Slightly Askew

Free samples are as old as the direct marketing hills.

When I was younger, I remember getting lots of free samples of Wash & Go delivered to our house. Maybe someone thought my hair could do with a few more washes.

Those free samples worked – big, proper bottles of Wash & Go could often be found in the Waters bathroom a few weeks later.

Free samples are still alive and well. Even in the digital world. Introducing Books offers free samples on its website, giving people the opportunity to see the unique style of their books before buying.

Free samples were even available at Latitude festival. Müller (those lick the lid of life people) had a special tent where, every morning, they gave away free yoghurts, corners, rice and those probiotic thingymajigs.

I liked this for two reasons:

1. They were kind enough to give away free food to hungry, hungover people.

2. In a world where financial departments demand hard evidence of ROI, this was a refreshing change. There’s no possible way they could measure ROI or ‘brand engagement’ or any other nauseating marketing term. But they still did it. They still thought it would bring a smile to people’s faces. And genuinely believed that us folk would repay this gesture by purchasing their products on a regular basis (otherwise why do it?).

The thing I really like about free samples is their faith in the product. I love the try-this-once-and-you-will-fucking-love-it attitude. The unwavering belief that one shot at the title is all the little fucker needs to worm its way in your life forever. Free samples cry out: we are a product, and we’re not shit.

* * *

Halfway through writing this post, the topic came up at work. Could we, an agency, give free samples to prove what a brilliant job we could do given the chance?

I’m not so sure. Yoghurts have pots and lids and are full of cream and fruit and stuff. It is a yoghurt or it isn’t. (That’s a sentence I never imagined writing.) If you like the yoghurt free sample, you buy another yoghurt full price. Creativity is subjective. And you’re only as good as your last effort. Yoghurts can rest on their laurels for years.

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Pic by Dominic.

What are the rules for hating old people? Is it allowed? I hope so.

Okay, so hate is strong word. But Sainsbury’s quite clearly mark the basket-only checkouts with big pictures of baskets. So when the old couple with the trolley sneaked in front of me and my four items, my gasket prepared itself for a big blow.

But what could I say to these rule breakers? He may have fought in the war; she may have Dug for Victory. I’d no chance of gracing the higher ground (and checkout position) I craved.

I was about to say something when I noticed their ally. Her Daily Mail gave her away. She glanced at me from the adjacent queue, ready to phone the Evening Star – and maybe even her rag of choice – should I even question the heroes that were slowly unloading their trolley, checking each item as if they didn’t remember putting it in there. They probably didn’t.

They weren’t cheery old folk. Not like my nan. She’s always a jolly old soul. They looked like miseries, but I’m prepared to accept that everyone in Sainsbury’s looks pretty much the same miserable way.

And since these geriatric nutters were happy to break the checkout rules, where would they stop? Rules meant nothing to them. They could be armed. I could be gunned down by these lawless fogeys. In self defence, whispered their ally, in my head.

I drifted off in a wave of absurd thought. Moments later, I was jolted back to reality by the familiar call of the Sainsbury’s droid.

“AffyougottaNectarCard?”

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I love Christmas – there’s magic in the air.

Yes, Christmas is too commercial. But so is football; so is the new Kings of Leon album. I don’t care: sometimes I like commercial. That’s why I’ve always wanted to work in advertising.

Advertising can be beautiful. This, this and these are all the proof you’ll need:

In 2008 the lesser spotted Good Christmas Ad made a return to shores of Blighty thanks to CHI & Partners.

If you did manage to piss off your family with some rubbish gifts, they’ll forgive you. After all, Christmas makes people a little friendlier and smiley. Perhaps it’s all the fantastic cheap booze Supermarkets are offering (another upside of things being too commercial).

And amidst the throng of festive commerce, I think you’d still be a right sour muppet if you didn’t entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, Santa does exist. Yes, I know, it sounds ridiculous. But watch just one of the many good festive films – Elf, Miracle of 54th Street, Santa Claus The Movie – and only the hardest of impenetrable hearts will condemn Old Saint Nick to the spiritual scrapheap.

But now Christmas has gone for another year. I’ll miss it.

Oh well, let’s look forward to a cracking 2009.

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I hate decorating. With the fiery passion of an “appalled” Daily Mail reader hunting down a big-haired Radio 2 DJ.

However, two good things to come out of recent decorating tribulations:

1. The Crown Paints website. Oh no, I’m not being sarcastic. It’s a stroke (arp!) of genius. You can even see what your room will look like at night. (No, dickhead. Not a pitch black night.)

2. Listening to albums from start to finish while painting. Especially great ones that you haven’t listened to for ages. Come back, Good Shoes – I miss you.

Cripes, it’s snowing…

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Yesterday lunchtime, four of us popped into Lowestoft to hire suits for a swanky awards dinner we’re off to. After finding suitably-sized DJs, everyone except me was feeling peckish.

Rob and Glen decided to go to Subway, while Alex fancied going to Mama’s – a little independent sandwich shop that had recently moved to new premises.

To even the numbers up, I went with Alex. He got the massive fresh sandwich he desired, but also a friendly chat with the lady owner. He even got a free Wispa bar because she remembered him and wanted to show her appreciation of his loyalty.

Meanwhile, Glen and Rob had given up waiting in Subway’s queue and gone to McDonald’s instead.

Smaller doesn’t mean worse, just less big. Often, it’s better.

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Huddle ten web designers together. Ask them to build you a website.

Then huddle a website designer, a taxi driver, a child, a grandmother, a butcher, baker, and candlestick maker, an accountant, and a student together. Ask them to build you a website.

Which group builds the most innovative website?

The ten web designers undoubtedly are the most experienced group. They’re the group that most business owners would put their faith in. It’s the safe group to choose.

But I’m not so sure that experience is always the best option. (Let it be said: I prefer my pilots with plenty of experience. And my dentists.)

Experience is a very useful thing. But with experience often comes the status quo. How many times have you sat next to a new recruit who nods at every opportunity and babbles: “yeah, that’s how we used to do it at [company name] too”?

How good will someone be at a job because they’ve done it before?
How interested?
How hungry?

Apparently, Southwest Airlines won’t employ people who have experience at another airline unless they’re convinced the potential recruit can unlearn all those bad habits (again, let’s hope this doesn’t extend to the pilots).

Is it silly to ignore these experienced people? Well, Southwest Airlines have been consistently profitable for 35 years - you argue it with them.

So if you’re planning on being different, growing an enthusiastic workforce, and reaping the rewards - ask yourself how much experience you really need.

In the wrong hands, experience becomes competence. Before you know it, you’ve gone from competent to adequate. And being adequate is something to avoid.

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1. There a no shortcuts.
2. Don’t waste time with things that make you unhappy.
3. You can’t fake it.
4. It’s never as scary as you think it’s going to be.
5. Books are still great.
6. Stay positive; worrying achieves nothing.
7. It’s okay to be shit at things.
8. Honestly is still the best policy.
9. It’s not you, it’s them.
10. The only thing that proves you can do it is doing it.

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Seth talks about authenticity.  How much fakery do we accept?  What crosses the line?

When Howies sold out to Timberland (the footwear and clothing company; not the producer du jour), my friend Zoe with an umlaut sent me an email titled:

They all sell out in the end

Does it really matter?  Why?

Well, yes it does matter.  It matters because we care.

If you’re authentic enough, people start to care about your money-making enterprise as much you do.  Give us a warm, fuzzy feeling and something to talk about and we’ll buy more of your products, we’ll read your email newsletters and RSS feeds, and yes, we’d love to come to your village fete in middle of London.

We wear (or otherwise) your products because they align themselves with what we believe in and aspire to.

So - going back to Howies - let’s see what a Timberland’s President and CEO, Jeffrey Swartz, had to say about matters:

“We are excited and inspired by the brand potential we see in Howies and are pleased to welcome them to the Timberland family.  We look to invest in like-minded brands that are focused on innovation, authenticity and integrity, and Howies encompasses all of these core values. Together we will leverage our complementary strengths to bring our brands to new consumers and new markets.”

It is, perhaps, ironic that the only thing jeopardising Howies’ “authenticity and integrity” is Timberland.  Well, that and Mr Swartz’s irksome use of the word ‘leverage’.

Not because Timberland is a bad brand.  But because Howies built one of independence; with two fingers firmly raised towards take-take-take multinationals.

To me, these two companies curdle.  A bit like when I was seven years old and thought that mixing cherryade and milk would produce a sumptuous milkshake.

Zoe said that it made her sick too.

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I wrote my first ever Amazon review a few days ago.

It was about the rather wonderful Kenwood Smoothie To Go SB055.  Here’s a brief excerpt:

This smoothie maker will not, of course, change your life. But it will make you forget all those horribly awkward previous incarnations that got used once every six months. You know the ones: dishwasher safe but too big to fit in the dishwasher; quickly became scummy around seals and spouts.

Good eh?

I got a warm fuzzy feeling from writing that review - albeit a capitalist one.  Rewarding Kenwood for their innovation by giving prospective customers a delicate but honest shove in the right direction - at zero cost to supplier or customer.  The only cost is my time.

You do it too.  Maybe not on Amazon, and maybe not with the verve and swagger of I, but you do do it.

Down the pub, over dinner, or on the phone.  We’re always talking about products that make us happy, or service that makes us frustrated (if you want frustration, try finding a customer support number in 30 seconds on www.123-reg.co.uk).

So if you want more customers, give your existing customers - and anybody else for that matter - something good to talk about.

Easter eggs anyone?

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I got some tickets to see The Boss at the Emirates Stadium off Ebay.  A bargain, I think.  Although they haven’t arrived yet, so I shall reserve judgement.  The last time I saw the great man, he played Thunder Road first.  If Heaven exists, I imagine it sounds like those first tinkling piano chords.

I’m watching less and less television as I approach twenty-six-and-a-half.  So when I do choose to watch it, I generally avoid ITV.  Two independent sources told about some dancing dog on Britain’s Got Talent though, so I had to resort to YouTube.  I wasn’t disappointed.

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