the story is in the telling

Singular.

·

Trymbakeshwar, India

The bucket shower = a product worth iteration.

I recently read about new bar concept in Los Angeles. To be more specific, the concept was “a bar within a bar” – surely a watering hole for the coolest of the cool. This is an idea curated for those among us who can no longer be bothered with a cool standalone bar, cool hotel lobby bar or even a cool restaurant bar. This bar (within an existing bar) has no visible sign (of course), and earnestly offers only six drinks – all of which, upon reviewing the menu-  you could get at an airport. It would be one thing if they were importing Turkish cherries or growing their own sage. But their big idea was to merely tuck a tinier, more exclusive bar, behind a bigger more public one — and take that to market. Hmmm.

Private clubs, password protected back rooms and speakeasy ‘underground’ concepts aren’t new, but I have to laugh at these new attempts at manufactured secrecy/hip factor. They can only find an audience when good has gotten so good, that it’s not good enough.

We see this in a lot of categories.

Should Audi be featuring terroir-sourced tea as part of their new perks program?
Do men need a 3-step facial hair regimen: beard oil, beard balm, and beard wash?
Do our water bottles need charged gemstones… to be truly hydrating?
Does a Snickers bar really need to be fried? (Okay, sometimes.)
Does a VIP room…need a VIP room?

I don’t begrudge anyone’s creativity nor would I want to dampen any entrepreneurial spirits — ever. But…I am going to laugh, in a loving way, at the machine responsible for it.

When we take ideas that work, but then feel compelled to make them more mysterious, exciting or “authentic,” are they potentially having the opposite effect? At what point do we gild the lily? When does a product or service go from inventive…to contrived? When is enough, enough, or too much…too much?

Iteration is a buzzword, and many feel pressure to make it the status quo. But lately, I lean toward forgoing novel and newsworthy in favor of effective and singular. Maybe we just need permission to get better at the (one) thing we do best.

Quite often, that is original enough.

Chemistry.

·

Asymmetry has its advantages.

Does it matter?

Is having a sense of familiarity or good vibe with a new colleague / client / customer a predictor of whether it will be a match made in (professional) heaven? We know working with people who finish our sentences, think we’re hilarious / brilliant / talented feels invigorating, at least at the outset of a working relationship. But what about less inspired collaborations? Is there anything to be learned from chemistry-free scenarios?

In new relationships, naturalness and ease are some of the first things that we all notice. When it’s good, we are quick to jump ahead in our minds, assuming that the work will flow and the results will deliver. When the vibe is not present, it’s easy to assume a lesser work product will be inevitable.

So if chemistry positively imbues the process, and process is directly connected to product, wouldn’t it make sense that outcomes are better with chemistry? Should we only seek out “our people” — and dismiss the rest?

I wonder. In equal measure I’ve had love-at-first-sight collaborations that didn’t end up producing the creative fireworks I imagined, and underwhelming first impressions that grew into future returns I assumed were improbable (impossible, if I’m honest.)

So I’ve been trying to decide if chemistry really matters when it comes to performance, because while it makes everything feel good, it doesn’t seem to be predictive of an optimal outcome. And conversely, when it’s lackluster, it doesn’t preclude exceptional thinking.

It’s always nice to have a warm room — but if there isn’t one, I have learned to find just as big an opportunity. You get to see how your talent stands alone, in colder temps, sans the natural serotonin that flows with the warm fuzzies.

It’s a worthwhile assessment.

Content.

·

It's not easy to make something that feels exactly like nothing else.

On a recent call with the global marketing director of a major fitness brand — someone responsible for managing messaging across all channels — she paused to ask me a more philosophical question: “What do you think the secret to creating compelling content is? These days, everyone seems to be in the ‘game.’ ”

It’s true, and admittedly, something that I often wonder about. It seems that anyone with a Mailchimp account wants to say something…or feels that they should be saying something (whether they really have something to say or not). With the rise of social media, email and web marketing, communication platforms are ubiquitous, which means that ads and campaigns — and in turn subjects, headlines and body copy — are earnestly written, edited, and sent, from anyone who can.

Some do it well – we click every time, because we feel disarmed or moved or paused by what they have to say.

Other campaigns remain unopened, invisible in the marketplace. No matter how much noise they make, if nobody cares…well, nobody cares.

Inner monologue aside, my answer to what makes good content is simple: if you can sink your teeth into an idea — go beyond the obvious, unveil a truth that’s on people’s minds but not yet on their lips — you have something worth broadcasting. Rich content can be everything from useful/everyday DIY, to big ideas, unpacked into smaller bites we can all understand. But compelling writing actually comes from thinking original thoughts, first. Writing is the last step in that process.

Here’s my personal litmus test:
Am I saying something new, and if not new, in a refreshing way?
Does this feel personal, persuasive, disarming, useful?
And most importantly — does anyone care?

And when I write for myself, I go one level deeper:
Does this feel truthful/vulnerable and connected?
Do I think that saying it will help at least one person feel less alone in their thoughts?

Anyone can contemplate, aggregate, pontificate. But to matter today, you have to relate.

Left Out.

·

Remember the days of playgrounds, spiral notebooks and late bells, when a good day at school was feeling part of the group, and a terrible day was feeling like a third wheel, like everyone was “in” — except you? Not much has changed.

I was part of getting an idea off the ground not too long ago, and had to step away from it for a variety of reasons. When the project gathered momentum, and began to take flight, it was hard to watch. I was no longer its guardian, and although I can see why my attention needed to be elsewhere, I’d be lying to say I felt fine about it. I don’t totally (quite yet.)

Feeling “out” from any community, project or business can still feel the same, no matter your spiritual evolution or life experience. Unlike being a kid, as an adult you have perspective and other tools to lean on if it happens. But it’s amazing how quickly it can take you back to those formative years, and reignite old pathways you assumed were healed.

Just like there’s no other way to get over most things than to walk through them, when you sense you’re being left behind – or pro-actively need to shift your gaze — the fastest way through it is to say the thing you can’t imagine verbalizing to other people.

Why? Because the inner conflict of feeling bad about it, and telling yourself you don’t feel that bad about it, is kind of worse than the situation itself. It’s denial (and you know it). It’s inner-marketing, the most deceptive kind of sales pitch. It’s host on host, you vs. you. And the stories we tell ourselves, and pray that we can stand to believe, are far worse than the “spin” we might tell others.

Find your ally in the group, someone you trust, and who knows you. And then say it. Say the thing you don’t want anyone to know.

“I feel left out of this.”

Nothing may need to change (as in my case). Or something might. But you’ll free yourself from a half-truth that will eventually have an erosive, self-defeating effect.

The solution starts with you. Not them.

Deference.

·

Having just blogged about collaboration, the time felt right to look at the flip side of that coin, a no-man’s land I call dilution. This is when something is made weaker in direct relationship to the amount of collaboration and input. This could also be called, too-much-of-a-good-thing-becomes-a-no-thing.

When work product is presented to clients / co-workers / partners who are asked to reflect on it and provide feedback, most of us are accustomed to making modifications or even going back to the drawing board if we got it wrong. But what I’m seeing more is this compromised version that is somewhere in between tweaking and starting over. Besides being frustrating, it risks losing the big idea all together.  It’s the never-ending editing, change-tracking, re-writing and feedback loop that in the end, amounts to something entirely different than the original concept.

You have to ask — when should we each stay on our own mat? Do we all have equal say in every matter? Are all votes equal? Does having an Instagram account make you an art director? Does a Cross-Fit membership make you a fitness expert? Does the ability to write — and know your own mind — make you a copywriter? Does picking a web template make you a graphic designer? Does your boyfriend-developer make you a UX pro?

The unfortunate result of over-collaboration is that ‘the work’ gets diluted. It becomes a different species, not a related family member. And, instead of an exuberant, optimistic team, you have an apathetic one who feels undermined and (really) frustrated with an ineffective, mediocre, unrecognizable thing.

Experts are hired or assembled for a reason. They can be utilized, or they can be overruled…but not at the same time.

De-fer-ence: To give humble submission and respect. A definition (and a request.)

Room.

·

Spacious (actually) starts on the inside.

Actors have agents.
CEO’s have assistants and VP’s.
Celebrities have PR people.

But most of us don’t have these human filters that tell us what’s important, who needs a meeting, who doesn’t, what favors should we do or not do. So we have to prioritize them ourselves. Fair enough.

We know we have to say “no” when we want to make something big — to write a book, complete a project — we accept fewer invitations in order to focus on milestones. That obviously makes sense. But what I’m more interested in are the transitional moments that might seem unremarkable — but that are meaningful all the same — that you can’t plan.

I always notice that when my work schedule is back to back, I can’t even imagine new business ideas much less recognize them if they knock on my door. And I also miss tiny, unexpected moments; my kids’ sharing a story before bedtime or a concern expressed in the car on the way to ballet. When every minute is accounted for, there’s no room for unexpected loveliness.

It’s the same rationale that a swanky restaurant employs by (secretly) keeping a VIP table open. They want the ability to say “of course we have a table for you, Mr. Clooney,” (should he walk in). But that’s intentional. Planned. Anticipated. Some “no” had to happen for that table to be available.

There’s a difference between what you know you want, and the things you can’t predict you’d hate to miss. Could be a dream opportunity, or a bath instead of a shower.

Create space. Make some room.

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About Me

photo of Amy Swift Crosby

I’m a brand strategist and copy writer. I mostly work with partner agencies or directly with the leadership or founding team at a brand. My primary mission is to connect design and messaging solutions to business missions. I work with start-ups and Fortune 500 companies, across beauty, hospitality, wellness/fitness, CPG and retail. This blog reflects my personal writing and explores our humanity – often as it relates to work, space, time and language. You can review my portfolio here or connect with me here.

Photo - Andrew Stiles

The Brandsmiths Podcast



Brand Strategists Hilary Laffer and Amy Swift Crosby tackle business questions with candid, (mostly) serious and definitely unscripted workshopping sessions. Guests – from small business owners to CEOs, executive directors and founders – bring their head-scratchers, hunches and conundrums to Hilary, the owner of a boutique creative agency in Los Angeles, and Amy, a copy writer.

 

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