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).

My Sunday shop, statistically speaking

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 marketing miracle

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.

Up wallaby creek without a paddle

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.

The art of persuasion

Persuasion is a fine art.

I know this because, like many of us, I spend a large part of my day trying to persuade people. At work, I’m trying to persuade clients to stay true to a particular strategy, even when the going gets tough. At home, I’m hoping to persuade my sons that sliding down the slippery-dip is actually much more fun than hurling themselves off the top.

But the common mistake I often see people make is that they think the art of the persuasion relies solely upon how persuasive you can be. When in fact, it relies largely on how much listening you can do.

And I mean really listening.

With all your senses, skills, faculties, and anything else you can muster to help you understand what people are really telling you – and what they really want you to hear.

Earlier this week, I spent a couple of hours listening to a friend of mine. Now this is a guy I really respect, and I would love to have join the agency. While some of what he said may not have been music to my ears, I did all I could to absorb everything he communicated – physical, emotional, rational, the lot. And to be perfectly honest, I did everything I could to try not to persuade him to do anything. What was I going to say? – I didn't know what he was thinking or how he felt, let alone what he might want.

And I see it happen all too often when someone flies into the discussion straight off the bat, only to discover halfway through their monologue that they have delivered the perfect argument for what they've now realised is in fact a non-existent issue.

It even happened this week on a project we were pitching. While we aimed to persuade the client of our insights, our two competitors pitched their cost-effectiveness. We ultimately won the pitch because the client didn't want to hear about price (cost-effective or otherwise), they only wanted to hear about how we could solve their business problem. And what shaped our response for the pitch was not what we wanted to tell them on presentation day, but what they wanted us to hear when they first issued the brief.

It's also worthwhile making another slight digression to introduce the fable of the North Wind and the Sun.

According to Aesop's fable, the North Wind tried to prove his strength by blowing the traveller’s cloak from his back, however, this only led the traveller to pull his cloak tighter around him. On the other hand, the Sun shone so brightly that the traveller removed his cloak in the heat of his own accord. What the Sun proved was that persuasion is a far stronger ally than brute force when it comes to achieving your ends. Not only is it vital to spend your time listening for what someone really needs, but it's equally important that you allow them to make the decision for themselves.

When it came to winning the pitch I mentioned earlier, it was the client who made the final decision, not us. Our arguments might have been persuasive, but the winning factor was our ability to listen.

And the same is true for the friend whom I hope will become my colleague. Listening for what he needs will get me much further than trying to persuade him of what I want.

So next time you want to persuade someone, don’t do it. Or at least not until you've had a good listen to what they have to tell you first.