My friend has crossed the line. She has gone beyond the border that distinguishes a reasonable cat person (wait, is there such a thing?) to become a person who dresses her you know who in clothes.

While the cat tolerates the apparel with ambivalent good will, let’s face facts. They have fur – way better than fabric. But then, the dressing of cats has nothing to do with felines, and everything to do with being human.

Macy the cat, in her turtleneck sweater.

In Search of Meaning

We seek meaningful connections even when that which we seek is lost in inter-species communication. Cats in clothes are cute, but our desire to dress them in the garb of humanity underlies our need for reciprocal, recognizable relationships.

Web Copy for Spiders

Continuing the trend of cats in clothes, we now write web content for spiders. I’m talking about the animated critters that crawl the Internet, consuming content and coughing it back up at data farms in undisclosed locations.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for search engine optimization. I want the web sites we create for clients to be found. It’s just that we now write the way people search. Consequently we have people who read like spiders. They scan; look at headlines, sub-heads and bullet points.

Content that Connects with People

If, as Jakob Nielson says, 79% of people scan web pages, what is it that would prompt them to occasionally read? I have a 3-point theory based on observation and absolutely not one speck of scientific research. Nonetheless, I believe that people who read like spiders are more inclined to read like humans of we do these three things.

Offer Something of Value.

That can be useful information (salt really does get out wine stains); insight on the complicated business of being a person (see Mark Epstein’s book Going on Being); or an original and thoughtful point of view (see Nathan Myhrvold -whether you agree with him or not he makes your brain cells grow).

Write with a Human Voice.

People see words on the page. They also hear the words in their head. Some information is dense but unless it’s a government form it doesn’t have to be dull. (Maybe there’s a law that mandates government documents must be obscure.) Anyway, Bill Bryson, author of A Short History of Nearly Everything, shows that a personal voice can make you make you enjoy reading about complicated stuff. From lichen to quantum mechanics, his writing sings. It has rhythm and cadence. It’s funny, lively, irreverent and always personable. He transcends information and serves up something we all need more of - understanding.

Be Like a Cat.

Okay, I mean be a person who copies cats in this one thing. Authenticity. Cats are relentlessly themselves and they communicate their cat-ness with incredible consistency. What if your intention, your messaging, your self-ness as person or product were undiluted, without conflict or distraction. Imagine the power you would project, the allure you would have, the market share you could win.

If we’re human enough to dress cats in clothes, surely we can bring the same humanity to the content we create for people. Then maybe all of us would read a little bit less like spiders.

The burnt orange devil that dissed my neocortex. Shoes are just as subversive as handbags when it comes to reasoned thinking.

The new part of my brain let me down again. It’s supposed to act like my personal regulatory commission, canceling out my ‘Ooh, pretty’ impulse with reasoned judgment; the kind of thinking that forbids the frivolous use of my credit card.

But the newest overlay of neurons and synapses lost out when a burnt orange handbag came my way. How, I ask myself, could this happen? The answer sounds a bit Zen-like, for there was no how. There was only an out-of-consciousness decision followed by a bunch of reasons that gave my brand new neocortex (yeah, that’s literally saying new-new) the credit for a choice it didn’t really make. If the me that deliberates and the me that decides in an instant co-exist in my fragmented self, in what ways do they cooperate?

Author Jonah Lehrer covers that topic with authority in his recent book How We Decide.  He makes the point that rational thought is not our only, nor even our strongest intelligence. We have the capacity to process countless impressions with such rapidity that the new, reasoning part of our brain lags behind. So in my case the result is a mixed blessing – pride of purchase and the shadow of shopper’s remorse.

But what is it that seals the deal on an impulse purchase, even when it costs way more than a candy bar at the check out counter?

Convenience: Okay. The handbag was right there in my friend’s house, detritus from her online shopping spree. It was about to be shipped back to wherever returned handbags go. It’s the difference between someone showing you a TV spot to adopt-a-homeless-dog and actually thrusting a warm, wriggling puppy into your hands.

Features: Oh, it was a perfect storm of decorative hardware, cell phone pockets, separate compartments and a heady mix of magnetic and zippered closures. If you’ve ever gone through airport security, you know the necessity of a bag that zips shut. It wasn’t too big, nor too small. To quote Goldilocks, “it was just right.” And it was burnt orange. Enough said.

Iconic: It’s not like my handbag is one of those designer models. There wasn’t a waiting list like the much lusted after Hermes Birkin bag, and the price tag didn’t have four or five figures.

It’s just that the sum of all its parts is emblematic of, well, me. The choice of this particular handbag says something both to and for me. It’s an ineffable mix of color and character that I want to express in ways that words cannot.

What then, have I learned? Simply this. If I were trying to sell a product, be persuasive, or pitch an idea, I’d make sure that the neocortex isn’t the only thing I’m talking to.  Rational thinking is thoughtful.  Emotional thinking is powerful.  Communication that addresses the whole person is insanely effective.

Be authentic.  Be yourself.  Tell a story.  But don’t take too long.  It’s complicated enough being a person offline.  How in the world are we supposed to create an engaging, distraction-free version of ourselves across social networks?

The answer is just a super-hero away.  Batman, Spiderman and the JLA (Justice League of America) have solved the get-to-the-point problem.  It’s called a comic book (or graphic novel for folks who call movies films.)  This genre knows how to pare down the descriptions, pump-up the action and pull the reader right into a page where every panel advances the story.

If you need to put some personality into your social profile, pitch a new idea, or just have some fun, start by thinking inside the box one panel at a time.  To get you going, here’s my story (one of ‘em, anyway) with a few tips for creating your very own six-panel adventure.

Write what you know. And what I know right now is pain. The oh, ouch, owee-kazowee hurty-feeling of rollerblading gone bad. I was a victim of the whee-factor, skating way too fast. That’s when gravity stopped being my friend. And when skin encounters asphalt, you can quote me on this, asphalt always wins.

Then I started thinking (guess the fall shook loose some extra neurons) that rollerblading is a lot like building a business. I know it’s an illusive analogy, but just like the Federation folks on Star Trek, I’m on a mission to seek out and discover strange new connections between unlikely events. So before the giddy relief of surviving small time trauma fades, here are my injury induced insights on the ups and downs of business and rollerblading.

Risk is a sure thing. “D’oh!” That’s why you wear protective gear, unless like me you have sweaty knees and elbows and eschew the pads. Of course that’s where I got the boo-boos. (Note to safety engineers: I do wear a helmet and wrist guards. And yes, I’m smart enough to know when I’ve been stupid.)

Being in business is risky too. But some degree of risk is far less dangerous than complete risk avoidance. Decisions have to be made based on the information you have; not deferred until you have ALL of the information. In my observation, indecision and 11^th-hour enactment syndrome are far more costly than a thoughtful acknowledgement that risk is present but that the opportunity is worth it.

Mid-course correction. Henry Pollack, Professor Emeritus in the Department of Geological Sciences at the University of Michigan, served up mid-course correction when I interviewed him for our podcast.  (Sorry, the interview is still in post-production.)  Mid-course correction is such a solid and scientific way of saying if something doesn’t work out change things up. Of course change can give rise to uncomfortable feelings too. But which would you rather be, stuck in something that’s not working or simply make an adjustment and carry on?

To mash-up and misquote Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, “Nothing last forever, neither good times nor bad.” In other words, now is not forever. If something in life or business isn’t working out it doesn’t have to keep on keeping on. I mean, eventually my rollerblading boo-boos will scab over and heal. I just have to deal with it for now. And you can deal with the risk of poor results by making a mid-correction correction. It’s the smart thing to do and it makes you sound smart too.

Dynamic balance, obviously I didn’t have it. But life, business and certainly rollerblading all demand it. It’s all those tiny little adjustments,; flexed knees, head over body and the absence of chasm-like cracks in the pavement that keep you on your feet. Dynamic balance in wingtips and pumps requires a nimble accommodation of a changing environment too: requests and questions, diplomacy and candor, clear-heading thinking and crazy ideas.

Here’s the deal.  Failing is painful. So is falling down. But as long as we’re able, we get up, we get smarter and we grab hold of the chance to continue with both hands.  It also helps to have at least one foot on the ground.

I do words. She does pictures. That’s the deal. Now my friend and work partner has gone rogue and started writing her own material. Here’s the part that makes me bitter. She thought she was writing a funny little story to introduce a golf tournament. But what she did (and I’m not telling her) was create a back-story, a loopy convergence of fact and fiction that enriches the context of the event and actually entices more people to participate.

Personable not Personal

We constantly create short hand narratives of the events in our lives. From personal profile pages on Facebook to corporate web sites, we’re sharing lots of information. But what’s often absent is a context, a sense of the person without it getting all too personal. A story is a great way to bridge the gap between the unfettered ickyness of too much info and the projection of a personable presence. The irony of the online networks that bind us together is that the realtime unfolding of our lives is less compelling than the constructed experiences we share. A story is profoundly human precisely because the doings and dilemmas of the individual have universal appeal. It is interesting that we (people, organizations, businesses) become more authentic versions of ourselves, not because of the facts we share, but because of the stories we tell.

Susan’s Secrets to a Better Back-Story

Okay. Keep this quiet because Susan doesn’t even know she knows this. But you can use her model to craft a better back-story for anything you care about.

1. Keep it short. Ask Mark Twain how hard this is. Ernest Hemingway seemed to have the knack, but getting to simple did take its toll. 250 little (or even big) words.

1. Keep it true. That means true to you and your experience. Authentic works. Sure you can change things up as long as you remain true to the spirit of events. Check out Two Fisted Science by Jim Ottaviani for an entertaining and illuminating treatment of a real event. Or, just add a big old disclaimer saying that ‘the facts have been changed to make me more interesting’.

1. Mix in some mythic. Make your back-story engaging with a mash-up of the mundane and the mythic. Origin, quest, transformation and redemption. It worked for the Bible and Danielle Steele too.

And now, the best back-story ever in recent history.

Tater, the crappy Bassett statue

The Princess and the Pup, or How the TATER CUP was Born.

By Susan Bachman

Once upon a time, there was a tiny kitty named Sarah. The Princess loved her because she was soft and fuzzy, and well, all kitteny.

Excitedly, the Princess ran to show the mean Ogre the soft and fuzzy kitty.

“Grrrr” said the Ogre “We don’t need no stinkin’ kitty.”

The kind Knight said “I don’t like the name Sarah, and perhaps neither does the Ogre.”

So the Princess named the kitty Tater.

“Can we keep Tater, mean Ogre, I mean darling Husband?”

Flash forward to almost present times…

The Princess wandered about, searching for a Tater to call her own.

The King, taking pity on the Princess said “Here you can have this crappy Bassett statue and call it Tater.”

And Tater, the crappy Bassett statue was born.

The Princess took it home. But something was amiss. Tater wasn’t soft. Tater wasn’t fuzzy. And Tater definitely wasn’t kitteny.

One evening, the Princess and the Ogre were sitting on the balcony of their castle and wondering what they should do with Tater.

“Grrrr” said the Ogre, “We don’t need no crappy Bassett Statue.”

“I KNOW,” screeched the Princess, “we must have a joust, a tournament. We shall tie iron to sticks and hit rocks about. We will invite only the fiercest competitors, and the tournament will be long and arduous, and last many months.”

“And at the end, only one team shall stand victorious. And they shall be the winners of the illustrious TATER CUP – and be presented with Tater, the crappy Bassett statue!”

The End.

Eggs as art.

Easter has come and gone. But a well-decorated egg lasts forever, at least in pixilated form. So what’s the dipping, the designing and the unpredictable process of creating colorful eggs have to do with choosing a marketing firm? More than you might think.

Pricing: There’s no denying that cost is a consideration when choosing a partner to promote your business. Just be aware that you will get egg-zactly what you pay for. Store-bought eggs are uniform in color, they’re mass-produced in un-chick-friendly environments, and they’re devoid of the very characteristics that makes them genuinely eggy: an orange sun yolk, a resilient white, and a yummy, buttery taste. If you’re the real deal and you want others to know it, you might want to invest just a little bit more to work with people who know how to market (and even create) colorful characters.

I Changed It So It’s Mine: Okay, I borrowed this from Lawrence Clore, an ardent foodie who knows how to cook up a storm. His particular gift is to start with someone else’s recipe and then reinvent the formula so that the finished dish is entirely his own. He’s married to my work partner so we often joke that he should write a cookbook with the title I Changed It So It’s Mine. But the ability to change things up is what the right agency can do for you. This goes beyond business book stuff like ‘your unique selling proposition’. What’s uniquely human about what you do, make, or sell? Why would someone tell a friend about what you offer? You see, anybody can make egg salad. But only Larry Clore can make HIS egg salad – which, by the ways is delish. And only you can provide the thing that is uniquely yours – even if you start with eggs like everyone else.

The Invaluable Immeasurable: Everybody’s talking about metrics. How do we track page views, click-throughs, time spent, impressions, word of mouth and more? How do we validate results? I’m all for the thoughtful consideration and assessment of marketing activities. But I do worry that we are so obsessed with the means of measurement that we forget some things of genuine value are immeasurable. Yes, we can break people into parts, analyze their online behavior and adjust campaigns accordingly. But the risk is reactive marketing, like leading by a poll. I’d rather help people discover something they didn’t know they wanted, couldn’t have imagined they needed, and wouldn’t have said they would purchase. Measurement can inform your decisions, but it cannot remove risk. If you want someone to take your pulse, go with a metrics-driven group. If you want someone to breathe new life into your business, take a look at the invaluable factor of creative thinking.

You can’t give people egg-zactly what they want because they often don’t know what that is. Instead, why not delight people? Be a good (and colorful) egg. Be resourceful and serve up your brand of egg salad. And when you choose an agency, see if they measure up in all the imprecise ways that will make them egg-zactly right for you.

Bra shopping in the big city! The left image is actually dress made of pink crayons. Cool, huh?

Our April trip to the Nashville PRSA Awards show was, what, all work and no play? I don’t think so. Inspiration comes in surprising places.  We were intrigued by the lobby art at our decidedly quirky hotel and that got us thinking (yeah, we do that sometimes) about the power of everyday stuff when it’s used in unexpected ways.

Who else is thinking “70’s porno flick”?  Why yes, that is red faux pony skin that adorned the walls of our hotel’s elevator.  Getting up to our floor was a memorable experience.  We weren’t quite sure if it was smarmy (okay, it was really smarmy) but it was completely true to itself.  Honest smarmy, you know?

And crayons.  Every kid has crayons.  But hardly anybody makes a pink crayon dress.  It stands out and sticks in your mind precisely because it is unexpected.  Kind of like the punch line to a joke. Your mind is going along a certain path and then, bam, you end up someplace you didn’t plan to be.

Madonna has already done underwear as outer wear but it’s not everyday you see a bra as a light fixture.  Illuminating - in every way.

Our trip to the big city reminded us that the potential for creativity is all around us.  It’s in the stuff of every day.  Maybe faux red pony fur is just what you need to stand out.  We’re sticking with crayons because underwear belongs in a drawer when it’s not on the job.

Cereal Marketing

What could be easier than starting the day with a bowl of cereal? It’s simple, right? Well, not exactly, especially if you’re me. Think of Rachel Ray and her trademark grabbing of an overloaded armful of ingredients. That’s me in the morning with my four boxes of cereal; mixing and measuring like an alchemist seeking to transform base elements into a grainy kind of gold.

It’s not important WHY I do this (quirky accounts for most of it). So the relevant question is really this. What does cereal-making have to do with social marketing?

Repeatable not Repetitious

I love my breakfast mix. That’s how I start most every day. I repeat the process but it never seems repetitious. That’s because I have the freedom to add more raw oats one day, pull back on the bite-size goodness, and regulate the amount of crunchy stuff I choose to chow down on. I’m taking a product and creating my own platform, uh, breakfast. The act of making it mine is a comfortable routine but it’s not boringly repetitious. It’s me being me. It’s mine. I own it.

Personalized Mix

I’m pretty sure that cereal makers didn’t have me in mind (or anyone else for that matter) when it comes to my personalized mix of multiple brands. What’s cool is that the product comes in discrete packages that can be consumed any way you like: by the handful, in a bowl, with lite vanilla soymilk (anyway, you get it and yeah, as my husband reminds me, soy beans produce soy liquid – not milk as he defines it).

But it’s the box, man. The box lends itself to a mash up of massive proportion. It’s made in a factory. It’s churned out on a massive scale and yet I have the ability to make it personal. Here’s the point. Companies that produce a product that acts like a platform are the companies who get ahead. If you can help people do what they do only make it easier, you win.

Your Brand is What I Say It Is

Don’t panic if people use your brand and make it their own. This is opportunity knocking if you know the rule. And the rule is: you’re not the only one who gets to tell people what your brand is. People can now tell you what your brand is to them. That’s the prize that shows up in the box between your ears if you’re ready to listen.

Jan's Swag

My friend Susan is cool. She makes cools stuff. Best of all, she gives cool stuff to me. This is worthy of celebration and, obviously, comment since I’m motivated to write about it.

Being the fortunate recipient of unique designer gifts has made me consider the importance of giving cool stuff to people. Sadly, I lack the ability to create one-of-a-kind handbags, lavish beaded bracelets, or stylin’ cowls that make a fashion statement while eradicating the winter chill from necks bereft of a turtleneck sweater.

But my friend’s largesse raises the question of what are the rest of us doing? Are we giving cool stuff? What does that really mean? And how is it relevant as we encounter the necessity to earn a living? Rarely at a loss for words (ask anyone who knows me), I believe that my good fortune in having a gifted (and generous) friend reveals something important that the rest of us can use in the quest to be remarkable.

The sharing of the cool thing is just as important as the cool thing . You can be the creator of cool stuff (yeah, I know, I’m overusing the word). Or, you can be the conduit for sharing this useful, genuine, worthy-of-comment thing, idea, insight or information. It’s the selfless sharing of something that is meaningful to people. Even an intensely personal declaration like “I love my kitty”, can create a connection. Especially if it’s attached to a bigger idea (rescue kitties) or a diverting video clip of stupid cat stuff that makes people smile. But beware of sharing that forgets about the recipient. In some circles that’s called ‘blurting’, and it’s almost always boring.

Personal relevance equals remarkable. People talk (if you’re really good) they rave about you, your product, your service or your cause. Why? Because it’s relevant to their experience. And if you’ve done something remarkable, like salvage a customer service problem gone horribly wrong, that’s cool. And people will share their experience because, well, it’s remarkable. The opposite also applies, so serve up some cool and save yourself a lot of grief.

Appreciation is a pay back that pays off. When someone gives you something cool (a referral, an insight, or the name of a good facialist) appreciation is the way you pay it back. Then your sincere appreciation (this has to be communicated not just thought inside your head) inspires you to engage in a cycle of sharing and exchanging. And, one step at a time, this is how relationships are built. Let’s not forget, you can also pay it forward and be proactive about sharing your appreciation. Reciprocity isn’t a given, and you sure won’t get it if that’s why you’re doing it.

I appreciate my friend and creative co-conspirator Susan Bachman. Yeah, she makes cool stuff and better yet, she gives cool stuff to me. Best of all, she gets me and I get her. And, on occasion, I get her handbags at Banana Republic. They’re not handmade, but they are cool, and they’re given with sincere appreciation.

What about you? Are you or your company creating, sharing and showing appreciation for cool stuff? I’m talking about the world of ideas and information too, not just swag or lumpy objects large and small. If you are, I’ll say it one more time. That’s cool. And it’s worth talking about.

“I’m an anarchist and an introvert.” 

This is not what you’d expect from a successful businessperson.  But that’s exactly how Ari Weinzweig, partner and co-founder of Zingerman’s Delicatessan described himself during our podcast.  Except for the introvert part, I can relate to the underlying sense of not having any business being in business.  But Ari and co-founder Paul Saginaw have created a successful community of food-related businesses (ZCoB) that completely upend the idea of business as usual.

There are plenty of reasons why Inc. Magazine named Zingerman’s the coolest small company in America.  After all, Ari and Paul succeeded in building an empire without giving up what made it great in the first place. 

Like all of our podcasts, my conversation with Ari and Paul, focused on the practical ways that they put creative thinking to work.  While there is much to consider in their uncommon sense, here’s my take on the top three reasons why no business being in business is good business for them.

Pragmatic Visionaries:  They started small but their vision was always big.  Driven by their taste buds to bring the perfect corned beef sandwich to America’s mid-section (geographically speaking) they were practical about building a viable business that was also a vehicle for something more.  Like an elasticized waistband (which you need when eating at Zingerman’s because it’s SO good), the deli expanded outward; becoming a bake house, a creamery, an online store, a management training consultancy and more.  The bottom line was an indicator not an end.  They were practical and yet never lost touch with a greater sense of purpose.

Inclusive and Connected:  Long before the clamor for transparency and authenticity in all things, Ari and Paul were living it.  From the get-go they were as committed to their employees and the community as they were to their customers.  Wonder how do they do it?

They share financial goals and performance with employees.  In fact, they have training sessions so that everyone from cooks to counter staff and coffee house baristas, can read a balance sheet and grasp what’s going on.

They train their people.  With a variety of three and five-step guidelines, Zingers (my word for Zingrman’s staff) live the goal of great customer experience.  It’s a very smart use of structure as the source of freedom.  Zing leaders allow people to excel as their authentic selves within the Zingerman’s culture.

They provide a living wage.  Ari and Paul may have started the deli because of a passion for corned beef.  But from the beginning their vision included paying people a wage that would support a life, an education, a mortgage, and an opportunity to advance.  Their philosophy in action has strengthened and enriched the Ann Arbor community every bit as much as their many charitable programs.

Zingy!  Really Truly Remarkable:  Zingerman’s is a deli plus a community of other food-related businesses.  But they’re also in the business of retail theatre.  (This applies to the online store too).  The customer experience is a heady mix of yeasty, cheesy, meaty aromas with a congenial crush of people noshing, shopping, learning about hand-crafted, insanely delicious food.  Their in-store graphics are great too: a little quirky, slyly funny and with just enough feeling of home made to keep it real.  (The online store extends the brand with the same graphic style adding high quality content that will keep a foodie up long past bedtime).

When your name (Zingerman’s) becomes an adjective (Zingy) that describes the experience you deliver, you’re definitely doing something right.  In fact, you can learn face-to-face from Ari and Paul and their management consultancy team by signing up for a ZingTrain session.  So don’t worry if you feel like you don’t have any business being in business.  You may be destined for something great that simply isn’t business as usual.