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.

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.

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.

Money matters (or not)

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.

From the boat to the boardroom

At 5.30am, the river is pretty still.

The light is dull, the breeze is faint and all is quiet. All except for the whispered strokes of oars as they nudge the hull with a delicate force. Pools spin about the boat as the blades dip in and out of the inky water.

Rowing is a particularly English sport. And I found myself as a cox in my first few years at a particularly English university, Oxford. In the breaks between curiously-named terms – Michaelmas, Hilary and Trinity – boat crews would descend upon the rowing havens of Wallingford, Henley and Abingdon to train on the river in the early hours. Not much was ever said as people shuffled about the bank outside the boathouse and then gently floated the boat into the water. As cox, it was always up to me to break the eerie silence. After a couple of quick feathers at the bow to line up the boat, I'd call for oars to come square and away we'd go, off into the misty morning.

The warm-up was always my favourite time on the water. No pressure, just a few looseners, and certainly no traffic to make me too conscious of the stream. Now and then, I'd feel a cold splash on the hand, a brief reminder that I was floating on water not gliding on ice. Otherwise, this was a time simply to collect your thoughts.

As we would reach the final bend in the river before the first of several locks, we'd glide to a halt, blades tapping along the water's surface. A gentle turn as one side applied pressure over the other, and the boat would gracefully come to a rest in the shallows near the opposite bank. At which point we all knew that the next hour or so wasn't going to be quite so easy.

Up and down, we would row relentlessly at a range of speeds and tempos and styles. Quick hands, fast at the catch, driving through the water, clean finish. All the while, I would be calling the strokes, watching for technique, and steering a smooth course as the blades swum through the water.

One morning, I remember we were practising in short bursts. We had been rowing a little unevenly, and I found myself calling "Come on!" on more than one occasion. Nothing I said seemed to make much difference, and eventually we finished the session and headed back to the boathouse.

Once on the bank, one of the more experienced crew members let me have right between the eyes – and with both barrels. You can imagine the scene in your own mind: a bulky, 6"5' rower in the peak of fitness laying down the law to a slightly scrawny, 5"6" cox. The point he was trying to make – in between various expletives and vigorous gestures – was that calling "Come on!" in a boat ever again was (1) very likely to land me in the water, and (2) a complete waste of breath as it didn't mean anything or bear any relation to what was happening in the boat at the time.

Which brings me to my point.

Too many businesses rely on meaningless calls to action – "sell more", or "churn less" – without actually understanding what is happening in the business at the time. And more often than not, marketing is guilty of the same generic battle cry, without actually being able to tie the promise that the brand makes to the reality the business delivers.

Coffee that relies upon the cliches of the category – aroma, coffee beans and a good old mug.

Universities that trade off pictures of smiling students on campus as their stock in trade.

And, professional services companies who fill their brochures with thirtysomethings in suits, shaking hands, walking up stairs, and generally looking serious but savvy – and all with the benefit of a soft focus.

Not only are all these examples tired, boring and lazy, but they do nothing to promote what is exciting or unique about the brand in question. They simply gloss over the details, yell "Come on!" at anyone who will listen, and hope someone equally myopic will give them a go. No wonder people often remark on how marketing is "hardly rocket science" – at this level, it's not even basic arithmetic.

I was lucky, I learned my lesson, and I managed to stay dry through my brief career as a cox.

However, many marketers don't have the benefit of strong and experienced leaders to pull them aside when needed. As a result, many find themselves struggling to steer the ship – in fact, they're too busy fighting the battle to sink or swim.