Amy Swift Crosby

Wouldn’t you know it that just days after posting about uninspired environments (see Malls), I had a rather wonderful experience inside of just such a place.

My youngest daughter is healthily obsessed with Lego, especially their collection designed for the younger (seemingly female) set, called Lego Friends. I mean healthy because she wakes up early to do Lego, she goes to bed thinking about Lego, she asks for sets by name for every occasion or holiday — and when she’s in the middle of a build — nothing can get in her way.

On a recent Saturday, we found ourselves sans schedule – and she asked if we could super pretty please go to the Lego store…at the mall. Normally, I might invent any excuse to avoid this excursion, but the day was unusually open — I could make her really happy — and she wanted to buy herself a birthday present with money saved from her allowance. So, game on.

The last thing I expected to encounter on this excursion was a dynamic duo of super fan sales associates who’d landed the ultimate gig in their mind; selling Lego. Unlike the catatonic attitude that plagues many mall-based retail employees, these two grown men were eager to explain scenes, sets, and models, suggesting ideas from other collections for unique “builds.” Not only did they know everything there was to know about the Friends collection (definitely not their demo), they exchanged stories of their own Lego projects at home, even down to which characters loved what and what pattern was on whose bunk bed.

This may come off as slightly odd (I had a thought or two), as most adults see Lego as a children’s activity that is ultimately outgrown. But these gentlemen took great pride in their roles, even in educating us about the lifespan of Lego interest. Apparently, it stops around 12 or 13 but then picks up again approximately 15 years later. (Considering how many of these things we have in our playroom, what I really wanted to know was how long it takes for Lego to accrue enough value to become a vintage collector’s item.)

It is refreshing to see people who, even at an hourly wage, totally and completely love the products they sell. They won me over, so much so, that I will no longer be buying Lego at the much-more-convenient online superstore with a free shipping membership, but instead, will actually seek out ….the mall. Why? Because it’s more fun!

And, in case you were wondering…Lego — even when it’s plural — is always Lego. And if you really consider yourself a fan, it’s LEGO. #themoreyouknow.

Dear CNN,

As I watched your recent interview with Mark Zuckerburg, I found myself shaking my head in disbelief. Not because the tech titan now finds himself in the middle of a data sh$t storm, but because your reporter conducting the interview, Laurie Segall, appeared to be flirting the Facebook CEO into answering questions. In this age of #metoo and equal pay, are you serious?

Did CNN intentionally enlist a beautiful female reporter — and then instruct her to bat her eyelashes, cock head suggestively and use a modulated voice to intentionally coax sound bites out of the normally private Zuckerberg?

Here’s the message you sent viewers.

We need to be seductive to get information.
We need to employ mating signals to make men trust us.
We can’t be forthright when asking for appropriate information.
Our voices have to be soothing and gentle to be persuasive.

I wonder if it ever crosses the minds of Anderson Cooper or Don Lemon to modify their behaviors in these ways. Erin Burnett certainly does not appear to.

CNN, you may have a lot on your plate in the age of fake news and perpetual fact checking, but I’m pretty sure Ms. Segall could have gotten the same information by just being the grounded, legitimate journalist she already is.

These kinds of shenanigans really date you as a news organization.

Please don’t encourage them.

Regards,

Every woman you know

I don’t often use this platform to criticize brands. I come from the school of thought that it’s more powerful praise the ones who are getting it right.

But having just come off the season of celebrations, I feel moved to comment on a campaign I’ve noticed.

I can’t seem to shake the irritation that bubbles up when I hear the current ad campaign from the beer brand Stella Artois. It touched a nerve. While it’s true that I am not the target audience, I can’t ignore the fact that it so blatantly misses the mark in its message. The copy goes like this:

“These days, rare moments are hard to come by…so host one to remember (with Stella Artois.)”

I don’t take issue with the campaign theme — hosting, and the celebratory themes around holding a meaningful gathering, are relevant and effective. But to posit that rare moments are harder than ever to find seems dead counter to what is actually going on in our world in 2018.
Culturally, politically, socially — and even spiritually — we’re living in a world that many are deeming “apocalyptic” at worst, and falling apart at best, with environmental, geo-political, genocidal and constitutional issues at the front of every headline.

From the conversations I’m hearing, I’d argue that we aren’t actually feeling that “special moments” are rare. I think it’s just the opposite. The way I see it, all moments of life — of being alive, of being okay, of survival, of any good fortune in the way of house, home, loved ones, job security, physical wellness, etc. — feel pretty special. In fact, it’s the daily, seemingly banal aspects of our lives, once taken for granted (perhaps), that so many of us have learned to appreciate.

I think the campaign was earnestly trying to say this same thing, ironically, but instead, said the opposite. It’s a question of paying off the theme, “Host one to remember,” with language that resonates with how people are feeling — but not articulating.

That’s the magic of good messaging. It’s usually a sentiment you couldn’t put your finger on, had not identified, or didn’t realize was true, that creates an “OMG, yes!” moment when a brand nails it.

Stella missed this opportunity.

Great campaign idea. Strong creative. Misguided payoff.

It happens to the best of us, but if I could take a crack at rewriting the copy, what I would say instead is this:

“Everyday moments are everywhere, and worth celebrating. Share them with the people who matter by hosting one to remember.”

Just a suggestion, Stella.

When we hear the word “regular” most of us have the same idea of what that word means; it’s the normal, typical, consistent and most common. It also signals the kind of customer most people want to have.

But at Dunkin’ Donuts, it has an additional meaning — which is, coffee prepared in the way that is most often ordered. It’s not on a sign or menu anywhere, but serves as short-hand for ordering coffee “with cream.”

Good Taste Committee (and nutrition) aside, Dunkin’ Donuts is an unexpected case study in belonging. No matter what you may think of it, it is easy to recognize a Dunkin’ insider and understand what is important to them.

Dunkin’ Donuts opens at 5am, which tells you a lot about who needs coffee before the sun comes up (fisherman, students, landscapers, construction personnel, farmers, housekeepers, Wall Street traders).

Regardless of your order — egg sandwich or combo-pack – nothing takes more than 2 minutes to assemble. Which is about how much time regulars devote to breakfast. They usually eat it on the run, and Dunkin’ makes that possible.

Most franchises have a combination lock on the bathroom door, memorized by anyone who frequents that location. It rarely changes, so if you have to ask…you’ve identified yourself as a guest.

All locations brew a stronger-than-expected drip coffee that has surprised many of us who frequent non-franchised, more expensive, beaker-wielding establishments. The Dunkin’ customer wants a legitimate coffee, a consistent experience, and is more than happy to skip the baristas / bells and whistles.

Dunkin’ Donuts isn’t in my usual rotation, but when I find myself inside one (a reality of New England life), it’s pretty obvious who’s a visitor, and who belongs. I love how there’s always a couple of retirees in the corner, shooting the shizzle, or a postman standing next to a CEO; or a college student with her immigrant mother. The brand isn’t positioned around a socioeconomic group. Rather, it’s targeting a tribe with a shared affinity, despite its differences.

When I am there, I always kind of wish I was a regular.

I’d like to think that this desire to belong is a refreshing measure of a brand’s success. Whatever you may think of a place, and demographics aside, it’s interesting to notice that what unites our fans and followers can sometimes be surprising, and more revealing than any hard data.

Recognizing belonging — where you yourself are a regular – feels like a worthy step toward creating those places for others.

Following a trip to Paris earlier this summer, I learned that one of my favorite reasons for going to this great city would be closing by year’s end. For as long as I can remember, the Parisian concept store Colette has been the retail embodiment of global style and experimental design — possibly even the birthplace of cool. On a busy corner on Rue St. Honore, this four-story retailer regularly unveiled provocative window designs, unexpected collaborations and undiscovered talent, attracting critical recognition and insider credibility. You could always count on Colette to deliver something surprisingly imaginative, original, and brave. If this store were a person, she would be as direct and disarming as she was enigmatic; a beautiful contradiction that always made sense.

It is hard to see a good thing come to an end, but my heart also breaks for what the closing of Colette might mean, in the broader sense.

Can the deeply original, but (intentionally) un- scalable, survive anymore?
Is the mass-market becoming the only sustainable market?
Do beloved spots like Louis Boston (Boston), Le Deux Gamin (New York City), Zenon (Eugene, Oregon), Dutton’s (Los Angeles) have finite life spans and is this what makes us fall in love with them?

Does the nature of true chemistry need to be fleeting…for us to embrace and appreciate it?

When a place, person or idea yields to whatever unknown market forces may be at work, I get a pang of existential angst. Why is it, with so many expendable options, that it is the rare and un-replicable that leave us?

Whether we know it or not, I think we crave these provocateurs, their discerning eyes, playful spirits and indelible points of view. We need these risk takers to continue to experiment, to connect dots between disciplines and industries the rest of us can’t even see. I know I look forward to seeing how design, art, commerce, pop culture, fashion, literature, music, and food cross-pollinate and amplify one another. Beyond the aesthetics, these visionaries make sense of things we didn’t know we were trying to solve. Their creativity opens doors and creates ripples, and ultimately raises the average.

I don’t actually think originality is getting diluted or disappearing, but do think that we, as consumers, may need to be bolder in recognizing and supporting these valuable outposts.

Thank you, Colette, for building an altar for our imaginations. Long live the many places, like you, around the world, who continue to take chances, and who unearth ideas that resonate, provoke and inspire us.

Let’s continue to celebrate you, with our attention and patronage, wherever we find you.