Seth Godin's Blog, page 198

"All we need is 250 votes..."

This is cruel marketing.

If you're like me, you've gotten dozens of emails over the last week about a promotion that Chase and Living Social are running in which they're promising local businesses that work within their community a chance to win a grant for $250,000. The emails almost always have the line,

All we need is a vote from 250 kind friends and supporters like you.

Here's why it's doubly dangerous. First, clearly the organization doesn't actually get a grant in exchange for only getting 250 online votes. Hey, 250 online votes won't even get you a pack of chewing gum these days. No, all the votes do is make you eligible to apply for the grant. And yet the organization, perhaps a worthy one, is now spamming thousands of people offering this sliver of hope, all in rush to get 250 votes, even though the chances that anything will happen are perilously close to zero. There are only 12 grants available in total. That's pitiful. Hopes raised, hopes dashed.

And then, for the small businesses, the ones who get through this hurdle and then get through the hurdle of the application, once again, hopes raised, hopes dashed.

There's nothing wrong with competitions and difficult to achieve goals. Nothing wrong with making it hard to get into Brown or get a Gates Foundation grant. The dangerous mistake is making the organizations (and then their core supporters) think it's likely, or easy. You end up not only burning the brand of Living Social and Chase (who probably had good intentions) but by extension, hurting the brand and permission relationships of the very organizations you're trying to help. Peter and the wolf... the villagers aren't going to come next time.

Pepsi did the same thing with charities last year, and my concern is the same: when you activate your supporters, you need a clear path to victory, not a wild goose chase.

One significant way around this: have the outbound messages of the tribe be about more than the grant. Figure out how putting in the effort to help your local organization actually strengthens ties, instead of weakening them. The pursuit could be even better than the prize if you establish the right groundwork.

To be really clear: it's harder to cut through the clutter than ever before, but just because a gimmick is going to cut through the clutter doesn't mean you should use it. It doesn't pay to make a lot of noise if that noise ends up hurting you in the long run.

What's scarce?

The only reason every project doesn't scale to infinity is that something runs out. Time, money, natural resources, new fashions, new customers... something is scarce.

The first question you need to ask about your project is: what's scarce?

The second: how do I get by with less of it?

Big books, little books and the other kind

Words need a place to live. They seem to like it online, where they can be spread and touched and ingested at will.

But online isn't enough, because context is hard to guarantee and commitment on the part of the reader isn't really there.

So I'm not giving up on whatever medium is necessary to get the point across.

Hugh has launched a series of cube grenades about some of my books, here highlighting four from Linchpin. When you see them on the wall (I've got them sitting right behind me as I type this), the words seep in. And when colleagues see them, it's a powerful way to start a conversation. Which is the whole point, no?

One thing I haven't explored in 25 years of making books is creating the big fat significant book, the one that sits on the counter or the end table and gets read now and then--for years. I still remember the art books my mom used to keep throughout our house growing up. Some of them took me literally a decade to get through, but I'm glad I did. My Kickstarter has only two weeks left to go, and while most of it is sold out, there are still some of the big books left. I'm going to place the order for printing these in a week or so (they take months to produce), so if you're at all interested, I hope you'll take a look at the $62 edition today.

A house filled with books is a good place to live.

Do we have to pander?

The road to the bottom is paved with good intentions, or at the very least, clever rationalizations.

National Geographic goes into a cable TV partnership and ends up broadcasting shameless (shameful? same thing) reality shows, then justifies it as a way to make money to pay for the good stuff.

Restaurants serve chicken fingers to their guests' kids, because it's the only thing they'll eat.

Some comedians give up their best work in exchange for jokes that everyone will get.

Brands extend their products or dumb down their offerings or slap their brands on inferior substitutes all in the name of reaching the masses.

And that's the problem with the shortcut. You trade in your reputation (another word for brand) in exchange for a short-term boost of awareness or profit, but then you have neither. Yes, you can have a blog that follows every rule of blogging and seo, but no, it won't be a blog we'll miss if it's gone.

Should Harley Davidson make a scooter?

Yes, you can pander, and if you're a public company and have promised an infinite growth curve, you may very well have to. But if you want to build a reputation that lasts, if you want to be the voice that some (not all!) in the market seek out, this is nothing but a trap, a test to see if you can resist short-term greed long enough to build something that matters.

What's on your list?

"I have kids at home, I don't have a manager, I need to pay off student debt, my boss never lets me, I'm really busy because of soccer season, my knee is acting up, there's already five galas coming up, my RSI hurts when I type, I don't have a degree, I have a degree and can't waste it, I'm not good at that, I tried it before but it didn't work, I've never tried it before, the weather is crazy, isn't it, the election is right around the corner, it's been too long at this job they won't listen to me, I'm going to retire soon, I'm too young, I'll never learn, it's too risky..."

We all have a list. Most of the things on it may in fact be legitimate reasons for no.

I guess the self-marketing question is, "how often do you remind yourself of what's on the list?"

If the first thing you do when considering an opportunity is consult the list, the list is the most important thing in your life, isn't it?

Take this simple marketing quiz

Not so simple, actually, and about more than just classical marketing:

There are a hundred people in a room, perhaps a trade show or a small theatre. What's your choice:

Sit in the back, watch, listen and learn.

Cajole your way onstage so you can make a slick presentation that gets everyone on their feet, buzzing and excited, eager to do business with you or hire you.

Set up a booth in the lobby that energizes and engages 12 of the people enough that they tell their friends, while it disturbs or mystifies two of the others and is ignored by the rest.

Provide a service (like cookies and juice in a box at the exit) that many of the people there are appreciative of but few remember or talk about.

Most people say they choose #2. In fact, most marketers actually do #1 or #4, and it's only #3 that gives you the best chance--create a remarkable product or service, don't depend on getting picked to have a lucky break on stage, and gradually spread your purple cow among people who are truly interested.

Apple and Nike and Starbucks are trotted out again and again as marketing gold standards, because they are beloved by many and ignored or distrusted by few. But these are the outliers, the .0001% that don't represent what actually happens when successful ideas reach the marketplace.

The mass market is no longer. There is almost no room left for the next Procter & Gamble or Google. Instead, you are far more likely to do your best work if you are willing to delight a few as opposed to soothe the masses.

Quick shortcuts (in search of)

There aren't many actual shortcuts.

There are merely direct paths...

Most people don't take them, because they frighten us--too direct, I guess. It's easy to avoid the things that frighten us if we wander around for a while. Stalling takes many forms, and one of them looks like a shortcut.

Things that look like shortcuts are actually detours (disguised as less work).

Opportunity cost

How much does it cost to go to a movie?

Okay, now what's your answer if I told you that while the movie is taking place, you have to miss the final debate in the school board election, in a race where you're tied for first?

Clearly, the stuff you miss has a cost.

Freelancers are very good at having an innate sense of opportunity cost. They realize, for example, that taking on a friend at a discount might be very expensive if it means that other, better paying work is going to have to be turned down.

Now that just about everyone is in the business of selling their time in some form, it's important to be aware that even if something doesn't cost you cash out of your wallet, the opportunity cost is not only real, it's just as valuable. Not only does it cost money to say 'no', it costs money to say 'yes'.

Doing the big work (at the little table)

Most of the day is spent in little work. Clerical, bureaucratic, meetings, polishing, improving, reacting, responding.

The obligation is to carve out time for the big work.

The big work that scares you, that brings risk, that might very well fail.

And we're most likely to do that work when it's least expected, when the table is small, the resources are lacking and time is short.

No need to wait for permission or the lightning bolt of inspiration. The big work is available to you as soon as you decide to do it.

Where does trust come from?

Hint: it never comes from the good times and from the easy projects.

We trust people because they showed up when it wasn't convenient, because they told the truth when it was easier to lie and because they kept a promise when they could have gotten away with breaking it.

Every tough time and every pressured project is another opportunity to earn the trust of someone you care about.