It was Grace Coddington, Creative Director of American Vogue, who spoke in The September Issue about how she learnt early in her career that you should always keep your eyes open, never go to sleep in the car or anything like that, keep watching – because whatever you see out the window or wherever, it can inspire you.

And so it was that I found myself staring out of the passenger window on Saturday morning as we drove along the incredibly uninspiring and downright demoralising Parramatta Road.

All these thoughts were rattling around in my head when out of the blue – or should I say gray? – I saw a furniture store called 3 Of A Kind with this brutally honest tagline.

Butt ugly blokes building handsome furniture for beautiful people.

I wish we'd stopped to find out if it was true, but I can only imagine that there's few better places to go if you want an honest piece of original craftsmanship.

And if that wasn't enough, we then drove straight past this tattoo parlour.

Where better to go than the House Of Pain?

On the record

2010-03-12T06:00:00.000+11:00

I was rummaging through my record collection at the weekend, and it inevitably got me thinking about album artwork.

For me, part of the romance of records is simply a question of size – 12 square inches have always trumped the compactness of the compact disc. And from Factory Records and the work of Peter Saville to the team at Stylorouge at the height of Britpop, I've forever been fascinated with this pivotal point at which music meets design.

In the 60s, Warhol led the way with his multimedia aesthetic and the help of the band he was managing at the time, The Velvet Underground. And by the time 1969 rolled around, it made perfect sense to Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones to ask Warhol to design their next album sleeve.

And so he did. In fact, here's the letter he wrote Warhol to brief him on the project.

Do whatever you want.

Please write back saying how much money you would like.

Take little notice of the nervous requests to "Hurry up".

Not exactly your typical brief, but then Jagger wasn't looking for your typical response.

And here's the result, complete with working zipper for that added touch of sexual tension (not that you can quite tell from the visual, sorry).

If it's true that you do your best work for your best clients (have a read of this post for more on that matter), then I'd certainly say everyone could do with a Jagger or two at some point in their career.

This is your airplane speaking

2010-03-09T19:20:00.001+11:00

I've written in the past about infographics – first here, then here. Because I firmly believe that data doesn't have to be dull. Or, to put a more positive light on it, information is beautiful.

And I have a work colleague to thank for pointing me in the direction of this blog and its brilliant infographic as the livery for a South African airline called Kulula.

As you can see, Kulula have always been the creative types when it comes to painting their planes over the years.

But this latest design is truly outstanding. Quite literally.

That's it. The airplane says it all really.

365 and counting

2010-03-08T06:00:00.002+11:00

This latest post began life as a brief rant by one of my colleagues at work.

Something to do with the fact that Yakult – like so many other brands – are now positioning themselves as every day.

And just in case that phrase is simply too hard for us poor consumers to grasp, they've kindly gone to the trouble of placing their product next to other products that you might also expect to consume every day. In much the same way that orange juice brands like to put a picture of oranges on the front of the pack just in case you weren't sure what a product described as orange juice might contain.

And that was pretty much where my colleague's rant ended. Just another Friday afternoon in the agency.

But it started me thinking about how everything is now becoming marketed as everyday.

We're spruiked everyday low prices. Where everyday matters are the key to everyday living. And we're told to get our everyday money with everyday banking. Because every day is an adventure. Especially if we want to get everyday rewards. Or, even better, be an everyday hero. That's when we can enjoy everyday luxury. In fact, when you think about it, we're just part of everyday.

It's everywhere.

Which is ironic given that we're also being constantly reminded by our marketing masters exactly how time-poor we all are.

So what's going to be? Everyday, or just whenever we can.

Can I have a small word?

2010-03-04T16:40:00.002+11:00

I've been meaning to write this post for months. In fact, ever since I first read about it last August. And once again, I have The Writer to thank, a specialist writing agency in London.

Here's what they had to say.

Long words make you sound thick. Fact.

We’re always banging on in workshops about picking simple words whenever you can. Occasionally, though, someone will pipe up, ‘But I like using long words. They make me look clever, don’t they?’ No, they don’t. And you don’t just have to take our word for it. It’s been scientifically proven – by psychologist Daniel M Oppenheimer, of Princeton University, no less.

A couple of years ago Oppenheimer designed several experiments to test how people reacted to various styles of writing – some straightforward, some complicated. He was particularly interested in trying to find out which writers sounded the cleverest.

And guess what? The writers of clear and simple words were judged as smart, whereas those who used needlessly long words came across as less intelligent and less confident.

His conclusion is emphatic: ‘Write clearly and simply if you can, and you’ll be more likely to be thought of as intelligent.’

If you fancy reading the study yourself, it’s here. It’s rather splendidly called Consequences of Erudite Vernacular Utilized Irrespective of Necessity: Problems with Using Long Words Needlessly.

A brilliant insight, if you ask me. And I'd expect nothing less than that from The Writer, who seem to take as much time over the long words as they do the fine details.

To show exactly what I mean, here's the email signature from their newsletter (double-click on it to see a larger version).

So many people struggle to describe what makes their business or brand different, but here it is, laid out for all to read in something as basic as an email signature.

No multi-million dollar advertising campaign, exhaustive packaging redesign, or public relations crusade required.

Just a few small words say it all.

Hello, is there anybody there?

2010-03-03T06:00:00.000+11:00

A little over a fortnight ago, I had a very curious phone call.

It was the Managing Director of a packaging agency calling for a quick hello and my email address so he could invite me for a coffee. Nothing too unusual about that, although I did feel a little uncomfortable as I've never really met this person for more than 60 seconds or so – and even that was more than 5 years ago.

Nonetheless, I quickly drew up a list of possible reasons for why he'd want to meet.

1. He wants to hire me.

2. He wants me to hire him.

3. He wants to see how much competitive information he can get out of me about our own agency's plans.

4. He's read my blog and wants me to ghostwrite his autobiography.

But the sad thing is that we'll never know, because he never did send me that email invite afterall.

Nature or nurture? (*conditions apply)

2010-03-01T11:40:00.002+11:00

One of the eternal struggles in our society is the tug of war between nature and nurture. It's the fundamental question of human behaviour, and the extent to which we are the product of our innate qualities from birth or our personal experiences as we develop.

It's a hotly debated topic – and one that is yet to be conclusively argued one way or the other – but there can be no doubt that our behaviour is shaped over time by the world around us.

You only need to take a quick flick through Jane Fulton Suri's book Thoughtless Acts to see all those intuitive ways we adapt, exploit, and react to things in our environment; things we do without really thinking – the result of her work as a partner at groundbreaking design and innovation firm, IDEO.

And so it is that we act instinctively (nature) or we are conditioned over time (nurture) to respond to our environment in intuitive ways.

One of the ways in which we have been more aggressively conditioned is the concept of fine print, a perennial bane of the modern world that allows businesses to make grand offers in ways that attract you, while at the same time limiting these offers in ways that suit them. We're used to having to read the fine print wherever we see the ubiquitous *conditions apply, and to ignore them is often perilous to say the least.

But last week, the tables were turned when Grill'd, the burger chain, seemingly forgot to include the fine print on this ad promoting 2-for-1 burgers for university students.

As it turns out, what they had intended to include was a disclaimer that limited the offer to the readership of the Uni Times publication in which it appeared. However, it wasn't long before consumers took advantage of the great deal on offer and starting making their way to their local Grill'd.

And that's when the real problems started.

Grill'd realised their error and naively tried to pass it off as a simple oversight. They wrote on their blog that they hoped all of our customers can appreciate the good faith in which the offer was released. But as you can read for yourself in the comments that follow, their customers held them fully accountable.

As it turned out, Nando's then dived in to exploit their competitor's error of judgment by offering to accept the vouchers at their own restaurants.

And only then did Grill'd apologise (finally! – with a message from the founder on their homepage), and agree to accept the 2-for-1 vouchers.

Ultimately, Grill'd failed in their bid to have customers overlook their error. Not simply because they refused to take responsibility and apologise, but more so as a result of the years of conditioning by corporations that have nurtured us to read the fine print.

*Because when any society is exposed to such a sustained effort to nurture our response in a particular way, it isn't too long before it switches from nurture to become second nature.

R.U.B.O.Q.?

2010-02-26T08:39:00.001+11:00

A few days ago, the Bank of Queensland launched this re-brand.

And since then – and like many launches of late – it's attracted mixed reviews, most notably here.

So I thought I'd add my own thoughts into the mix with this comment that I left on Mumbrella:

I've been interested to read the discussion here about this campaign and the idea behind it, but it seems everyone is focusing on the issue from a purely visual perspective or in terms of production. And ignoring the fact they've changed their name from Bank of Queensland to BOQ, as well as the potential reasons why – which is a pretty big deal.

When it comes to choosing names – for babies or banks – it's always difficult. But what's even more intriguing about this case is that while their campaign is all about being small and personal, their change of name says exactly the opposite.

Firstly, choosing an acronym is the surest way to strip any emotion and meaning from a word. Acronyms typically lack personality and make it hard for people to remember what they stood for in the first place. Which, unfortunately, does not resonate with their new tagline "Your own personal bank".

Secondly, it's interesting to think about why they switched to an acronym. The likeliest reasons are more to do with a commercial rather than a creative strategy. They want to put some clear water between the brand and the word "bank", as well as lose the restrictions that come with the geographical tag "Queensland".

In other words, this isn't about getting smaller, this is about getting bigger. Much bigger.

So what will it be? A small, local bank with the personal touch? Or, an international institution that hides behind a faceless acronym? Looks like they're keeping their options open for now.

Caught in a cliché

2010-02-20T13:33:00.005+11:00

The past week's been pretty hectic – meetings, deadlines, missed deadlines, pitches, spreadsheets and other sundry items.

But the memory of one particular meeting still lingers.

Now, I understand as well as the next man that acronyms and jargon have their place in this world. If you're stood in a room full of people who know exactly what you mean when you say EPCM, there's absolutely no point in saying the words in full each and every time you use the term. In fact, in most cases, you would actually look a little foolish. As much as acronyms and jargon are exclusive and, quite literally, exclude the layperson, they can also serve just as positive a purpose by reinforcing communication between those already in-the-know (think of it as the modern day equivalent of the Freemason's handshake).

The clichés of the corporate world suffer a similar fate.

Time and place can play a pivotal role in whether they evoke the right response. But all too often they are mere victims of their own popularity as commonplace phrases – as well as the insincerity (or lack of imagination) on the part of those who invoke their expression.

And so it was that I found myself in a pretty swish boardroom in the CBD.

Stainless steel carafes of filtered water, carefully-placed corporate coasters, and individually-wrapped, no-name mints.

Handshakes, smiles, introductions.

And as the conversation wound into action, one particular person began to say how they had only been involved at certain points in the project. In their own words, they had simply "parachuted in, and then parachuted back out again".

After which point, I spent the remainder of the meeting – and the week – wondering exactly how you parachute out of anything.

I understand parachute in. It's possibly a little lazy, even surreptitiously belligerent (although I should say that military phrases have a nasty habit of popping up in the boardroom a little too often for my liking).

But parachute out? I'm sorry, but that's just dumb.

It's never as easy as Abc

2010-02-18T06:00:00.001+11:00

Last week, I was watching a documentary about the history of music. Inevitably, Nirvana were featured at one point in the story, much of it rehashed reports on the lead-up to Kurt Cobain's tragic death.

But one thing I had never heard before – that was mentioned only incidentally – was the fact that the band always jammed for the first half-hour of any rehearsal, only then setting their minds to specific songs or half-written tunes.

Likewise, designers will take weeks to work their way through dozens of concepts and half-baked ideas before settling on the one that cracks the brief.

And how many times do you hear of artists painting over their work, only for these hidden canvases to be discovered years later and revealed as forgotten masterpieces?

I realise that none of this sounds like a big deal. But believe me, it is.

Because when the amateur writer starts to write, they often expect great things from the moment the pen hits the page. And I mean, great things.

As writers, we can tend to put undue pressure on ourselves to create epic stories worthy of equally epic praise with every stroke of the pen or tap on the keyboard. However, if you take even the most fleeting glance at any other creative pursuit, there is always the basic belief that success does not come straightaway.

What's more, the pressure is doubled by the fact that everyone can read and write. From an early age, we're taught how to recognise and create the letterforms required to communicate through the written word. That said – and as you'll have read in this previous post – we don't spend nearly as much time promoting the creative arts as we do our technical skills.

And so it is that the examples I gave at the start of this post show the way for any aspiring amateur writer.

Firstly, a musician might jam or improvise. So why shouldn't we do the same as writers?

Then there's the act of rehearsing. Things don't always flow straight onto the page, and it takes time and practice to get the words to read and feel right.

And finally, writing is first and foremost about writing. And writing. And writing. Which is different to re-writing. And nothing at all like editing. Three different activities with three different mindsets that ought to be kept entirely separate.

Ultimately, the distinction between the technique and the art of writing is an important one.

We can all do the one, but we should never take the other for granted.

A quick quote

2010-02-16T05:40:00.000+11:00

Anyone who's read my blog will know that I don't mind the odd quote or two if it helps push things along.

In fact, quotes is the top ranking label.

And the other day, my beautiful wife made her own sensational yet sinister contribution to the list.

Hanging out with you is like using my left hand.

I think that says it all.

The worst salesman in the west (and other tales from the financial frontier)

2010-02-13T22:30:00.007+11:00

The ANZ branch on the corner of George and King in the Sydney CBD is a grand, olde worlde affair. Cavernous ceilings, wood panels, and lots of columns. I love this type of classical architecture, even if it can be a little formal.

A couple of months ago, set against the swarming crowds just beyond the doors on George Street, it seemed I wasn't the only one taken in by my surroundings. Pretty much everyone there explored the space with a quiet chorus of eager eyes as they patiently waited their turn.

Eventually, my turn came and I made my way to the counter – feeling a little like an extra in Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. (Okay, so I have a fairly wild imagination.)

I handed over my deposit, the teller followed the usual process, and he then handed me my receipt.

But, once he'd done so, events took a strange turn.

The teller took a furtive look left, then right, and then leaned carefully across the counter towards me.

I wondered what this was all about and my brain instinctively offered up the following options:

1. He was about to offer me illegal drugs.

2. He was going to ask me if I knew of any good job openings.

3. He wanted to let me know that Butch and Sundance were standing right behind me, their guns loaded.

(Yes, I know, a very wild imagination, but believe me, this is exactly how it happened from my point of view.)

As it turned out, I was wrong on all counts.

The ANZ teller leaned carefully across the counter, looked me in the eye and asked if I had considered an ANZ credit card. With 55 days interest-free. In fact, there was even a special offer that waived the joining fee. And finally, he offered a second card at no extra price.

I took the receipt for my deposit and headed straight for the huge doors and into the anonymity of the lunchtime crowds, still swarming in the midday sun.

What had been a very pleasant, swift and efficient exchange up until that point had taken what I considered to be an ugly turn. I had gone to the bank to deposit my money as quickly and simply as possible. And I had all but done that when the teller slipped into what had to be one of the clumsiest and most ill-timed attempts to cross-sell me that I have ever encountered.

In the same way that when I go to the supermarket checkout, I want to pay for my goods not buy some more, so when I go to the teller window in a bank to deposit my money, I want to reduce my debt not add to it.

And over the past few weeks since then, it's been happening more and more as banks mobilise their army of window watchers to sell anything and everything to whomever walks in the doors. What really destroys the whole experience – above and beyond the sheer nuisance value – is the fact that they don't appear to have had any training. At ANZ, the teller's demeanour was hardly that of a slick salesman, and more recently at NAB, they tried to offer me a savings account for any cash sitting in the account that offsets my mortgage, but at a lower interest rate and one that would in fact have put me in a worse financial position. And, again at NAB when I was there earlier this week, the teller skipped any sort of polite introduction and launch straight into a spontaneous list of products. Credit card? Home insurance? Car insurance? Car loan? And so on. It was as though he was trying to guess my star sign.

I know that banks have never been anyone's favourite brand. But it's not that I don't like them, I just wish they would leave me alone.

Unlock your creativity (but please don't use a key)

2010-02-01T19:34:00.040+11:00

In life, creativity is essential.

I realise that's a pretty broad statement, but so often it gets forgotten in the midst of all the other demands on our attention and time from one day to the next.

And that's even more true when it comes to thinking even more broadly in terms of one generation to the next.

Which is why I think it's so important that everyone – and I mean everyone – should listen to what Ken Robinson has to say here about the role of creativity in the education of our children. In his view, schools kill creativity: we systematically erase it from the future generation's skill set in the interests of preparing them for a world that has long since passed. We have evolved, but our education system has not.

This became painfully clear to me when I came across this ad for MGSM (Macquarie Graduate School of Management) in the paper earlier this week.

Now I should say that you have to be careful what you say these days given the universal access that the Internet provides – as Hill & Knowlton found out to their dismay this week when their GM criticised Telstra-owned Sensis on Twitter without considering what their client Telstra might have to say on the matter.

As it happens, I've actually completed strategy-related work for MGSM in the past, and I truly believe they are a great business with an outstanding product.

Which only makes this ad all the more underwhelming. Is this really the best that one of the top MBA schools has to offer?

An image of a key.

In the shape of the letter M. You know, as in MGSM.

With a headline that says Unlock your potential.

And don't even get me started on its design aesthetics – or lack thereof.

Call me demanding, but that's as bad an example of a cliché as you'll find. And when you're a prospective applicant, considering which graduate school to give your top dollar (thousands, not hundreds!), it's perfectly reasonable to set the highest standards. Afterall, they expect nothing less from you.

MGSM is not your average graduate school. But you wouldn't know that from reading this ad. Even for MGSM, it seems that creativity and education are not the most comfortable bedfellows.

But as luck would have it, just as soon as I had finished reading the paper, I picked up a magazine and found this ad for the Australian Institute of Architects.

Now there's an organisation – with a comparable (although not identical) role in terms of its educational remit – that doesn't just have a clear point of view on its purpose in this world, but also the ability to communicate it in a creative and compelling way.

And here's another one for good measure.

This is an organisation that is inspired and unparalleled not only in what it does, but also in how it does it – and that has to be one of the most exciting type treatments you'll ever see. Scroll back up to the MGSM example and the difference in impact is astonishing. Judging from this advertising, who on earth would want to have an MBA when you could be an architect?

And it's not enough simply to say that architecture is naturally more creative than commerce. Creativity is as much nurture as it is nature.

Here's an example from Dixons, an online electrical retailer in the UK, that demonstrates exactly that point. They may well be at the bottom of the pile, but that doesn't stop them coming up with one of the most imaginative taglines you'll ever read.

Dixons.co.uk. The last place you want to go.

In a world where the competition is as daunting as John Lewis and Selfridges, any brand that chooses their words so well is most certainly a brand that I want to talk to.

And here's another one.

All that's left to say is that creativity is king. And if you believe Ken Robinson, whom I mentioned right at the start, we need to start investing in the creativity of the next generation, now. Or they might just end up in MGSM's marketing department.

An oasis of insight

2010-01-31T02:00:00.003+11:00

After reading the title of this post, no doubt you're expecting great things – or, grave disappointment (not that I would hold it against you).

And you'd be right. On both counts.

Welcome to the world of real estate agents, the modern day leaders of literature, who shower us on a weekly basis with all manner of adjectives, superlatives and seductive turns of phrase.

So much so that last weekend's Sydney Morning Herald thrust them into the spotlight with an article entitled Seductive turn in saucy sales spin. Which could have just as well been written by a real estate agent given the fact that the article was neither as seductive nor as saucy as the headline had advertised – the very thing that made me read it in the first place.

For anyone still interested (in spite of the lack of X-rated content), here it is.

As you may have noticed, the article ends with a quote from the aptly-named Byron Rose, who says, "Words can be important, but I still think good photos of a property are far more important".

I can't help but wonder where the facts fit on his scale of importance.

Christmas comedown

2010-01-26T06:00:00.003+11:00

I meant to post this a few weeks ago, but better late than never.

It's about Christmas trees. And I must admit to feeling more than a little guilty – emotionally and environmentally.

Here's what became of ours.

Once a sparkling beacon of light and joy in our living room. Now a little shabby and bare out in the yard.

And here's more (all photographed with a little more flair than my own iPhone effort above).

What's worse, my feelings were not instinctive. Instead, what originally started me off down this path was a blog by a friend of mine, Ingrid – the Aesthetics of Joy.

In her recent post On Christmas trees and emotional sustainability, Ingrid writes about the idea that the emotional meaning of objects is transformed by their context. In other words: "Before December 25th, a Christmas tree is an aesthetic of joy and anticipation. After Jan 2nd, it's trash to be dealt with, with connotations of loss and sadness."

And so began my own feelings of guilt.

The post and the poem

2010-01-24T06:00:00.000+11:00

This week, a friend of mine tipped me off about a conversation happening here about whether technology is killing the way we communicate.

I posted a comment, and it started me thinking about how everything is now about tweets and updates and txts – basically anything short and sweet that is easy to absorb and doesn't make you think too hard. And while I can appreciate that, I would also like to think that there's still a place in the world for writing that is longer and a little more challenging and creative.

With that in mind, here's something you don't see much these days. A poem.

This one 's by Ted Hughes.

Written in 1957, it's called The Thought-Fox, and it deals with the idea of creativity and the writing process itself. And I hope you enjoy it.

The Thought-Fox

I imagine this midnight moment's forest:

Something else is alive

Beside the clock's loneliness

And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:

Something more near

Though deeper within darkness

Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow,

A fox's nose touches twig, leaf;

Two eyes serve a movement, that now

And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow

Between trees, and warily a lame

Shadow lags by stump and in hollow

Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,

A widening deepening greenness,

Brilliantly, concentratedly,

Coming about its own business

Till with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox

It enters the dark hole of the head.

The window is starless still; the clock ticks,

The page is printed.

Sex, decks and women's health clubs

2010-01-22T06:00:00.002+11:00

Since the last time I wrote about crimes against the English language (shame on you, KFC), a report has been released claiming that the average teenager uses a mere 800 words each day. On this occasion, texting and hip-hop culture seem to be taking the brunt of the blame, but I'm starting to wonder if 800 words a day isn't so bad, so long as they don't include either of the examples that follow in this post.

Most businesses go to market with a new brand or campaign only after months of research and planning. However, Fernwood Women's Health Clubs and Cabot's Clever Deck both seem to have dreamed up their campaigns after watching an episode of "20 To 1: Funniest Ads In The World".

Fernwood would like to have us sniggering at the back of the class with this dumbed-down approach to getting people's attention.

And Clever Deck have really gone to town with some tacky sex gags of their own – lasts twice as long, geddit!

Just to be clear, it's not the swearing or the innuendo that I find offensive, simply the fact that neither is particularly funny or uses humour in some way that is relevant to the brand in question.

My dad always said to me that people who use swear words suffer from a poor range of vocabulary (although I'm not sure if he'd managed to pin it down to greater or less than 800 words).

And I'm now wondering if something similar is true for humour in branding.

In other words, if people rely on cheap, mindless gags to draw attention to their brand, it probably means that they suffer from a poor range of products and services – and they're desperately hoping you won't notice.

Wine not?

2010-01-20T06:00:00.007+11:00

Recently, I have happened to pen a couple of posts about wine (here and here), both of which have been critical judgements of an industry struggling with its identity in tough times.

However, an evening meal at a local café the other week has given me reason to be hopeful.

The cafe is typical of the inner city. Petite and charming amidst the urban clutter, it opens right onto the street and provides the perfect vantage point to watch the world pass by. The food is sweet, the coffee's bitter, and they have a small but reasonable wine list – and what's more, one that has Mystery wine at the top of the list.

Why not? I'm sure that their Mystery wine is just the same as what everyone else calls house wine, but how about that for something a little more imaginative?

For me, it instantly transforms something banal into an adventure. And at $6 a glass, it's everyone's favourite type of adventure – one that's low on risk but high on story value.

Write on!

2010-01-17T14:17:00.013+11:00

In my last post, I seemed to let my words chase after all sorts of different literary distractions - from Kenneth Slessor to Vice magazine. The result of having so much to squeeze in that I think I managed to avoid answering the central question - specifically, why I write.

So I thought it only fair that I post this follow-up.

The real answer lies in something called Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, a psychometric test that explores your dominant personality and behavioural traits as a means of helping you understand how you perceive the world around you and, consequently, how you make decisions.

Generally speaking, I rail against anything that tries to pigeonhole me, but I must admit that I became an instant convert as soon as I heard my perscribed personality type (ENFP, for those who are curious) defined in layman's terms - I'm the sort of person "who knows what they think as soon as they hear themselves say it".

Nothing could be more true or accurate.

Through writing, I allocate the time in my day to work out what I think and how I feel about a whole range of things. It structures my ideas and forces me to organise my thoughts and feelings into some sort of point of view. And it acts as a depositary where I can store some of my reactions and responses to the world around me (the fact that I relate them to branding is merely incidental). I wouldn't call my writing in this blog "significant" by any stretch of even my hyperactive imagination, but I do despise the idea of thoughtlessness (literally speaking, stupidity, among other things), especially when I witness it in myself.

In other words - and apologies to any Descartes devotees and/or anyone scarred by learning Latin at school - scribo ergo cogito ergo sum.

Why I write

2010-01-15T23:24:00.011+11:00

Earlier this week, I read an article in The Australian about how today's teenagers use an average vocabulary of only 800 words each day, preferring instead to use the abbreviated language of text messaging and hip-hop. I've never counted, but from reading the article, it would seem that 800 is not very high – in fact, it appears that "800 words will not get you a job". What's more, "yeah", "no" and "but" all feature in a top 20 that accounts for about one third of the words they use.

All of which I find a little sad. Especially when I think about how much I love words.

Here's a quick 50 from Australian poet Kenneth Slessor:

I looked out my window in the dark

At waves with diamond quills and combs of light

That arched their mackerel-backs and smacked the sand

In the moon's drench, that straight enormous glaze,

And ships far off asleep, and Harbour-buoys

Tossing their fireballs wearily each to each,

And tried to hear your voice, but all I heard

Was a boat's whistle, and the scraping squeal

Of seabirds' voices far away, and bells,

Five bells. Five bells coldly ringing out.

Incredible writing if you ask me, but then Kenneth Slessor was far beyond the reach of teenage angst by the time he penned Five Bells.

Which brings me to another of my favourite writers, George Orwell. I must admit to a touch of hubris in taking the title for this post from an essay he wrote in 1949. That said, there's nothing particularly unique about the title, and it does seem fair given that I'm discussing a similar subject – although maybe not quite with the same degree of finesse.

In his essay, Orwell took the time to outline "four great motives for writing": sheer egoism, aesthetic enthusiasm, historical impulse, and political purpose. By his standards, I'm guilty of sheer egoism simply by continuing to write past the age of 30; I'm not the sentimental type, so posterity in the guise of historical impulse holds little appeal for me; and yes, I am political, if you subscribe to Orwell's broadest definition of the term.

But what most strikes a chord in my heart is aesthetic enthusiasm: what Orwell describes as everything from "words and their right arrangement" to typography and even the width of margins.

For me, there's something wide-eyed and beautiful in an elegant turn of phrase. Each word gently pushed along by a mix of alliteration, juxtaposition, onomatopoeia, repetition, rhetoric, tempo, crescendo, cadence, the list goes on.

Which all goes to explain why I love the work we're doing for Griffin Theatre Company – apologies for the shameless plug!

And I was pretty excited when I found this recent Fiction issue of Vice, with every page dedicated to new writing.

However, words don't always comes all that easily for people. It takes time and effort and discipline, as well as creativity and flair and ideas. And that even goes for some of the most prolific writers, as Stephen Fry explained in what will be his last blog post for a little while.

For me, writing isn't always easy, but it is important. In a previous post, I wrote about how they say a picture is worth a thousand words, but a single word can start ten thousand stories. That said, not too many of them start Yeah no but.

Death on a whiteboard

2010-01-13T22:05:00.011+11:00

If you want to get something done, I've learned you don't write it on a whiteboard.

Over the years, I've had a number of clients with whiteboards mounted on the walls of their offices. Without exception, not much changed from one week to the next. Any scribbles were usually just that – scribbles. One client had even gone to the trouble of marking out a section for his kids to doodle, and I was always intrigued by the idea of holding serious business discussions as Laura woz 'ere would catch my eye across the room.

When it comes to workshops, whiteboards take centre stage. However, it usually doesn't take too long before they start to interrupt rather than illuminate the discussion. There's rarely any pens to hand that work for more than four words, after a couple of lines you start to realise that you're writing on a ridiculous slant that makes everything trail off into the bottom right hand corner, and it's only once you've riddled the board with a sheen of half-baked ideas that you discover you've been writing in permanent ink.

Technology doesn't make things any easier. If you have a whiteboard from which you can make prints, one of three things usually happens: there's no paper, you write on the one screen that doesn't print, or you fail to use the only colour that reproduces with any degree of legibility. And if you're lucky enough to have one of those whiteboards that saves everything to a central hard drive, you can be certain that it will be saved to the hard drive never to be seen again.

Unfortunately – and in spite of my better judgement and past experiences – I recently learned this the hard way.

Our studio is now the proud owner of a brand new, shimmering whiteboard. A breeding ground for cartoons and caricatures, it produces little in the way of insight or efficiency. To make matters worse, it has been hung (professionally, I might add) at the perfect height for anyone below 5 feet tall. Now and then, I stare longingly at the whiteboard, in the desperate hope that it will spring into life, but I'm also slightly worried that it will instead crash to the floor, pinning any nearby designers to the ground.

But then, it could always be worse. We could be having one of those brainstorms where there's no such thing as a bad idea – like buying a whiteboard.

A marketing miracle

2010-01-03T22:38:00.001+11:00

Only last week, I wrote here about a wine brand called Wallaby Creek.

At a mere $5.99 a bottle, it's a cellar dweller in every sense of the term, and a striking example of yet another wine following yet another marketing cliché. I can only imagine that it would take a marketing miracle to turn it into a brand of any real substance or interest, and after reading this article in the weekend's Sydney Morning Herald, it seems that I'm not all that far off that mark.

Here's what I mean. With many cleanskins now selling at Dan Murphy's for a paltry $1.99 a bottle, many winemakers are most likely praying for a miracle of their own.

If only they could turn wine into water.

Because even plain old water sells for more than $1.99 a bottle – and all you need to do is filter it.

But of course, even the smallest marketing miracles require a little imagination – something in much shorter supply than the surplus of 100 million cases of wine.

Drugs, data and rock 'n' roll

2009-12-29T18:43:00.020+11:00

A few months ago, I wrote here about the way in which information is presented, and I included some of my favourite infographics.

Since then, people have written to me with some of their own favourites, and I thought I might end the year with the pick of the bunch. (And, of course, thanks to all the usual suspects – Good, Information Is Beautiful and 99%, among others.)

It's probably best to let them speak for themselves.

So here goes for 2009.

Drugs....

...data...

...and rock 'n' roll.

6 weeks later

2009-12-29T18:35:00.032+11:00

Earlier in the year, a good friend pointed me in the direction of what is both a very curious and very productive social experiment in branding.

It's called 6 Weeks, and it's a project by a chap called Paul McCrudden.

Paul took it upon himself to measure the amount of time he spent with brands over a 6-week period (on his blog and using Daytum). And then – and this is the best bit – sent each of those businesses an invoice for his time.

£531.25 to Transport For London for time spent on the Tube.

£17 to the Royal Mail.

£97.75 to Sainsbury's.

And a host of others, including £25.50 to his local café, the Squat & Gobble. Who actually replied with the gift of a voucher.

As did Cranberry, EAT, Little Chef, Pizza Express and Pret A Manger with a variety of offers – and even actual payments.

Personally, this is my favourite branding idea of the year.

It prods and pokes the relationships that brands build with their consumers. It questions the value of those relationships. And it asks brands to recognise the value of not only their portfolio of products but also their share of consumers.

Paul's also gone to the trouble of publishing this summary below so that you can get the full story.

From Paul's perspective, the opportunity lies with better understanding PR and, in particular, social media. But I actually think there are bigger issues here that are fundamental to the role of branding in the 21st century.

But hey, it was his brilliant idea, not mine, so what do I know? All I need to do is get my invoice in the post.

Up wallaby creek without a paddle

2009-12-28T19:16:00.008+11:00

I've always found honesty a particularly admirable quality.

And the other day, I was looking in my local bottle shop for an honest bottle of wine when I stumbled across this brand, Wallaby Creek.

But what really caught my attention was a note from the winemaker on the back label.

I appreciate how you saw the stereotypical Australian label and didn't dismiss Wallaby Creek as another "me, too!" wine. We have three generations of experience and we think we make fantastic wine. Once you try a bottle we know you will see the difference. – signed, Rex D'Aquino.

I can't say I know Rex, but I'll certainly be on the lookout for more of his honest marketing truths next time I'm in the aisle – fancy reading such a brutal critique of a brand's packaging when looking to make purchase. Maybe it's an over-reaction to the time in 2007 when his company was fined for selling fake Scottish whisky, but I can't help but wonder if it's actually a question of not understanding the value of branding, even in a market as competitive as wine. That said, the wine industry is one of the most conservative, least innovative categories in retail. Ever.

Following clichés and category conventions doesn't do anything to distinguish a brand, leaving the product to become nothing more than wallpaper for the shelves. And Rex knows it. But Rex is a honest bloke and, at a paltry $5.99 a bottle, at least the price is fair.

What's the big idea?

2009-12-12T20:45:00.018+11:00

Last week, the Communications Council unveiled their new identity.

And here it is.

I'll let you read the article for yourself here.

But, c'mon seriously, it's a speech bubble.

And, there's even a good old swoosh in there if you look close enough.

All I can say is at least it's not 3D.

Sending customers into a spin

2009-12-11T07:03:00.034+11:00

Customers all over Australia have been sent into a bit of a spin this week – in pretty much every sense of the word.

It was Westpac who launched the downward spiral with an interest rate rise almost double that of the Reserve Bank, but things then plummeted to new lows with an animation emailed to customers that was a journalist's wet dream in the otherwise quiet pre-Christmas season.

Twitter was also abuzz, with my favourite being @bigriveroz who wrote: "hey westpac, last time i checked, the local cafe selling banana smoothies didn't make $3.4b while in a cosy cartel protected by the govt".

And it didn't end there. CEO Gail Kelly hit the press the next day to spruik the importance of customer service and the bank's commitment to relationships and reliability. But it was sheer folly for Westpac to try to promote the positive side of the bank sharing their problems with customers, especially as most of the positives seem to have taken the shape of profits sprinkled with the odd bonus. In the same week, reports from the Fairfax stables were suggesting an annual $2.6m cash bonus for Kelly's efforts alone. It's often said that money makes the world go round, but by now the insensitivity was making most people a little dizzy.

However, insensitivity seems to be a popular character trait for most customer service departments around Australia. In my case, it was Foxtel, the 900-pound gorilla of subscription TV, trying to cosy up to me with some sweet talk this week.

Let me give you the background. After months of frustration, I'd finally decided to send a short email to Foxtel to complain about a problem with my service. To be perfectly honest, it was more of a quibble than a problem. However, Foxtel's holier-than-thou advertising paints a vivid portrait of suburban delight, which only serves to grate on me even more when things go wrong.

The return call from customer services started well – the female voice at the other end of the phone seemed helpful and happy to talk.

However, when it quickly became obvious that the best she could do was a paltry "Yes, it's annoying for me too!", I started to wonder whether the point of her call was to sympathise with me, but not actually do anything.

I responded with a polite pitch for service not sympathy, but she immediately hit me out of the park with another gem: "If I help you, I have to help 1.7 million people".

And when I touched a couple of light volleys over the net to see if she would even acknowledge some level of responsibility, she gamely responded with a barrage of cross-court forehands that offered tips but no fix, and I found myself pinned at the back of the court, waving my racket in vain as the ball quite literally spun out of control.

Taking pity on me for a fleeting moment, she did offer a free copy of the Foxtel magazine. However, when I suggested that Foxtel might want to consider making this a monthly occurrence, she threw her racket to the ground in frustration, telling me that she simply didn't have the time to be able to make that happen.

I finally teed up another ball, only for her to shout at the top of my backswing that "I could downgrade my subscription if I wanted". I looked up for a split second in sheer astonishment – how could getting even less possibly be a helpful solution? Needless to say, I completely missed the ball, and my humiliation at the hands of Foxtel's customer service was complete.

I'm not quite certain at what point the phone call became more about Foxtel than me, but it reminded me that businesses like Foxtel and the banks appear to be more about profit than people. I'm all for success in commerce, but surely customers should be the linchpin of that success, rather than have it come at their cost.

I still don't know when Foxtel plan to fix my little quibble.

But maybe that's because there are obviously much bigger problems facing their customers which they need to fix first.

Some days are better than others

2009-12-05T20:18:00.006+11:00

It's December 5.

Day 339.

Only 26 to go.

But I think it's safe to say that today was far and away the worst day of 2009. And my birthday to boot.

I won't go into the details, but the only way I can bring myself to write a blog post this week is by reminding myself that it could always be worse. So here goes with the top 3 worst moments of my career so far – the worst pitch, the worst presentation, and the worst client lunch.

The worst pitch was also on my birthday. It was to Firepower, and then CEO John Finnin. All I can say is we lost the pitch, investors lost millions of dollars, the CEO's now in jail for sexually abusing young boys, and the chairman's about to follow him for fraud or some similar white collar crime. As it turns out, it seems we got off lightly.

The worst presentation was to a university vice-chancellor who decided to pull out a bottle of correction fluid halfway through the presentation. It turned out she wanted to make her own changes to the design recommendation. You know the sort of thing, a little off the side here and there.

The worst client lunch happened when one of my guests fainted at the table. She was out stone cold for a minute or two while we tried desperately to work out if she was still breathing. It was a real shock to say the least.

So that's it. Things can only get better, and they do say that tomorrow is another day – and what better way to get the ball rolling than with a Sunday lunchtime teleconference with the team in Cincinnati. Go the Bengals!

The Idea Is Dead

2009-11-26T20:14:00.013+11:00

In 1986, The Smiths released The Queen Is Dead.

Side A, track 2 was Frankly, Mr. Shankly, a song they wrote to express their frustration with their record label, Rough Trade. Written in the vein of a letter of resignation, it signaled the end for their relationship.

I'm no Morrissey, but this week I've also found myself looking for the words to express similar frustration. So much so, that I will have written a similar letter by the end of the week.

What I have learned from the experience is nothing new. Simply that indifference kills creativity.

I remember first learning that lesson back in 1994. While reading my weekly copy of NME, a British music paper, I read an interview with Brett Anderson, the lead singer of Suede and also, as it happens, another Morrissey-wannabee. He discussed how indifference was the worst type of reaction that people could have to his music, only then to find the following week that he was quoted describing the new release by their arch rivals, Blur, as "Ok".

So, after weeks of creative soul-searching, punctuated by one presentation after another, I'm afraid to say that we were also met by the blunt force of brutal indifference.

But then again, indifference isn't the only way to kill an idea.

Here's a few more, courtesy of Scott Campbell, an art director based in San Fransisco (via 99% via Fast Company via FLIRTing with the Crowds).

Actually, those eight were just to get you started. Here's another seventeen (courtesy of Roger Neill, from his time at Synectics).

1. See it coming and quickly change the subject.

2. Ignore it. Dead silence intimidates all but the most enthusiastic.

3. Feign interest but do nothing about it. This at least prevents the originator from taking it elsewhere.

4. Scorn it. "You're joking, of course." Make sure to get your comment in before the idea is fully explained.

5. Laugh it off. "Ho, ho ho, that's a good one Joe. You must have been awake all night thinking that up.

6. Praise it to death. By the time you have expounded its merits for five minutes, everyone will hate it.

7. Mention that it has never been tried before. If the idea is genuinely original, this is certain to be true. Alternatively, say, "If the idea's so wonderful, why hasn't someone else already tried it?"

8. Say, "Oh, we've tried that before" – even if it is not true. Particularly effective with newcomers, it makes them realise what complete outsiders they are.

9. Come up with a competitive idea. This can be dangerous tactic, however, as you might still be left with an idea to follow up.

10. Stall it with any of the following: "We're not ready for it yet, but in the fullness of time"; "I've been waiting to do that for a long time, but not right now"; or, "Let's wait until the new organisation has settled down".

11. Modify it out of existence. This is elegant. You seem to be helping the idea along, just changing it a bit here and there. By the time the originator realises what's happening, the idea is dead.

12. Try to chip bits off it. If you fiddle with an idea long enough, it may fall to pieces.

13. Make a strong personal attack on the originator. By the time he or she has recovered, the idea won't seem so important.

14. Appoint a committee to sit on the idea. As Sir Barnett Cox observed: "A committee is a cul-de-sac down which ideas are lured, then quietly strangled."

15. Drown it in cold water. As in: "We haven't got the staff to do it...the intangible risks would be too great...that's all very well in theory, but in real life..."

16. Return it to sender with: "You need to be much more specific about your proposal."

17. If all fails, encourage the originator to look for a better idea. Usually a discouraging quest. If he or she actually returns with one, start them looking for a better job.

I'm sure, by now, you get the point.

And who else but David Thorne – whom I first mentioned only last week – to provide a raucous insight into his own experiences of the creative process?

I should point out that my own issues pale into insignificance when compared to his extreme position, and I'm certainly not planning on adopting a similar approach. Quite the opposite, I'd like to think I'm more like Morrissey when it comes to putting pen to paper.

"I do not mean to be so rude,

Still, I must speak frankly, Mr. Shankly."

Money matters (or not)

2009-11-21T20:49:00.022+11:00

In my experience, money has a strange effect on people. Rich and poor, happy and sad, there's simply no rhyme or reason.

In England, for example, they don't seem to worry so much about how much money you've got, but more about where it came from. You can blame that on a class system where the noveau riche are often vilified for their supposed vulgarity and lack of taste.

In the United States of America, the combination of their lack of a class system and historical hatred of all things English means that the opposite is true – in the form of the American Dream. Ian Brown, sometime singer with The Stone Roses, summed it up best for me when interviewed last month by The Quietus: "I can rent a convertible BMW in America and drive around, and I'll get homeless people saying, ‘Nice motorcar'. I get one here [in England], and people want to put a 50p up the side of it."

As for Australians and money, it's a very different story again. I've always found the biggest talking point is not how much you have or where it came from, but whether or not it's waterproof.

In marketing terms, understanding the relationship a man has with his money – and, more importantly, how to come between them – is an important one. As much they say "mo' money, mo' problems", no money isn't really a practical alternative for most commercial enterprises.

easyJet, the European budget airline, highlighted this well when they took a new approach to their segmentation of the business traveller market in the mid-90s. Rather than worry too much about the category conventions, they divided the market in a different way by separating those whose company paid for their airline travel from those who paid for their own. As you would expect, a value-based proposition was far more enticing for those who were spending their own money, and that simple insight saw them break the market.

Separating a company from its cash is always serious business, and it goes without saying that you need to make sure you're offering something of value in return – and it's certainly not something I take lightly.

However, I still find myself surprised on occasion by clients who treat negotiations with professional services firms as though they're haggling at an Asian night market.

(At this point, I should apologise if my point of view seems a little one-sided, but I can only write what I know from the benefit of experience.)

When it comes to financial negotiations at the outset of a project, it's worth remembering that logic most often applies, not the rules of minimalist design. In other words, less is not more, less is almost certainly less. Less money, less work. However, the desire to please often leads to the decision to discount – more for less, added value, and so on and so forth. But I can tell you now that someone almost always loses out.

Which I why I was pleasantly surprised to read this little gem recently on a blog called greyscalegorilla – following a link from 99%. (Thanks!)

A good piece of advice if ever I heard one. And, as they used to say in ancient Rome, pro bono.

You can't be serious

2009-11-18T08:08:00.020+11:00

A recent research study concluded that people who laugh on average four times a day – or, thirty times are week – can expect to live up to ten years longer than people who frown perpetually or don't find Woody Allen funny. Personally, I try to read one of Woody's short stories at least once a week in order to keep my spirits up, and my physician often takes time to comment on my amusing demeanour.

Of course, it's not always possible to have a copy of Mere Anarchy to hand. And I consider myself fortunate to have found a very different but equally humorous protagonist to keep me in good shape on a more mobile basis via the worldwide web.

By way of introduction, David Thorne is the man who tried to pay his bill with a drawing of a spider. Just one example among a host of other equally ludicrous stunts that all go to show the pen is far mightier than the sword. He is very funny. In fact, he's hilarious.

However, I find it just as disheartening that humour struggles to register on our collective consciousness as a more meaningful genre in today's society.

In the case of David Thorne, he is typically dismissed out of hand as a serial prankster or pest, not someone with something significant to contribute. In his mind, the Internet is a playground, so let’s start playing.

For example, if you want to win an Oscar, you'll always stand a far better chance with a drama or a tragedy, never a comedy.

Most people read newspapers but frown upon comics. It seems as though forcing yourself into a manic state of depression over your bowl of morning cornflakes is preferable to a quick giggle or the opportunity to save the planet from a vicious army of twin-tailed rats while the kids are still tucked up in bed.

And the despicable rogue of the class is always the colourful joker, never the conscientious dullard who takes everything at face value and finds it difficult to talk to people, let alone make eye contact for more than a fleeting moment.

All of this adds up to one thing.

I am desperate to know why we can't have more fun if we want to be taken seriously.

There's questionable fame or fun in working ridiculous hours that pinch your life, instead there's more to gain from leading a fun-filled existence. Just ask anyone from Aristophanes, the ancient Greek playwright who loved nothing more than to poke fun at the establishment, to Tina Fey, the brilliantly funny creator of 30 Rock, or Larry David and his improvised comedy show, Curb Your Enthusiasm. Collectives like The Chaser are serious journalists, but they just happen to use humour to tell their story – and, much to everyone’s shame, it works.

In much the same way, Banksy's street art uses a darker humour to reveal certain truths about our society. It's funny, but at times his use of humour can also be slightly unsettling.

I like being taken seriously, but I'm not so keen on being serious. Life should be fun, and there's no reason why our brands shouldn't be equally entertaining.

More comedy, less corporation! – that's what I say.

Or, you know what? Laugh. It won't kill you.

Tell tales

2009-11-09T06:09:00.014+11:00

For a while now, corporations around the world have been talking about the power of storytelling.

And they’re right.

To put it simply, people love a good yarn. From the nomadic adventures of Homer’s Odysseus – who can forget one of storytelling’s most fearful monsters, the Cyclops! – to the rise and fall of any number of so-called celebrities in the daily papers.

But it’s a shame that the English language frowns so heavily upon “telling tales”. And, as children, we're often reminded to focus more on the real world and less on the curious meanderings of our mind, even if that does mean hurting the feelings of a few invisible friends along the way.

I tell stories to my boys most nights. They always make sure I remember which parts they like best, and I try hard to live up to their wildest expectations.

Often, they'll want the same story told night after night after night. No deviation is permitted, and even the slightest stumble or memory lapse can land me back at the start. As much as I'm the storyteller, it's quite clear that it's their story.

If the devil's in the detail, then my two boys are little lucifers. Make no mistake, the details are important. In fact, not just important, they're sacrosanct – it's these details that paint such vivid pictures in their mind. Forget the details, and you can kiss goodbye to their attention. Which generally means it'll be an uphill struggle to win them back before you can get them into bed.

These small details are the moments that trigger their imagination – why the train is bright red, or what happened to the elephant's nose to turn it into such a long trunk. Nothing is taken for granted, little is accepted at face value, and you can see them listening to every new word, as pictures form before their eyes and the words float across the room.

And they love superlatives, not subtlety. The bigger, the better. No! – the biggest, the best. Not just words, but also actions, sound effects (however unrealistic!), and anything else to intensify the tale. What's more, they too want to get in on the action – hold a train, throw the monkey in the air, bounce the ball, anything to get involved and throw themselves into the story.

I'd say that stories are a special part of our lives, but I don't think for a moment that my kids are out of the ordinary. Quite the opposite, they're pretty much the same as most people with hopes and desires.

They want stories that inspire their dreams, not send them to sleep.

Listen today to Morrow

2009-11-09T00:59:00.011+11:00

Last night, I watched The Chaser's Julian Morrow present this year's Andrew Olle Media Lecture.

And it was absolutely brilliant. Unmissable, in fact. (That is, unless you have to make do with the heavily edited 15:22 version that the ABC have since chosen to upload to YouTube.)

Fortunately, the ABC have kindly provided the full transcript here, where you can also choose to listen to Julian Morrow's speech in its entirety, in addition to the introduction from ABC 702's Richard Glover and the vote of thanks given by the ABC's Managing Director, Mark Scott.

If you're genuinely interested in the role and future of the media – both the sick and the salubrious – I simply can't recommend this enough.

Read all about it (redux)

2009-11-08T22:12:00.018+11:00

I love newspapers.

I know I wrote a B&T story here that lamented their fate (a shape–up–or–ship–out type of story).

And forget the fact that I have a blog, Twitter feed, Facebook and LinkedIn accounts. Plus an iPhone with all sorts of strange apps. All things that would suggest to the average consumer researcher that I don't know my broadsheet from my Berliner.

But they couldn't be more wrong, and there's no getting away from the fact that I love newspapers. And, in particular, I love The Australian.

As it happens, The Australian is undergoing a bit of a makeover at the moment and the associated commentary makes for some interesting reading – and viewing.

It's not often that you get to see inside the creative process as it hits the shelves, and it's equally rare that its creator takes you on a personal tour, although not quite so rare now that we live in the grip of web 2.0.

That said, I have to admit that the commentary wavers between resounding insight and a slightly hollow ring. I realise it's only part of the story (and I prefer to focus on the deeper, more insightful part), but I would like to believe that there is much more besides to be gained from a redesign of The Australian at the dawn of the 21st century. And I say that not as a cynic for whom nothing is ever good enough, but as an optimist in the eternal hope of utilitarian prosperity (which is not necessarily as complicated as it sounds).

I daren't write more for fear of journalistic retribution on a karmic scale given that I write as a mere amateur on the subject of not only my favourite newspaper, but also the patron of writers far more expert than me.

But I do write as someone who believes in the future of the printed newspaper (and its dull thud as it is delivered to the doorstep). Long may it linger.

How does it feel to feel?

2009-11-06T20:50:00.036+11:00

My Friday afternoon took a rather sinister turn after a fight broke out at Melbourne airport.

A couple of guys walked through the terminal, found their man, and then came a violent eruption of punches until a couple of brave passengers stood between them. The attackers checked themselves, uttered a few choice words about broken noses, and then turned and traced their steps back through the airport.

It was all over quite quickly, but the emotion in the air was intense.

Admiration for the brave men who had put themselves in the middle of the melee, and stopped the fight from going any further. Fear from the female Qantas ground staff who found themselves in the thick of it as the fight spilled behind the customer service desk. And a mixture of anxiety, shock and excitement swirled around the scene, along with pretty much every other emotion you care to name.

And it reminded me of just how emotionally charged we are – as a species, I mean.

Yes, granted we spend a great deal of time thinking – "Cogito ergo sum", as Descartes once famously pronounced – but so much of our existence also relies upon our capacity to feel.

Earlier this week, Adam Ferrier wrote in his blog, Consumer Psychologist, about the Melbourne Cup, gambling and the concept of variable positive reinforcement – the practice of rewarding desired behaviour (for example, gambling) at random times and with random amounts. And he wondered why marketers didn't use this concept more often and not just in promotions, under the pretext that, "If it's the strongest conditioner of human behaviour, shouldn't marketers be trying to understand it and applying its principles in a slightly more sophisticated way"?

Again, what Adam is raising here is the very visceral nature of the human race – ideas that relate to our deepest inward feelings rather than to our intellect.

The automotive industry, for one, has always worked hard on designing a human feel to its cars. Not simply when it comes to how they function, but also how they look. In fact, most cars smile.

If you look at the VW Beetle or the new model Mazda 3 (just to name a couple), the bonnet, grille and headlights are often designed and positioned to mirror a human face. And a happy one at that.

At the opposite end of the scale to happiness is loss – specifically death, in the form of cult brand, Death Cigarettes.

Here's some of the on-pack copy:

A pack of Death cigarettes leaves no doubt as to the risks of smoking. We don't print a health warning just because it's law. We believe in telling the truth...a responsible way to market a legally available consumer product which kills people when used exactly as intended.

You couldn't get a more honest smoke.

As humans, we are a complex race full of raw emotion and feeling. They say the truth hurts, and they're right. But not because it's true in thought, more so because it hurts our feelings.

So it is, that the most successful brands are often also the most primal. And if you ask me, that feels just about right.

Short is sweet

2009-11-01T19:35:00.014+11:00

The most effective design is often the most immediate.

So it's no wonder that one of my very good designer friends would rather the same was true of some of my longer blog posts.

In his world, short is sweet. Short hair. Short black. Short sleeves. Short board. Sweet.

Now perhaps I shouldn't pay too much attention to him given that he's off to work in Paris. However, that would also be to ignore the global language that brands create, even if you've only made it as far as Perth.

No economy of words could ever match the power that is represented in a single stroke or swoosh when it symbolises something as influential as a brand like Nike. The brand's identity acts as a shorthand that cuts across countries and cultures, allowing individuals to translate its meaning for themselves without having to dive into the dictionary.

So, as a parting gesture to my Parisian-bound friend – and at the risk of neglecting those of us who aren't about to start intensive French language classes – it seems right to recount the thoughts of Blaise Pascal, a 17th century mathematician and philosopher. In his words, "Je n'ai fait celle-ci plus longue parce que je n'ai pas eu le loisir de la faire plus courte". Obviously, he hadn't heard of just do it.

Brain freeze

2009-10-26T20:38:00.020+11:00

This week, I had the dubious pleasure of listening to one of advertising's self-professed elders parading his special brand of insights into the wired world of web 2.0. However, having left his credibility back in the early 90s, this was no pleasurable task – neither for him nor his audience.

After a shaky start, an in-joke failed to rally the troops, and things quickly went downhill as he struggled to work his way through a selection of video material. By the time he came to reveal his big strategy play, a minor PR disaster had to be narrowly averted as he showed an ad starring a cast of people who were completely naked. If presenting an ad from 2007 under the banner of his latest thoughts wasn't bad enough (or maybe that was when he had his latest thoughts), why he felt this the right forum for full frontal nudity was the only thing left to the imagination. A few sombre shakes of the head from the back of the room brought the presentation to a swift conclusion.

For those who missed out, here was his 3-step strategy for success.

1. Find the funniest videos that other people have already uploaded onto YouTube.

2. Pay the videos' creators makers as much of the client’s money as possible just to have their logo added to the end frame.

3. Upload this brand new video to YouTube.

That was it. I'm not kidding.

The end of the presentation could not have come quick enough, and I soon found myself in the back of a cab, sliding through the city in the mid-morning traffic. I slumped into the seat, and waited hopefully for some feeling to return to my brain.

Casting the wrong spell

2009-10-25T13:10:00.009+11:00

I have often waxed lyrical about the power of language and its rare ability to convey both emotion and conviction – whether as "a spark for the imagination, a call to action, or the prose of persuasion".

And I have just as often bemoaned the fact that, in spite of this, most people "default to the drearier corners of the English language".

However, there is a third dynamic worthy of mention, if only to warn you against its teasing tones. A dynamic that practically obliterates all grammatical sensibility for something far more sensual and alluring. And that is the sultry switch from perfectly adequate and innocent letters like "c" and "s" to something all the more enticing in the oh-so-chic shape of "k" and "z".

It is with more than a touch of irony that I write this. In fact, I find this sort of thing equal parts loathsome and banal, and rarely has my ire been so spurred as when I saw an ad for KFC Krushers on the side of a bus this morning.

Krushers. Real bitz.

It's not particularly youthful, "cool", or credible. And I can't imagine it adds any audience appeal. It's the equivalent of writing something pretty unimaginative in Comic Sans in the blind hope that it will be transformed into a moment of pure comic genius.

Do KFC think today's youth are dyslexic? Or perhaps, they will be so overwhelmed by the "totally unique" experience of this "taste revolution" that only the mild shock of such atrocious marketing can possibly bring them round to their senses.