Mattie and I started “shopping” for a new church home this Fall. Our criteria was pretty straightforward: Episcopal; great children’s program and Sunday School; as near our neighborhood as we could find – and, ideally, a church which her BFF (plus the BFF’s mother and two sisters) would attend with her. Now this kind of shopping is really a remarkable adventure and I was struck with in how many ways it parallels the “lifestage transformation” shopportunities I discovered and discussed in my first book, Shopportunity! (Collins, 2006).
Just to recap a bit: My thesis in the book was that all shoppers are looking for transformation and the way they know they’ve received it, is they feel “lucky.” I outline three types of shopping transformations:
· The daily transformation rituals. Think coffee in the morning, cigarette, iPod on the way to work, martini at night as you cross the threshold.
· The lifestage transformations. Consider the run-up to your decision to trade in that zippy two-seater for a sane and safe minivan and then 15 years later envision trading in your sensible, children’s chauffeuring device for another zippy two-seater and fondly honking the kids adieu as they speed off to college in their previously-owned Civic.
· The cultural transformations in which you participate along with the rest of the culture and the culture itself is transformed: cellphones, Blackberries, iPods, laptops, Starbucks. You know it: The things you lived successfully without – until you just couldn’t.
For me, the decision to switch Churches came slowly. We had been happy at our neighborhood church and then, suddenly, I began to be worried that the children in the parish were perhaps seen as something to be “put up with,” rather than celebrated. Mattie, at age nine, is becoming (slightly) more interested in why we’re going there every Sunday and was picking up on what I had begun to feel was an ambient hostility. When she remarked on it, I decided it was time to consider options.
We visited several churches and were disappointed in some facet: Services too long and not kid-friendly. Too much incense. Welcome notes in the pews with the promise to follow-up, only to reached via email, instead of human contact. Sunday Schools the girls described as “goofy.”
Whatever. I began to despair. (Think of searching for the perfect something that you really, really need to acquire.) I began to search the web. (Classic searching behavior in the 21st century.) One church seemed to rise above the rest in its children’s ministry. But it meant we had to opt for an out-of-the neighborhood (comfort zone) choice. It meant we’d drive to church and stop along the way to pick up her BFF & Co., moving in the process from Tribeca and the West Village to the Upper East Side. Now granted, the early Christians were willing to be fed to the lions, so this transportation issue seemed tiny enough. Still, for denizens of Manhattan, the culture shift is well-known: We were making a leap every bit as big as going from Porsche 901 to Ford Explorer.
But, as we entered the foyer and were met by the friendly smiles of children and young adults, we became aware that we were definitely in a space which enjoyed kids. (Note to retailers: How would you do on that criteria, if you expect mothers to linger long with you?) The 9:10 service is ushered by kids. The scripture readings are read by kids. The choir is made up of kids. I watched Mattie and her friends – and they were listening. This was a service voiced not by the Charlie Brown adult-speak they were used to, but by children and teens they could actually hear!
After the service, the kids were invited to go to the various age-appropriate Sunday School classes – well staffed and decidedly not “goofy.” The woman who runs the children’s ministry at this church came right to us, introduced herself and explained the Church’s approach to making sure going to and being in Church is both a spiritual and engaging activity. We still had to await the verdict of the children: Each came from her respective classes grinning and giving a big thumbs-up (rather like emerging happy from a fitting room, if it’s not too sacrilegious to make the parallel). We had been shopping for a church and we had found one that fit the kids.
It was in the weeks following that we became further entrenched, however, as adults. The rector came to great us. The head of the welcome committee. Eye contact. Hand shakes. A sense of serious, generous, genuine welcome. There were adult education presentations thoughtfully organized in the coffee room during the interval when the kids were in Sunday School and the parents otherwise just hang out. We got up-to-speed quickly on the 200 year history of this fabulous place. This church was bringing us thoughtfully and methodically into our new fold. We are made to feel at home.
So, we emerge from this shopportunity feeling lucky, indeed. One minor coda: Mattie and I – as a very small family – have a two-seater. I’ve never had to turn mine in for a sedan. It’s the kind of two-seater with wee shelf seats in the back that seem just right for her and one friend. But, our Sunday Odyssey to the Upper East Side has done what nothing else has: Made me consider that as these kids grow and we want to preserve the convenience of driving up there – we may well, indeed, need a minivan.
The processional effect of one right step sending us down entirely new roads and roles.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Here's What I'm Wondering About Today...
Ad agency group praises Microsoft, Yahoo pact
MarketWatch
A U.S. advertising agency group that includes WPP Plc, Interpublic Group, Publicis Groupe and Omnicom Group Inc. said Monday that it supports the planned Internet search and advertising tie-up between Microsoft Corp. and Yahoo Inc…
Anyone else out there think this is a bit weird? Does Martin Sorrel represent either firm? Does he want to? Whichever it is, this move does (in the parlance of the early 2000s) move the cheese, doesn't it? Doesn't a firm that speaks directly to the street seem to have more clout that just a plain old ad agency, or even some other consortium of advertising, public relations and business strategy consultancies? It’s sort of a brilliant, if a trifle worrisome, repositioning of a guy who was savvy enough to put together an amazing amalgam of agencies into a market mover.
MarketWatch
A U.S. advertising agency group that includes WPP Plc, Interpublic Group, Publicis Groupe and Omnicom Group Inc. said Monday that it supports the planned Internet search and advertising tie-up between Microsoft Corp. and Yahoo Inc…
Anyone else out there think this is a bit weird? Does Martin Sorrel represent either firm? Does he want to? Whichever it is, this move does (in the parlance of the early 2000s) move the cheese, doesn't it? Doesn't a firm that speaks directly to the street seem to have more clout that just a plain old ad agency, or even some other consortium of advertising, public relations and business strategy consultancies? It’s sort of a brilliant, if a trifle worrisome, repositioning of a guy who was savvy enough to put together an amazing amalgam of agencies into a market mover.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
My Excellent Adventure in Columbus
I had heard, of course, that LimitedBrands had its own shuttle service leaving from and returning to Teeterboro a couple of times a day, but last week I had my chance to fly Air Victoria. Terrific and convenient and liberating (I got to keep my shoes on checking in, as but one example) as this part of the adventure was, it really paled in comparison to the store checks I was hosted through at Easton Town Center, outside Columbus, a visual cross between Rodeo Drive and Main Street Southampton. The nice folks at LimitedBrands wanted me to tour its various stores as wonderfully expressed at Easton. So, Victoria Secret, Bath & Body Works, C.O. Bigelow and Henri Bendel's here we come.
Over the years, I've often talked with marketers from designer brands like Tommy and Ralph and complained to them about the dissonance (read: nose bleed) the consumer experiences between the high gloss of fashion advertising in pages of The New York Times’ Fashion of the Times, Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar and others of that clay-coated ilk and the relatively disturbing reality of seeing the same trade mark on extra-extra-large sweatshirts being worn in airports and malls. It’s just extremely hard to reconcile the two images – and thus the brand image suffers. The designers are loathe to walk away from sales; the public is getting larger; the fashion press persists in showing the wares in other-worldly perfection.
You may then imagine my excitement to walk into the Victoria Secret and realize that no acknowledgement was being made of the incredible expanding girth of American women. This is a place staffed by, photographed of and mannequin displayed for sizes two to six. There is a not a single cue that I could see that suggests there’s something in here for plus-size women. (There may be stocked large sizes someplace, but the vibe is surely sexy stuff for sexy size 6s.)
Now the net effect of this is a purity of the vision that is thrilling. Yes, they sell flannel pajamas here, but you’d never know it if that’s what you’re looking for. However, the context makes even the flannel pajamas they do sell seem sexy to those who belong in and to the brand.
I remember at one point working on re-imagining Jiffy Lube to appeal to women and one consumer told me, “Look, a woman in a Jiffy Lube feels exactly like a man in a Victoria’s Secret: You know you don’t belong here; you know you don’t even know the vocabulary of what to ask for; you know you’re almost certainly going to be laughed at by the sales person.” I’m not a man, but I knew I wasn’t the Victoria Secret woman, either. And that edit does not bother me. I admire the discipline.
As I pushed forward to the discovery of each “room” within the store, it revealed itself almost as a striptease, if you will. Moving closer and closer to the cash wrap area, we moved from casual t-shirts and panties to the far more provocative wares for, hmmm, “intimate occasions” and then to the bathing and body lotions that don’t compete for the shopper’s Victoria Secret spend so much as complete it. The “Pink” store within the store seems a portal of entry into the brand conversation for the college-bound and dormitory denizen. All in all, not “my” place – but a great space and brand execution.
Next, we went to Bath & Body Works, which was a fine experience, but not one that was particularly motivating. All good stuff, artfully arrayed, but I think not ultimately rising to “gotta have it” momentum. Still, I could see how for hostess gifts and for those folks who define themselves by scent (and there are a lot of them), a treasure trove.
C.O. Bigelow, inspired by the fusty, dusty outpost on lower Sixth Avenue, is I think a problem area. The lovechild of Kiehl’s and L’Occitane – with a spa in the backroom. I had a particularly hard time wrapping my head around the spa, but I suppose with patience, over time you could train people to think of it as the “go-to” location for massage and facials, etc. But it seemed more of a wander-around kind of place, a “just-looking” moment, rather than a destination. All those apothecary bottles. Enough. We’ll see if this retail execution doesn’t get some more tweaking or perhaps consolidates into the “Pink”-like room of BBW.
But, pretty soon I came upon the real surprise and delight of my visit: Henri Bendel’s, which I’d known too from its Manhattan (Fifth Avenue) location as an exciting, confusing, specialty store with lots of designers you couldn’t pronounce and had only seen referred to in the pages of Vogue. This iteration of Bendel’s is focused and fabulous. One look around and you know you’re in cool, feminine accessories world. One walk around and you move beyond perusing the handbags and into consideration of buying a handbag – and how cool that price is not the main visual celebration in the store. The price tag is tucked in the bag and easy enough to get to, but the lack of screaming prices forces you to consider each bag – and then move to the discovery of the price of the one(s) you like. The second walk around and consciousness of other accessories begins to leak in: Driving gloves, bracelets, key rings, belts…it all begins to make sense.
If I had had more time, I definitely would have made the third loop through the store and then bought. As it was, we were heading back to the HQ, so I made a mental note to go on the website and buy a bag and driving gloves as a birthday present for a great friend of mine (and mother of Mattie’s BFF). The next day, I indeed went on-line and found a page on the site that was as exciting and telegraphic as a page from Lucky: 10 must haves. There was the bag and the gloves. I ordered. I was really quite entranced by the brand and the vision of the glitzy Bendel’s box that the gifts would arrive in for my friend.
The next day a message on my voice mail: No bag and no gloves. Augh. Talk about a nose bleed: I was good and irritated. I had crossed this task off my list and now it was back and not just via an out-of-stock email message, but after several “order confirmation” emails, the dread phone call. I got over myself after a bit and called Stephanie at the Bendel’s store on 57th Street! It was kind of exciting really: It was not a customer service rep in Columbus or New Delhi. It was a real person with a real name at the flagship store – and she answered the phone. Although her message had been distressing, she was able and eager to assure me that she’d checked around all the stores in the country and found a suitable replacement (same bag, different color) with driving gloves to complement it. Whoosh! Happy again. And quite taken by the human contact, after all.
So, bottom line: A great shopportunity. And, if you’re ever anywhere near Columbus, make the cabby take you to Easton Town Center.
Over the years, I've often talked with marketers from designer brands like Tommy and Ralph and complained to them about the dissonance (read: nose bleed) the consumer experiences between the high gloss of fashion advertising in pages of The New York Times’ Fashion of the Times, Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar and others of that clay-coated ilk and the relatively disturbing reality of seeing the same trade mark on extra-extra-large sweatshirts being worn in airports and malls. It’s just extremely hard to reconcile the two images – and thus the brand image suffers. The designers are loathe to walk away from sales; the public is getting larger; the fashion press persists in showing the wares in other-worldly perfection.
You may then imagine my excitement to walk into the Victoria Secret and realize that no acknowledgement was being made of the incredible expanding girth of American women. This is a place staffed by, photographed of and mannequin displayed for sizes two to six. There is a not a single cue that I could see that suggests there’s something in here for plus-size women. (There may be stocked large sizes someplace, but the vibe is surely sexy stuff for sexy size 6s.)
Now the net effect of this is a purity of the vision that is thrilling. Yes, they sell flannel pajamas here, but you’d never know it if that’s what you’re looking for. However, the context makes even the flannel pajamas they do sell seem sexy to those who belong in and to the brand.
I remember at one point working on re-imagining Jiffy Lube to appeal to women and one consumer told me, “Look, a woman in a Jiffy Lube feels exactly like a man in a Victoria’s Secret: You know you don’t belong here; you know you don’t even know the vocabulary of what to ask for; you know you’re almost certainly going to be laughed at by the sales person.” I’m not a man, but I knew I wasn’t the Victoria Secret woman, either. And that edit does not bother me. I admire the discipline.
As I pushed forward to the discovery of each “room” within the store, it revealed itself almost as a striptease, if you will. Moving closer and closer to the cash wrap area, we moved from casual t-shirts and panties to the far more provocative wares for, hmmm, “intimate occasions” and then to the bathing and body lotions that don’t compete for the shopper’s Victoria Secret spend so much as complete it. The “Pink” store within the store seems a portal of entry into the brand conversation for the college-bound and dormitory denizen. All in all, not “my” place – but a great space and brand execution.
Next, we went to Bath & Body Works, which was a fine experience, but not one that was particularly motivating. All good stuff, artfully arrayed, but I think not ultimately rising to “gotta have it” momentum. Still, I could see how for hostess gifts and for those folks who define themselves by scent (and there are a lot of them), a treasure trove.
C.O. Bigelow, inspired by the fusty, dusty outpost on lower Sixth Avenue, is I think a problem area. The lovechild of Kiehl’s and L’Occitane – with a spa in the backroom. I had a particularly hard time wrapping my head around the spa, but I suppose with patience, over time you could train people to think of it as the “go-to” location for massage and facials, etc. But it seemed more of a wander-around kind of place, a “just-looking” moment, rather than a destination. All those apothecary bottles. Enough. We’ll see if this retail execution doesn’t get some more tweaking or perhaps consolidates into the “Pink”-like room of BBW.
But, pretty soon I came upon the real surprise and delight of my visit: Henri Bendel’s, which I’d known too from its Manhattan (Fifth Avenue) location as an exciting, confusing, specialty store with lots of designers you couldn’t pronounce and had only seen referred to in the pages of Vogue. This iteration of Bendel’s is focused and fabulous. One look around and you know you’re in cool, feminine accessories world. One walk around and you move beyond perusing the handbags and into consideration of buying a handbag – and how cool that price is not the main visual celebration in the store. The price tag is tucked in the bag and easy enough to get to, but the lack of screaming prices forces you to consider each bag – and then move to the discovery of the price of the one(s) you like. The second walk around and consciousness of other accessories begins to leak in: Driving gloves, bracelets, key rings, belts…it all begins to make sense.
If I had had more time, I definitely would have made the third loop through the store and then bought. As it was, we were heading back to the HQ, so I made a mental note to go on the website and buy a bag and driving gloves as a birthday present for a great friend of mine (and mother of Mattie’s BFF). The next day, I indeed went on-line and found a page on the site that was as exciting and telegraphic as a page from Lucky: 10 must haves. There was the bag and the gloves. I ordered. I was really quite entranced by the brand and the vision of the glitzy Bendel’s box that the gifts would arrive in for my friend.
The next day a message on my voice mail: No bag and no gloves. Augh. Talk about a nose bleed: I was good and irritated. I had crossed this task off my list and now it was back and not just via an out-of-stock email message, but after several “order confirmation” emails, the dread phone call. I got over myself after a bit and called Stephanie at the Bendel’s store on 57th Street! It was kind of exciting really: It was not a customer service rep in Columbus or New Delhi. It was a real person with a real name at the flagship store – and she answered the phone. Although her message had been distressing, she was able and eager to assure me that she’d checked around all the stores in the country and found a suitable replacement (same bag, different color) with driving gloves to complement it. Whoosh! Happy again. And quite taken by the human contact, after all.
So, bottom line: A great shopportunity. And, if you’re ever anywhere near Columbus, make the cabby take you to Easton Town Center.
Friday, October 2, 2009
So stop the presses: I had a good airline meal...
No. Really. I had a great meal on an airline the other day…
Did you ever have a genuine “stop the presses” experience? Something that happens and you just want to grab people by the lapels and tell them about it? It’s rare, but it does happen. Indeed, it happened to me last Thursday. I had a good airline meal. I know, I know. I’ll repeat that: I had a good airline meal. In fact to be more precise and more shocking, I had a good meal and it was on board an airplane.
Here’s the backdrop: I was flying to San Francisco to give a speech to retailers. I needed to go and come back quickly, flying out in the morning and back and same night. I opted for the direct flight from Newark on Continental – and yes, I chose to upgrade to first class. But still.
I got on the flight and, as I usually do, fell promptly to sleep. I came to about an hour into the flight and the attendant came over to see if I wanted lunch. She explained they were out of the chicken and pasta entrées and offered up the dreaded steak instead. You know the groan that roils through your psyche at such a moment: That ‘why me?’ whimper.
Now then, the shrimp, crabmeat appetizer arrived and life begins to look up. Then: that steak. No kidding. It was excellent: Tender, medium rare and quite delicious. I was dumbfounded. All the more so as I began to hear the low bass snore of the seat-occupant in the row behind me. That noise is one of the things that can make a six-hour flight seem like 16 hours. But, I was able to – well, if not ignore it, then at least – disregard it. Amazing.
It started me thinking about the processional effects of being well-cared for in many contexts: How it creates a GuardAll Shield that inures us to the otherwise infuriating behaviors of “the others.” In this case, one great meal not only kept me from pushing my seat back and nudging the irritant awake or ringing my call button and asking the attendant to “do something!” It enabled me to work on my speech with focus. It created a spirit of shrugging communion among me and my fellow (awake) passengers. It fostered a genuine patience that meant when the time came to deplane, I was able to stand calmly as others stalled my exit by being so dead to all human principle as to have stowed their baggage in the storage space above my head. In other words, it made it a human experience rather than a horrific chore.
Since my speech was at Nordstrom’s and I had some time to kill, I started to shop a bit for my daughter, Mattie. I was struck at how unable I was to just focus on that task at hand. In the midst of considering, would she like this tee-shirt? What about that skirt? I was also checking my watch, estimating again if I started speaking at 6:45 and was done by 8 p.m. would I be okay to get back to the airport in time to bare my toes to the security people and make a 10 p.m. red-eye home?
I was flummoxed by my schedule, the choices and the twin desires to a) touch and consider everything or b) flee, perhaps going back to the presentation room and checking the audio one more time. Instead, I went in search of an in-store restaurant and found a bastion of sanity one floor away. There I relaxed over a marvelous Caesar salad and iced coffee, followed by a relaxed hot brewed cuppa and a view of San Francisco almost perfectly designed to get me settled into which coast I was really on. From that perch, I was able to consider the various wardrobe choices I’d seen in the children’s section – and from there, it was a smooth transition back into shopping and buying mode and then onward to the speech.
All of which brings me to my point: In the profound desire to get the customer to come into our stores and buy something (or onto our planes and go somewhere) to create (often deeply discounted) sales for us, are we forgetting the nurture needed just to get through the anxiety of the customer’s day? It doesn’t have to be four-star cuisine or even involve a microwave. A coffee bar will do, if the respite is graciously, hospitably presented.
Hypothesis: Build a brief oasis where they can make the transition from hassled and frazzled to relaxed and receptive and they will come. An army of consumers may well travel (to you) on its stomach.
Did you ever have a genuine “stop the presses” experience? Something that happens and you just want to grab people by the lapels and tell them about it? It’s rare, but it does happen. Indeed, it happened to me last Thursday. I had a good airline meal. I know, I know. I’ll repeat that: I had a good airline meal. In fact to be more precise and more shocking, I had a good meal and it was on board an airplane.
Here’s the backdrop: I was flying to San Francisco to give a speech to retailers. I needed to go and come back quickly, flying out in the morning and back and same night. I opted for the direct flight from Newark on Continental – and yes, I chose to upgrade to first class. But still.
I got on the flight and, as I usually do, fell promptly to sleep. I came to about an hour into the flight and the attendant came over to see if I wanted lunch. She explained they were out of the chicken and pasta entrées and offered up the dreaded steak instead. You know the groan that roils through your psyche at such a moment: That ‘why me?’ whimper.
Now then, the shrimp, crabmeat appetizer arrived and life begins to look up. Then: that steak. No kidding. It was excellent: Tender, medium rare and quite delicious. I was dumbfounded. All the more so as I began to hear the low bass snore of the seat-occupant in the row behind me. That noise is one of the things that can make a six-hour flight seem like 16 hours. But, I was able to – well, if not ignore it, then at least – disregard it. Amazing.
It started me thinking about the processional effects of being well-cared for in many contexts: How it creates a GuardAll Shield that inures us to the otherwise infuriating behaviors of “the others.” In this case, one great meal not only kept me from pushing my seat back and nudging the irritant awake or ringing my call button and asking the attendant to “do something!” It enabled me to work on my speech with focus. It created a spirit of shrugging communion among me and my fellow (awake) passengers. It fostered a genuine patience that meant when the time came to deplane, I was able to stand calmly as others stalled my exit by being so dead to all human principle as to have stowed their baggage in the storage space above my head. In other words, it made it a human experience rather than a horrific chore.
Since my speech was at Nordstrom’s and I had some time to kill, I started to shop a bit for my daughter, Mattie. I was struck at how unable I was to just focus on that task at hand. In the midst of considering, would she like this tee-shirt? What about that skirt? I was also checking my watch, estimating again if I started speaking at 6:45 and was done by 8 p.m. would I be okay to get back to the airport in time to bare my toes to the security people and make a 10 p.m. red-eye home?
I was flummoxed by my schedule, the choices and the twin desires to a) touch and consider everything or b) flee, perhaps going back to the presentation room and checking the audio one more time. Instead, I went in search of an in-store restaurant and found a bastion of sanity one floor away. There I relaxed over a marvelous Caesar salad and iced coffee, followed by a relaxed hot brewed cuppa and a view of San Francisco almost perfectly designed to get me settled into which coast I was really on. From that perch, I was able to consider the various wardrobe choices I’d seen in the children’s section – and from there, it was a smooth transition back into shopping and buying mode and then onward to the speech.
All of which brings me to my point: In the profound desire to get the customer to come into our stores and buy something (or onto our planes and go somewhere) to create (often deeply discounted) sales for us, are we forgetting the nurture needed just to get through the anxiety of the customer’s day? It doesn’t have to be four-star cuisine or even involve a microwave. A coffee bar will do, if the respite is graciously, hospitably presented.
Hypothesis: Build a brief oasis where they can make the transition from hassled and frazzled to relaxed and receptive and they will come. An army of consumers may well travel (to you) on its stomach.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Do not send to ask for whom the car honks...
It honks for thee...Or said another way, let's not sound the death knell yet for the automotive industry, even the American automotive industry, please. The ability of the ‘cash for clunkers’ program in the United States shows that something aggressive and innovative can move the consumer to shop – and shop for high ticket items – when the deal is right and there’s an environmental halo attached.
But if the category isn’t quite at death’s door, it does required some medicine more serious than the business-as-usual plastic surgery of new models and raging horsepower before we can stop thinking about that looming do-not-resuscitate order. Herewith, my fairly radical three-stage Rx to put the pedal back to the metal.
1. With car dealerships closing (and being closed by the manufacturers), let’s anticipate that there’s going to be some pent-up frustration on the part of current and new owners when it’s time to get the cars serviced and repaired. How to handle? One hypothesis is to reinvigorate the moribund gas station, which now makes much more on junk food and caffeine-based human fuel than it does on gas. There’s a well-trained and licensed group of mechanics, service and parts departments and car owners all being orphaned. Why not create a Match.com for station owners, mechanics and car owners – and bring about the return of the neighborhood, community (licensed and authorized) repair shops? One size wouldn’t have to fit all; rather one corner Shell station could service BMWs, while the Mobil across the street would handle Chevys and the Texico down the block gets the Fords.
2. Penske has purchased Saturn and has two years in which to find a manufacturer to produce the cars, once General Motors is out of the picture. My candidate for both manufacturing and distribution? Walmart. No, really. Think about it: Those big parking lots already dot the universe. Nobody knows more about carving costs out of a supply chain. In many cases Walmart already has auto centers on premise. Certainly the Saturn and Walmart personae complement one another sort of thrillingly. And, Walmart is global, so the Saturn brand would have immediate room to expand into new (to it) markets.
3. Take the current showrooms for the remaining dealerships and make them into Points-of-Distribution (POD) for like-minded brands. Those of us who have had to spend hard time in the waiting room of car dealerships know that no matter how nicely configured they are, no matter how many free donuts they offer or how intuitive their cappuccino machines, it’s still more like one of the rings of Dante’s Inferno than it is the “relentless pursuit of perfection.” Just as airports have become shopping environments for major chains, why not repurpose all that space into something that’s genuine fun or at least convenient for the customer – and a profit center for both car maker and retailer? Let’s have an Apple kiosk, a mobile phone store, even a shoe repair on-site. Why not a Geiko representative at the ready? Or a TD Bank rep?
I’m not being facetious here, but I also recognize that none of these ideas is going to be implemented tomorrow. What I do hope will happen, however, is that some drastic re-thinking is brought to bear. We’ve moved beyond the era of obsolescence arriving in every three-year increments. The cars being designed and built now are really very good cars at every price point and they are built to last. Prius and its followers have shown conclusively that the greening of the industry is not only possible, it’s happening. The impetus to the ‘cash-for-clunkers’ program was to get gas-guzzlers off the road and whoosh! They are gone. This market is responding and without the flop sweat that spewed out of so much of the industry’s spring and early summer advertising. The frantic desperation is gone – and it needs to stay away. Nothing sells like confidence and nothing shows confidence better than new, exciting consumer-driven solutions.
One of the trends we’re noticing here is the appeal of “inconspicuous consumption,” as when people make plans to have lunch at Fred’s, the restaurant in high-end Barney’s. They certainly look at the merchandise as they make their ascent on the retailer’s escalators and pause to touch certain items while they exit the store, but the conversation is about the food and the name drop afterwards is about Fred’s, not Barney’s. No telltale shopping bag, just a great “shopping lite” experience. A guilt-free indulgence in a social setting.
How do we remove the guilt-inducing agita of buying a new car right now? I can’t help but wonder if car makers should be concentrating more on substance and putting the brake on style changes for the moment. We may not want to telegraph to everyone that we bought the newest car with the newest look, but we may be willing to talk about elements of the decision that seem more ethical in this economy. Perhaps figuring out some “after market” enhancements is a way to keep them coming to the showrooms and buzzing about it afterwards.
A few thought starters:
• Better fuel economy and reduced carbon footprint, obviously. Are there ways to retro-fit some cars to maximize mileage?
• Safety? You bet. But not just seat belts, air-bags and television screens instead of rear-view mirrors. Why can’t we figure out a design solution to prevent any driver’s ability to drive drunk? What parent of a teenager or college-bound student wouldn’t pony up for that option? And what about figuring out how to block texting from the driver’s seat?
• Routine service under Warranty? Please. Perhaps even a satisfaction guarantee like General Motors just announced.
• And a repurchase guarantee to speed the cycle and retain loyalty.
But the good news right now is that we’ve miles to go and new promises to make and keep before this industry is put to sleep.
But if the category isn’t quite at death’s door, it does required some medicine more serious than the business-as-usual plastic surgery of new models and raging horsepower before we can stop thinking about that looming do-not-resuscitate order. Herewith, my fairly radical three-stage Rx to put the pedal back to the metal.
1. With car dealerships closing (and being closed by the manufacturers), let’s anticipate that there’s going to be some pent-up frustration on the part of current and new owners when it’s time to get the cars serviced and repaired. How to handle? One hypothesis is to reinvigorate the moribund gas station, which now makes much more on junk food and caffeine-based human fuel than it does on gas. There’s a well-trained and licensed group of mechanics, service and parts departments and car owners all being orphaned. Why not create a Match.com for station owners, mechanics and car owners – and bring about the return of the neighborhood, community (licensed and authorized) repair shops? One size wouldn’t have to fit all; rather one corner Shell station could service BMWs, while the Mobil across the street would handle Chevys and the Texico down the block gets the Fords.
2. Penske has purchased Saturn and has two years in which to find a manufacturer to produce the cars, once General Motors is out of the picture. My candidate for both manufacturing and distribution? Walmart. No, really. Think about it: Those big parking lots already dot the universe. Nobody knows more about carving costs out of a supply chain. In many cases Walmart already has auto centers on premise. Certainly the Saturn and Walmart personae complement one another sort of thrillingly. And, Walmart is global, so the Saturn brand would have immediate room to expand into new (to it) markets.
3. Take the current showrooms for the remaining dealerships and make them into Points-of-Distribution (POD) for like-minded brands. Those of us who have had to spend hard time in the waiting room of car dealerships know that no matter how nicely configured they are, no matter how many free donuts they offer or how intuitive their cappuccino machines, it’s still more like one of the rings of Dante’s Inferno than it is the “relentless pursuit of perfection.” Just as airports have become shopping environments for major chains, why not repurpose all that space into something that’s genuine fun or at least convenient for the customer – and a profit center for both car maker and retailer? Let’s have an Apple kiosk, a mobile phone store, even a shoe repair on-site. Why not a Geiko representative at the ready? Or a TD Bank rep?
I’m not being facetious here, but I also recognize that none of these ideas is going to be implemented tomorrow. What I do hope will happen, however, is that some drastic re-thinking is brought to bear. We’ve moved beyond the era of obsolescence arriving in every three-year increments. The cars being designed and built now are really very good cars at every price point and they are built to last. Prius and its followers have shown conclusively that the greening of the industry is not only possible, it’s happening. The impetus to the ‘cash-for-clunkers’ program was to get gas-guzzlers off the road and whoosh! They are gone. This market is responding and without the flop sweat that spewed out of so much of the industry’s spring and early summer advertising. The frantic desperation is gone – and it needs to stay away. Nothing sells like confidence and nothing shows confidence better than new, exciting consumer-driven solutions.
One of the trends we’re noticing here is the appeal of “inconspicuous consumption,” as when people make plans to have lunch at Fred’s, the restaurant in high-end Barney’s. They certainly look at the merchandise as they make their ascent on the retailer’s escalators and pause to touch certain items while they exit the store, but the conversation is about the food and the name drop afterwards is about Fred’s, not Barney’s. No telltale shopping bag, just a great “shopping lite” experience. A guilt-free indulgence in a social setting.
How do we remove the guilt-inducing agita of buying a new car right now? I can’t help but wonder if car makers should be concentrating more on substance and putting the brake on style changes for the moment. We may not want to telegraph to everyone that we bought the newest car with the newest look, but we may be willing to talk about elements of the decision that seem more ethical in this economy. Perhaps figuring out some “after market” enhancements is a way to keep them coming to the showrooms and buzzing about it afterwards.
A few thought starters:
• Better fuel economy and reduced carbon footprint, obviously. Are there ways to retro-fit some cars to maximize mileage?
• Safety? You bet. But not just seat belts, air-bags and television screens instead of rear-view mirrors. Why can’t we figure out a design solution to prevent any driver’s ability to drive drunk? What parent of a teenager or college-bound student wouldn’t pony up for that option? And what about figuring out how to block texting from the driver’s seat?
• Routine service under Warranty? Please. Perhaps even a satisfaction guarantee like General Motors just announced.
• And a repurchase guarantee to speed the cycle and retain loyalty.
But the good news right now is that we’ve miles to go and new promises to make and keep before this industry is put to sleep.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Mama, what's a sale?
Really, that's what my daughter Mattie asked me the other day as we were doing some back-to-school shopping. Her confusion was telling: In every store we shopped -- from major national retailer to neighborhood boutique -- there were signs above virtually every rack of merchandise.
What, after all, is a sale? She was under the impression that everything in the store was "for sale," so why the banners and rack toppers? I tried to explain, but really came up empty. Indeed, when everything is on sale all the time, why bother with the signs? Were the clothes last season's? Nope. Were they damaged in some way? No, again. Was the store going out of business, as several of her favorites had? Not this time.
You see it's as hard to explain flop sweat to a nine-year-old as it is to not notice the look of sheer terror in the eyes of the store's manager when someone walks by, considers entering and walks on, or comes in, fingers the goods and then exits without a purchase. The interior voice of "Why?" and "What could I have done differently?" "What about another 'today only' 10 percent (more) off?" seemed to dart darkly in the cartoon balloon above her head.
I was watching the end game of a process I did not particularly want to explain to Mattie. One best summed up by a former client several years ago: "One generation of marketers has addicted three generations of consumers to the heroin of price promotion." It's that death spiral that Mattie was noticing: When everything is on sale all the time, what indeed is a sale? It's sort of a post-modern, or at least post-economic meltdown, question.
We all know the reasons for the dilemma. What is beginning to emerge now is perhaps a pathway out -- albeit at tricky one. Today's edition of The New York Times (September 23, front page) offers the best clue: A study done for the French government suggests that we've had -- as a global economy -- a single-minded focus on growth of GNP as the best metric for judging the health of various economies. In the retail world, this translates into an unrelenting obsession with growth in comp store sales (open at least a year) vs. year ago. It's pretty much all analysts look for, so it's pretty much what drives the sector. And, it drives some pretty bad behavior which encourages topline growth (and aggressive discounting to achieve it) at the expense of many other intangible variables, such as store loyalty, shopping experience, and professional sales help expertise. Most horribly, of course, it erodes the metric that does and should matter: Profit.
So my modest proposal today: Change the metric to profit per square foot in stores open at least a year vs. year ago. Pause and consider what changes in behavior would cascade from that one change.
In my work as a marketing consultant and writer (Shopportunity!, Passion Brands), I've learned that the desired emotional response women want from a great shopping experience is to feel lucky. Retailers have taken the fast road to evoking that sensation: Indeed, we do feel lucky when we get something we want at a great price. But that's not the only way to do it. When we get the right jeans to go with our favorite tee-shirt, the sensational new shoes for the dress already hanging in the closet, the perfect suit for the client dinner, we feel lucky too. And the kind of luck which transcends price is the kind that serves as a breeder reactor to profit and with it an enhanced loyalty, store experience and salaries to pay fabulous sales professionals.
As our own situation proved compellingly, the right pink plaid skirt with the right shirt with the coordinating faux neck tie is a fabulous investment impervious to the presence of a "sale" sign. Why cheapen the experience when the discount buys you nothing and costs you much?
What, after all, is a sale? She was under the impression that everything in the store was "for sale," so why the banners and rack toppers? I tried to explain, but really came up empty. Indeed, when everything is on sale all the time, why bother with the signs? Were the clothes last season's? Nope. Were they damaged in some way? No, again. Was the store going out of business, as several of her favorites had? Not this time.
You see it's as hard to explain flop sweat to a nine-year-old as it is to not notice the look of sheer terror in the eyes of the store's manager when someone walks by, considers entering and walks on, or comes in, fingers the goods and then exits without a purchase. The interior voice of "Why?" and "What could I have done differently?" "What about another 'today only' 10 percent (more) off?" seemed to dart darkly in the cartoon balloon above her head.
I was watching the end game of a process I did not particularly want to explain to Mattie. One best summed up by a former client several years ago: "One generation of marketers has addicted three generations of consumers to the heroin of price promotion." It's that death spiral that Mattie was noticing: When everything is on sale all the time, what indeed is a sale? It's sort of a post-modern, or at least post-economic meltdown, question.
We all know the reasons for the dilemma. What is beginning to emerge now is perhaps a pathway out -- albeit at tricky one. Today's edition of The New York Times (September 23, front page) offers the best clue: A study done for the French government suggests that we've had -- as a global economy -- a single-minded focus on growth of GNP as the best metric for judging the health of various economies. In the retail world, this translates into an unrelenting obsession with growth in comp store sales (open at least a year) vs. year ago. It's pretty much all analysts look for, so it's pretty much what drives the sector. And, it drives some pretty bad behavior which encourages topline growth (and aggressive discounting to achieve it) at the expense of many other intangible variables, such as store loyalty, shopping experience, and professional sales help expertise. Most horribly, of course, it erodes the metric that does and should matter: Profit.
So my modest proposal today: Change the metric to profit per square foot in stores open at least a year vs. year ago. Pause and consider what changes in behavior would cascade from that one change.
In my work as a marketing consultant and writer (Shopportunity!, Passion Brands), I've learned that the desired emotional response women want from a great shopping experience is to feel lucky. Retailers have taken the fast road to evoking that sensation: Indeed, we do feel lucky when we get something we want at a great price. But that's not the only way to do it. When we get the right jeans to go with our favorite tee-shirt, the sensational new shoes for the dress already hanging in the closet, the perfect suit for the client dinner, we feel lucky too. And the kind of luck which transcends price is the kind that serves as a breeder reactor to profit and with it an enhanced loyalty, store experience and salaries to pay fabulous sales professionals.
As our own situation proved compellingly, the right pink plaid skirt with the right shirt with the coordinating faux neck tie is a fabulous investment impervious to the presence of a "sale" sign. Why cheapen the experience when the discount buys you nothing and costs you much?
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