The right brand of coffee

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

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

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

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.

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.

Eyes wide open (thanks, Grace)

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?

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.

365 and counting

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?

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.

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.

Caught in a cliché

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

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.