Time for a haircut?

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).

Ads that do no more than pay the Bill

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.

Conference confidence

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?

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.

This is your airplane speaking

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.

Nature or nurture? (*conditions apply)

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.?

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.

A quick quote

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.

Christmas comedown

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

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.

Write on!

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.

Drugs, data and rock 'n' roll

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

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.

Anarchy on the Internet (or, God save the blog)

I often wonder if corporate blogs will ever be anything more for me than a curious contradiction in terms.

What I mean is that the infinite potential of the Internet, and in particular social media, seems at odds with the finite parameters that corporations like to put in place to protect their commercial interests. Downloading music is a good example of this – although the sensitivity of artist copyright makes this a far more complicated issue in reality.

That said, the broader evolution of music and its impact on culture is a useful benchmark to explain my point in full.

Specifically, the rise of punk.

Until relatively recently, if you wanted to play music in some sort of musical ensemble, you had to be a professional, trained musician. Music school was the only credible path to the stage, and any exceptions made for more of a novelty act than a noteworthy performance.

But then in the 1970s, punk happened. No longer did the old rules apply. In fact, no longer did any rules apply.

All of a sudden, anyone could play guitar. In many cases, the fewer chords you knew, the better. Bands like The Clash, The Sex Pistols, The Ramones and countless others grasped the opportunity with enough energy to catapult themselves beyond the status quo and its restrictive social more – and whether or not you could actually play your instruments had no real bearing on the final outcome.

In the 1980s, local scenes like the infamous Manchester scene erupted in the wake of punk, followed in the 1990s by grunge with its roots in Seattle on America’s northwest coast. More recently, the Arctic Monkeys are a band who, like many others before them, started by first having to teach themselves how to play the instruments that they’d managed to acquire.

And even though punk may have started on the stage, its impact soon spilled onto the streets, and the effects on our society and culture are still felt today. Over time, it may have changed shape as the world around us has also changed, but its basic tenets and DIY aesthetics survive.

Nowhere is it more alive and well than on the Internet.

In the same way that punk meant that anyone could play guitar, the Internet has created a new wave of thinkers and writers, a world where anyone can be an author, journalist or social agitator of some description or other.

Who needs record companies when you have MySpace? Likewise, who needs publishers when you have blogs? That isn't to say those institutions are dead in the water, it's just that they can no longer rely solely upon maintaining the bottleneck that has kept them in business up to this point. New ideas are now being shared more freely than ever, and they now need to look for new angles.

The Internet is the champion of the individual, the home of the one-man band. There are no corporate patrons to please, no commercial agendas to follow. Where punk broke down musical barriers, the Internet has bulldozed constraints on how we communicate – and both have worked in ways that rail against our reliance on the so-called big end of town.

Anything is possible on the Internet. And as history shows, giving the masses free rein is not always good news for your average corporation.

God save the blog.