tagged: postulations

Intention bleed

If you want to be meaningful, you have to mean it. I believe that. Mostly. And this definition makes ‘meaningful marketing’ a potential oxymoron.

The minute a person, or group of people, make a conscious decision to alter behaviour for personal gain, something changes. Here’s a made-up anecdote to prove the point:

There is a lady called Berta, who makes jam at home and sells it in her local town hall. She does so out of passion, but one day she overhears some people talking about her jam: “I love her hand-drawn labels, so cute. Much more authentic than supermarket jam!”
Realising the effect this had, Berta decides to add some new hand-made touches, adding a ribbon, writing small messages on the jars and so on. Her sales really take off and before you know it she’s actively thinking about what new ‘authentic’ touches she can apply to build on the interest.
It’s very possible that Berta might have started to add these things anyway, but the minute her actions started being led by the desire to sell, something small, but powerful changed: her intentions.

This is marketing: when a conscious desire for gain begins to influence what you make or how you promote it. And I’m not saying it’s ‘bad’ – that would be unhelpfully simplistic. Berta is still a lovely lady, she still loves making jam, and of course she has every right to promote it. In fact, what she goes on to do may be very similar to what she would have done without overhearing her customers talk.

It’s only her intention that changed…

But when we do things or make things, our intentions bleed into the final experience and that’s where things can go wrong. Small touches, uses of language, design choices all carry the DNA of our hidden desires. At the blunter end of the spectrum, we might say our strategy is showing, but the brush strokes aren’t always that broad. In fact, as I write this, I’m reminded of a Zeus Jones blog post that talks about the subtler end of exactly this.

Author, Jennifer Egan, explores a similar concept in the characters of her book, Look at Me:

“I’m interested in that chasm between the public and the private. In Look at Me, there’s this whole idea of the “shadow self.” One character is always looking at people and trying to find what she calls their ‘shadow self,’ the true self that they’re trying to keep hidden from their more public persona.”

I’m a fan of sliding scales, so here is the one this conversation operates on:
At the far right end, you have brilliant marketeers and designers who can manufacture experiences so precisely that the customer/user perceives a rich, authentic experience, ‘believing’ and feeling the designed intentions of the brand. And of course, we’re happy to pay to be cheated - if it’s done well.
On the far left of the scale, you have people that do things entirely because they love and believe in them, and the same effect is created. But both these extremes are rare circumstances. It’s more likely you sit in the middle somewhere, like Berta. You believe it, but you also fake it a bit.

In a nutshell, this is why aligning the motivations of businesses and customers is one of the most important things we can do. If they are aligned, then no trick is necessary and no bleed is damaging. We can execute our intentions proudly and openly, allowing them to seep into every corner of the experiences we create. Maybe this will even lead to unexpected value, that we didn’t ‘design’ intentionally.

Unless you’re the Derren Brown of marketing, your true intentions will bleed, somewhere, possibly unexpected. So my advice is to align your motivations with your audience’s, to ensure that your intention bleed always turns into positive experiences.

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Everything’s a platform (sort of)

Nick Farnhill made a point the other week (during a teary SXSW comedown) about there being too much focus on the usual, obvious online channels and platforms.

Platforms with large communities, of course, come with obvious advantages. ‘Emerging’ platforms (Pinterest, anyone?) excite us but get us wondering when the tipping point will make it ‘worthwhile’.

But let’s park numbers for just a minute and look at two examples of alternative ‘platform usage’. First up is this recent promo for the movie, Prometheus:

It’s smart: a character from the movie gives a Ted talk in the year 2023. Of course, the concept of this character talking at a conference could have existed without the TED reference, but it wouldn’t have resonated so much. This TED partnership blurred the lines between the movie’s world and our own, the placement of the video within Ted’s own ecosystem completing the picture. (personally, I would have liked the production to match the feel of a real Ted talk and be less slick/acted, but still)

Next up is Umbro’s launch of the England football kit a couple of years ago:

Yes, Kasabian is a ‘platform’ of sorts too; its own ecosystem, connecting fans to Kasabian content and experiences on various platforms, including this stage. England’s football kit was seen for the first time on the torso of an Englishman (that many young football fans look up to) as he provocatively accepted the boos of a French crowd (England’s next opponents were to be France).

When you consider ‘platforms’, how often do you think about a band, or a brand like Ted? You might think of them in terms of ‘partnerships’, but that’s a subtly different thing.

They both feel closed off as platforms: ‘Ted wouldn’t let us do a fictional Ted video’; ‘Kasabian isn’t going to take our product on-stage’. But the right idea, which also benefits them (Ted cemented as thought leader; Kasabian as an English export in the limelight) opens up unlikely opportunities. And it can also generate huge amounts of noise, first via the passionate communities of those brands, and subsequently because of the novelty of the concept. No platform, of course, need be isolated from others.

Like most conversations, this is a semantic one. You’re probably rolling up your sleeves and getting your comment ready. What is a platform? What is media? Yada yada. We could argue it all day. But how we think about things affects how we consider them. And I’m saying that there are millions of opportunities out there that we won’t see unless we learn to see things differently.

I’ve always liked Made by Many’s line “We make new stuff out of the Internet”.  We make culture out of culture. Or we should. Question is, how much of it are you considering as ingredients?

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If this, then that

If this then that just arrived in my life. In its creators’ words:

“Think of all the things you could do if you were able to define any task as: when something happens (this) then do something else (that).”

For example: ‘If the weather drops below 2 degrees, email me the night before’. The options are fairly basic at the moment, but the potential is exciting. It reminded me of a blog post I ‘almost wrote’ (one of those) a few years ago. In it I was going to show this video:

Everything we sense comes from an interpretation of information. What happens is that we get used to certain ways of doing this. Specifically, our five senses divide the world up into five familiar methods of interpreting it. So when someone ‘sees’ with their tongue, it jars a little, even though a familiar thing is happening: the same information (visual in this case) is being interpreted, just by a different operating system.

If this, than that is a perfect articulation of the building blocks of technology. It describes the same laws that Arduino shares (e.g. if the volume/temperature does this, the motor/device does that). When you break things down like this, things are both incredibly simple and mind-blowingly complex at the same time. The principles are simple. The possibilities are increasingly endless.

Every day, new ways of translating information/data into actions/experiences emerge. But more often than not, our human nature (and our pattern-forming brains) gets in the way of our imagination. In the same way we’ve got used to our five senses (five clear ways of translating information), we get used to a handful of familiar formats. If you want to create interesting new experiences, you need to get better at imagining that a tongue might help someone see.

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An insight about insights

‘Insight’; another tricky bastard in our frustratingly word-reliant industry. The nice chaps from YCC were in Poke the other night talking about insights. Sadly I arrived only to hear the closing applause, but I’ve been thinking about insights and have something hopefully worthy of a post:

What I don’t like about ‘insights’ is the sensationalist expectation that they have to appear in a flash of light and make everyone’s trousers fall down. Some people question whether they even exist. And they have a point.

For me, insights (let’s assume they do exist for a moment) are ‘true, but new’. They are based on observations, but observations that provide a fresh (sometimes trouser-removing) perspective on something. Importantly, not all situations require a dramatic change of perspective. Sometimes the smart thing to do is already apparent. When it is, doing a more exciting but less valuable thing is just a bit silly.

But we love the Eureka insights don’t we. Here are a couple of my favourites:

When Nintendo launched the Wii, they had to contend with Playstation and its vastly superior graphics and processing speed. Their insight was “the action happens off the screen”. Nice.

When Dixons.co.uk attempted to take on the big boys, they (M&C Saatchi) realised that they didn’t need to compete on everything. People tended to shop around before buying, so John Lewis’ helpful assistants could also help Dixon customers, so long as they came to Dixons to buy afterwards. This insight led to this famous work and the line “Dixons, The last place you should go.”

In Campaign this week, Russell Davies shared a lovely ‘insight’ from Mark Sorrell. As liberating as it is simple, he proposes that people are wrongly referring to mobiles, laptops and tablets as the ‘second screen’ to television. He observes that these devices absorb more of our attention on the sofa and that it is the TVs that barks on ‘in the background’. I.e. It is television that is our second screen. True, but new. A simple observation that completely rewires how you might think about a dual-screen strategy.

Something occurred to me when I read this last insight. 1. Insights are most exciting/dramatic when we’ve previously been looking at the wrong thing. 2. So caught up are we in sensationalising our industry and our accomplishments, we have completely failed to realise that we’re looking at insights wrongly as well. So here’s an insight about insights:

Insights do not elevate us to a higher plane. They fix our stupidity.

It’s well-documented that our brains are pattern-defining tools. We think we understand the world because we repeatedly reaffirm our misconceptions until they’re thoroughly hard-wired. When people arrive with ‘insights’, what they’re really doing is unpicking our ignorant misunderstandings and giving us a proper look at things.

Does any of this really matter? It’s just semantics, isn’t it? Yes. But semantics define how we see the world. And the more time you spend convincing yourself that you’ve just solved the secrets to the Universe, the less you will think to scrutinise your existing understanding, which is something we should all do constantly. Less sexy, but far more useful.

Update:
Jez kindly tweeted this post and queried about where/how insight informs creativity.  The answer is somewhat buried in the above, so I’ll clarify my pov: The brain is built to define patterns of understanding. It is these patterns that prevent creativity, because our brains tell us everything is as it seems. By Edward De Bono’s definition, ‘creativity’ is literally the act of breaking from these patterns (and in the process our cognitive lethargy). An insight that rewires the way we see something becomes the first creative act; the catalyst that leads to new patterns of thought. I agree with Michael, below, that it doesn’t really matter what you call it, or when ‘strategy’ turns into ‘creative’. I would break it all down as follows:

1. Acknowledge that our current understanding of anything is based on patterns of thought defined in the past
2. Fix this ignorance by scrutinising what we think we know (literally escape from uninspiring, established patterns of thought)
3. Use these new thought patterns to fuel creative alternative ideas

This is all getting a bit heavy. I’m going to have a cup of tea.

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The elastic limit

Last week I did a little talk for D&AD for their Sharp’ner session on ‘what makes a great idea’. One of the things I spoke about was the sweet spot between familiarity and novelty. The ideas that excite me the most often sit in this hard-to-find place, like the Ikea-Facebook campaign, or the Google-Olympics campaign, both of which used familiar tools but did something clever, novel with them.

One of the reasons things like this appeal – and work – is because the user isn’t required to learn anything new, so a ‘new experience’ can be enjoyed effortlessly. There’s also a cleverness at play here. It reminds me of how humour often tickles the intellectual part of our brains when it helps us to connect what we know with what we weren’t expecting. Neil Perkin puts it nicely in this post from last year when talking about gesture-based computing:

“I think one of the smart things about the iPad is that it does enough to be genuinely different and new, without being so revolutionary that people don’t get it.”

Exactly.
Anyway, I thought of a nice metaphor for this concept yesterday: The yield point – or elastic limit – in engineering. When something is stretched, it will return to its original form, only up until its elastic limit:

“Prior to the yield point the material will deform elastically and will return to its original shape when the applied stress is removed. Once the yield point is passed some fraction of the deformation will be permanent and non-reversible.”

Apparently, our uvulas are prone to this problem. If we get so sick that they stretch beyond their elastic limit, they have to be surgically removed. So I remember my brother telling me once.

Just to fire in one more metaphor, the elastic limit also feels very close to the balloon of experience, a concept I stole from Henry James.

I think the ‘elastic limit’ is a nice way to describe the threshold up until which people will willingly (and excitedly) stretch from what they know, without their understanding ‘snapping’ and rendering them confused/unfulfilled. The more you stretch, the more potentially exciting and new the experience will be. But go beyond that and you could blow it.

So next time you’re engineering a ‘new’ experience, maybe think about people’s elastic limit. What do people currently know and understand? How far are you going to stretch them? And will they snap?

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The problem with money

I think I realised what I was trying to say in my last post.

Money’s strength of course, is that it is a standard currency. It is the the fulcrum around which economies turn. No matter how diverse the ‘goods’ on offer, a monetary value can be assigned and counted out using the same notes and coins. Hooray for efficiency.

But through its universality, money is, by definition no more related to one ‘product’ than other. The result is that it distances us, emotionally, from the transaction. What the buyer hands over is always the same.

Anyone that works in marketing will be fully aware that companies sell emotions. A drill can make you feel competent and self-sufficient, a nice meal can catalyse romance etc. It seems a shame that despite buying into these emotions, we always part with something emotionless. I don’t think it always has to be this way.

In fact, it’s not always this way. Wants for Sale very cleverly makes people feel like it’s not money they’re paying with at all. They might see $300 leave their bank account, but they know that really they’re giving the artist a ($300) pair of shoes. The painting (of said shoes) that arrives in the mail is a reminder of that; a souvenir that is related to the payment in a way that is impossible with universal currency.

They get a painting of shoes, the artist gets some shoes. This might all sound like semantics, but semantics are important. Feelings can easily overpower logic.

All this is especially relevant to charities (a sector I think about a lot). Handing over money with little sense of tangible reward is a big barrier to donations. But maybe this is the wrong way to look at it. Money is only perceived as money if no attempt is made to reframe it.

A lot of creativity is injected into reframing goods and services to feel more like emotional bargains. I think it’s about time the same effort is put into reframing ‘payment’.

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Self-regulated epicness

Epic Win is an a “to-do list app within an RPG setting”. I excitedly posted about it a few weeks ago, along with some videos that (presumably) inspired it.

With Epic Win, you add items to a to-do list and assign each one an ‘epicness’ value. When you tick an item off (attack it with your heroic dwarf or weird Tree-man) you win those points and your character progresses across a map. This map is a fantastical metaphor for your life of ‘to-doing’, obviously. And you win ‘loot’ along the way; loot being Epic Win’s equivalet of badges/achievements.


I’ve been using the app for a few days now. I’m neither inclined to, nor capable of, writing a thorough review, but I do have an observation or two to share. If you know me or my style of writing, then its touchy-feely-ness won’t surprise you ;)

Naturally, when I started to play with the app, I wanted some immediate gratification, so I added ‘to-dos’ such as “play with Epic Win App”, “show the person next to me the Epic Win app”, “breathe” etc. These tasks I destroyed heroically within seconds and my points quickly added up.

Then I added some genuine to-do items – you know, serious stuff  – and something happened. I started to feel uncomfortable that I had contaminated the experience with my earlier frivolous to-dos. Goddamn it, I had awarded myself 200 points for breathing. By comparison, the ‘value’ of an important email I had to send had been compromised.

I realised very quickly that because the reward system was self-regulated, it meant that the overall value I extract from the app would be down to me. I have often experienced dissatisfaction with things I get too easily; something I wrote about years ago in a post called The Happy haggle upwards. In it I referenced, amongst other things, Radiohead’s decision to let fans choose what to pay for their album, Rainbows and argued that if you cheated them, you cheated yourself:

“Things are worth what people pay for them. And this means to some degree, you control the value of what you consume by how much you decide to fork out.”

I found the same thing happening with Epic Win. When I allowed myself to gain lots of points for frivolous achievements, it eroded the meaningfulness of ticking off genuine items. It devalued the act of actually getting important stuff done. I quickly regulated myself, stopped adding silly items and started really thinking about how many points certain tasks were worth.

Just to really ram the point home: In order to get maximum value from the app, I had to regulate the cost-reward ratio myself.

This is interesting to me, because the thing that lies at the heart of everything is meaning. Meaning is what we try to create when we make anything for anyone. In a perfect system, the regulation of this meaning can be controlled by the infrastructure of the thing itself, so users don’t need to regulate it at all. But that’s not always possible.

One last lesson: Don’t add ‘make love to wife’ to your Epic Win to-do list. If you do, award it more than 200 points.

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The happening

This post is going to have that awkward ‘haven’t blogged in a while’ feel about it. A bit like a one-night stand after 3 months celibacy.

I discovered fflick a few days ago. It aggregates people’s twitter-film-reviews, surfacing your friends’ ones – and does it very well. The best part is that these ‘reviews’ happen anyway, naturally. So no new behaviour is expected of you. You might know that I tend to appreciate that kind of thing. The people behind fflick sum it up beautifully in this headline on the about page:


You’re already a member – that is one powerful proposition. Boom! (as Sam would say)
If you’re the sort of person that “lives and breathes the web” or other such things, then the idea of aggregating existing behaviours in this way will barely cause you to shrug your shoulders. But for anyone tainted by the heavy brush of the marketing world, this should really be a slap in the face for you.

Many people in the marketing world are still controlled by the culture of ‘creation’ rather than the culture of enabling and aggregating. Personally, I think that using what is already happening is incredibly powerful. It reminds me of one of my favourite quotes in recent months, from an Economist article about ‘re-using’ data:

‘Understanding’ turns out to be overrated.

The point – to contextualise that quote – is that for things like Fflick, it’s not necessary for the creators to understand the nuances of the data, simply that the data exists. Re-channeling existing data is one of the smartest things you can do to create value with practically zero barriers to entry for users. Simply give them a better way of benefiting from what they already enjoy.

This is very much about your mindset. Are you doing things that enable you to say “Hey, join our thing” or “Hey, you’re already a member”?

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Conduction, convection and radiation marketing

People like me get a bit of a hard-on when it comes to expressing complex things with simple metaphors. Sometimes these metaphors are smart and useful, other times they make us look like dicks.

I’ll leave you to decide if I’m being smart or a dick with this one, as I explain why I think heat transfer is a useful way to think about marketing.

A brief intro:

‘Marketing’ is complex. It’s not one thing. Or even lots of things. The word ‘thing’ implies a permanence and singularity that simply isn’t accurate any more. The social-media-boom in particular confused things. Lots of people did – and continue to – use the word ‘viral’ for the idea of ‘infecting’ people with your ‘ideas’. Others challenged this metaphor. Yada yada.. you know the story by now. No one metaphor really helped describe all aspects of marketing. And ‘who was doing what to – or with – whom’ also confused things.

Heat transfer is an interesting alternative way of thinking about marketing. I invite you to consider ‘heat’ in this instance a metaphor for ‘value’.

The goal of marketing is, in my mind, to transmit the value of a product beyond the actual product itself – in the form of seeing, understanding, feeling and enjoying it.


It doesn’t matter who instigates it, so long as the value your product offers ‘reaches’ as many people as possible. What is important is the different ways value can be transmitted, which is where the heat analogy is surprisingly useful.

the 3 types of heat transfer:

1. Conduction
“The transfer of heat by direct contact”
In marketing, this describes direct contact with the product or service. If people can try it, hold it, use it, smell it etc its value is transferred with absolute immediacy. This is often the smartest and most direct way to communicate the value of your product. But of course it’s not always possible.

2. Radiation
“Radiation is the transfer of heat energy through empty space.”
In marketing, radiation is traditional advertising and message-based marketing. These communications broadcast information (emotional and functional) about the value of the product and are far-reaching. They are beamed at us despite the ‘distance’ we might think is between us and the product in question.

3. Convection
“The movement of molecules within fluids (i.e. liquids, gases and rheids).”
This, if you’ll allow me to leap (naked and care-free) back across to marketing, relates to the flowing currents of social interaction that transfer information about the value of your product. Social excitement is akin to the heating up of molecules as heat (value) meets cold (absence of said value). I.e. All that social media jazz.


Pleasingly, there are two types of convection that help to tell the story even more thoroughly:

a. Natural convection
This is where it is the heat (value) itself that actually causes the flow of the fluid motion. I.e. If the value of your product is great enough, it will trigger social spread naturally.

b. Forced convection
“Heat [value] is carried passively by a fluid motion which would occur anyway.” I.e. Existing and relevant conversations are already taking place; the flow is in place already so the goal is to feed information about the value of your product into that flow.

I love how perfectly these two terms highlight the difference between good, explosive currency and weak currency – that requires ‘forcing’.

And one other nice nugget from my brief research:

Radiant barriers “inhibit heat transfer. However, radiant barriers do not necessarily protect against heat transfer via conduction or convection.” I.e. [cough] People find it fairly easy to reflect/reject advertising (radiation) but direct contact with the product (conduction) and social reassurance (convection) are harder to ignore.

Is this science? Nope. Is it useful? Maybe. As we tend to do with over-simplistic metaphors, I’ve probably tried to squeeze too much out of it. But hopefully it’s been worthwhile to share.

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What is a creative strategist?

I crudely articulated my Creative Strategist role as ‘ideas with purpose’ in a presentation recently. Aside from being a bit wanky and vacuous, it was sort of fine in the circumstances: a quick slide that I elaborated on verbally. Then I saw someone tweet it out of context and I felt a bit sick. It’s an awful, unsatisfactory collection of words. So I think I owe it to myself to do better.

So what is a Creative Strategist?

The first thing to say is that it’s probably lots of different things to different people/agencies. It’s one of many hybrid roles that have popped up to help re-package those of us who don’t fit into the old boxes. With that in mind, the term is simply a transient vehicle to help explain something that is certain to change again.

Anyway, for me, now, these two pictures kind of sum it up:


It will be interesting to see if I still agree with the above in a few months time. Or tomorrow ;)

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