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August 2022

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There’s a simple reason why simple brands are simply better.

It’s because the best brands don’t make you think more.

They make you think less.

That’s why we like them.

Leading Edge Proposition.

Do this.

Find one leading edge proposition.

This, by the way, is a stupidly ponsy way of saying…

Just find the sweet-spot between these two things:

  1. The thing you think is most important to your target(s)
  2. The thing you can deliver on better than anyone else

Then just do that.

Talk about it to prove you can deliver on your promise too, if you like.

(Be interesting though.

Please.

Because most businesses really are utterly fucking boring when they speak).

And keep it simple and focussed if you do talk about it.

Think Less.

There’s a simple reason why simple brands are simply better.

It’s because the best brands don’t make you think more.

They make you think less.

That’s why we like them.

“Here.
Geoff.
We’re ‘Evri’ now aren’t we?
We’re not Hermes any more.
‘That right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.
We’re Evri now.”

“What does it mean?
Evri, I mean.
What does it actually mean?”

“Dunno.
Other than it meaning we’re trying to move on from them out there thinking we don’t give a shit.
Because of our shit customer service.
Because we kept getting caught on cctv cameras throwing parcels about.
Because we don’t pay couriers properly.
Oh and because of that thing in the papers where they were all taking about how the bosses here at Hermes…
I mean Evri.
Used to ask us to act stupid when customers complained.
That might have  something to do with it.”

“Ah right.
Heh! Yeah that was all a bit shit wasn’t it.
So what do I do with this tape then?”

“What tape?”

“I’ve got a shitload of this Hermes packing tape but we use Evri postage labels now.
And I’ve just sat on this parcel and fucked it.
Only some of the stuff in it is knackered so that’s alright.
And I need to fasten the box back up.
But I’ve only got this Hermes tape.”

“Look.
I’ve just said.
We’re Evri now.
We’re different.
They’ve put 7 million quid into our pensions.
They’ve paid an agency as much if not more to make up a four letter word, pick some funny fonts, register a domain name, do some adverts and all that shit.
It’s a new beginning, Dan.”

“But I’ve not got any Evri tape Geoff.”

PAUSE

“Just use the Hermes stuff then.”

“But you just said…”

“I know!
Just use it.
And plaster it on in all sorts of funny directions.
Right next to the Evri logo.
That’s right.
Make it look like you really don’t give a shit.”

“OK Geoff.
Thanks”

“Welcome, Dan.
Welcome.”

“Before you were an actual person.

And we were all fish.

How many channels were there?”

Are We There Yet?

Being six years old.

Izobel is still quite rubbish at grasping how time actually works.

How events fit together, I mean.

Both in an, ‘…are we there yet?’ kind of way.

And by asking questions like that one up there.

About evolution.

And television.

Me. 

Being 54 years old right now.

I am still quite rubbish at grasping how time actually works, too.

(And evolution, come to think of it).

Because I am still spending too much of my time.

My 360 remaining months of time.

Doing things I don’t really want to do.

Months. 

You’d think I’d have learned by now.

640 months in.

You’d think I’d have learned that the times that made me most smiley.

Most cozy.

Most teary.

Or most happy.

Include being sat in Costa with a 6 year old Izobel.

Watching her skilfully navigate around the crusts of a cheese toastie.

Or rocking a 6 month old Izobel to sleep at 3am.

(Both of us listening to ‘Heroes’ by David Bowie.

It’s the only thing that calmed her).

Or striding through the forest with a chitter-chattering, 5 year old Izobel.

And Colin the Collie.

And Frank the Bichon.

Thinking nothing of time.

Thinking only of those moments.

Time. 

So come to think of it.

And reflecting.

You’d think I’d have learned by now.

640 months in.

That there really is just one lesson to be learned about time.

And here it is…

The times where time matters least.

Matter most.

Say less.

If you can.

With your business ideas I mean.

Or campaign ideas relating to the communication of your business.

Say less.

Because as a general rule.

If the explanation of the what you want to do meanders.

The idea isn’t good enough.

Steven Spielberg.

Steven Spielberg agrees with me.

When I last spoke to him over coffee in Costa he did, anyway.

Steve was telling me.

(Over a Flat White and a Bakewell Tart).

About the 9 billion dollars his films made.

About how he’s a major influence as a storyteller on people like James Cameron.

Peter Jackson.

And Ridley Scott.

And Steve was also telling me about how he always likes an idea.

No matter how big.

To be pitchable in one.

Short.

Sentence.

Remove the Fluff.

“Lost Alien Befriends Lonely Boy to Get Home.”

I reckon the word ‘to’ is the only word of no storytelling value in that sentence.

Every other word informs something of the story.

And what a story.

Say Less.

Say less.

If you can.

With your business ideas I mean.

Or campaign ideas relating to the communication of your business.

Say less.

Because as a general rule.

If the explanation of the what you want to do meanders.

The idea isn’t good enough.

Everyone’s whispering.

Leaning in to each other.

And whispering.

Which is unfortunate for some.

Because some are wearing hats.

And their hats bump gently against the forehead of the person they’re talking to.

It’s OK though.

They both just smile.

Today is no day for battling.

You. 

You watch this happen from above.

Well.

It feels like above.

The only thing you know for sure is that you can see them.

All 30 of them.

But they can’t see you.

30.

By the way.

30.

30 is a good number, right?

Although hang on.

You knew a shitload more than 30 people when you were alive.

But people are busy, aren’t they?

So for 30 of them to come out today is, ‘a good show.’

Right?

Sad. 

The bit you feel most sad about.

Most stupid about.

Most frightened about.

Is the song you chose.

Because you know what’s coming.

Because you know the lyric.

And the lyric reminds you of the times you chose to stare at your fucking laptop.

And got tetchy with your 6 year old daughter.

When she asked you to help her make perfume.

From petals.

And you said no.

Because you were in the middle of corralling your very important thoughts for your very important presentation.

Fire and Rain.

It’s not the whole song that makes your breath shiver as you breathe in.

Then hold that breath.

And close your eyes.

And think back.

It’s just the bit where James says.

And keeps fucking saying.

“But I always thought I’d see you again.”

www.50odd.co.uk/again

When I started my first Business Communications Agency.

(I think it was a Creative Agency.

Or a Design and Marketing Agency.

I’m not sure).

I was 30.

It was 1998.

I was really good at attracting really good people to join me.

Team members, I mean.

And they stayed.

Fun. 

You know what my most vivid memories of the early years are?

It was fun.

I smiled a lot.

My face still remembers the smiles.

How the smiles felt.

And I was really interested in people.

I was interested in everybody.

I didn’t compare because I genuinely wasn’t really bothered what the ‘Proper Agencies’ were doing.

I genuinely thought that because they were so much better than we were.

‘Proper’.

There was no point in comparing.

I was just having a nice time.

And all of a sudden.

We were selling a million pounds worth of what we did each year.

The First Ten Years.

In the first ten years we grew to 30 people.

And still they stayed.

But the last 5 years were different.

The Last 5 Years.

In the last 5 years I think we were a ‘Proper Agency’.

And it wasn’t so good any more.

I wasn’t so good any more.

I didn’t speak to my team much.

Things worked so I just let them run.

And only really intervened when things broke.

I’d butt in.

And moan.

Because now I ran a Proper Agency I had much more important things to do.

Strategies.

Banks.

Employing big people.

With big names.

And big salaries.

And weird things started to happen in my Proper Agency.

I was employing people I didn’t actually like.

I didn’t know how people actually felt any more.

How they ‘were’.

Across the team, I mean.

And I didn’t interface with so many clients, either.

I cherry picked.

And I also think I said things to individuals in the team that were unkind.

Or at least inconsiderate.

Or flippant.

Or thoughtless.

But whatever it said.

It was wrong.

Analysis.

I could analyse what was really going on in the last 5 years – forever.

And still not know.

Maybe I’d had enough.

And I was sabotaging.

Maybe I thought I was better than other people now that I had a Proper Agency.

So I was just less interested in some people than others.

I’m not sure.

What I am sure about though is that I’m not a bad person.

I bet I did bad things though.

Anyhow.

Whatever was going on.

The Proper Agency that I’d created wasn’t fun at all.

I didn’t smile so much.

I wasn’t so interested in people any more.

Pondering instead such things as productivity.

Billed hours.

Client retention.

Money.

Forgetting that high-level performance all those areas required.

Well.

People.

People.

Very soon after.

I’d closed all my agencies.

They were gone.

That happened almost ten years ago as I write this.

Amazing how time flies.

And I’ve been compelled to write this because only now do I feel that I am in the right place to reconnect.

Properly.

With people.

In business, I mean.

To share.

Properly.

To care.

Properly.

I’m just more relaxed.

Content.

Less urgent.

Back to not comparing whatsoever.

And I do mean that.

I just do what I do these days.

And it feels nice.

Proper. 

But I’d better be careful.

Really careful.

Because if I ever do get ‘Proper’ again.

If I ever do work out what I am doing.

If I ever do get past this ‘making things up as I go along’ phase.

If I ever do get past this ‘winging it’ stage.

If I ever do get past this ‘fun’ stage.

I might just fuck it all up again.

Pronouncing ‘c’ as ‘cuh’ instead of ‘see’ can be funny.
Especially when you’re six.

Hello Fresh

HelloFresh is interesting.

It’s ‘painting by numbers’ cooking, I suppose.

But I like it.

I like it for three reasons.

Three Reasons.

First, the food’s nice.

Second, Izobel (she’s six) will cook with me.
Read the recipes out loud with me.
Cross off ingredients as-we-go.
Taking her time.
Spending her time.
With me.

And third, I like HelloFresh because pronouncing ‘c’ as ‘cuh’ instead of ‘see’ can be funny.
Especially when you’re six.
Especially when you’re reading the word ‘diced’ out loud.
But saying ‘dickhead’ instead.

Childish?
Yes of course.

But when you had whatever you had for your tea last night.

I was having something made with dickhead sweet potatoes and dickhead red pepper.

How lucky am I?

I used to spend so much time polishing.

Polishing.
Polishing.
Polishing

Perfecting.

Fine tuning.

Worrying about inaccuracy.
Worrying about being wrong.
Worrying about being judged.

Overthinking.
Removing the mess.

And at the very same time as removing the mess…

Removing the magic.
The joy.
The spontaneity.
The uniqueness.
The essence.
The purity.
The simplicity.
The authenticity.
The bravery.
The fun.

What a waste of bloody time.
Oh; to see and think like a child again.

Image: Brian May. By Izzy Willow. Age 6.

 

The very first question to ask yourself.

If you own a business.

Is this:

“What category am I in?”

The First Question. 

The reason this is the very first question you ask yourself.

Is because it’s the very first question your customer asks themselves.

And after they have answered it.

They build pictures.

Assumptions.

And stories.

So answer the question first.

Crisply.

Then build and communicate your brand and business accordingly.

And that way.

What your customer imagines you are.

Will be accurate.

Example.

Here’s an example of how the answer to the question you ask yourself.

The one about what category you’re in.

Should influence your behaviour as a brand and a business.

And as a consequence.

How customers react to you.

Trains.

I recently contacted a company that ran sleeper trains.

Straight forward enough.

No fuss.

‘A train you can sleep on’.

And in my own mind.

Because I couldn’t quite fathom any more detail than, ‘A train you can sleep on’ from the business communications.

I chose their category myself.

I positioned this company firmly in the ‘Leisure Experience’ category.

Because I wanted to go on a sleeper train and experience an Agatha Christie Murder.

Someone bludgeoned to death as I sipped tea.

And I wanted some bloke in a hat.

With a curled moustache.

Calling me ‘Sir’.

And calling my little Izobel madam.

To serve me.

(And Izobel).

With posh, brightly coloured drinks on a silver tray.

(Mine had an olive in it for some reason).

Through the sliding door of our neat, private cabin.

Before shuffling off.

Leaving me to read The Daily Telegraph.

(‘Never read it in my life).

Leaving Izobel to dance and chatter to two plush toys.

One in each hand.

On the fold-down table in front of her.

The Other Category.

I got the category wrong, though.

Because the fast-talking call handler didn’t plug into my self-storytelling at all.

Instead they did this.

The call handler spoke of looking to minimise my sleep-time between place of departure and destination.

When I wanted to maximise it in order to snooze to the clicker-clack of the tracks.

(And maybe listen in as some Lord or Lady was murdered a couple of carriages along).

The call handler spoke of ‘having to sleep on a train’ as an unfortunate yet necessary part of through-the-night journeying.

When I wanted it to be the focal point.

And as they chattered.

The walnut panelled carriage in my mind turned to formica.

The cocktails on a silver tray turned to paper cups of weak coffee.

And my place on the pages of the next Murder Mystery to flow from the pen of the next great writer of such things turned to shit.

Categories. 

The very first question to ask yourself.

If you own a business.

Is this:

“What category am I in?”

Because when this train company put themselves in the ‘A-to-B Commute’ category.

Everything they did from that point forward matched their reality of what they thought a customer wanting A-to-B Commuting  would want.

But that’s only fine if the business communications at the first touchpoint are clear.

Remember this bit:

…build and communicate your brand and business accordingly. 

And that way. 

What your customer imagines you are. 

Will be accurate.

Because if you don’t.

Your business resources will be wasted on inappropriate phonecalls.

Your front-line staff will grow tutty and exasperated.

And your reputation will turn to shite.

Because of the lack of clarity.

And resultant confusion.

And frustration.

Around categories.

So.

So…

What category are you in?

When you run a business.

It is entirely natural to seek out triggers.

Things ‘they’ do.

To help inform things ‘you’ do.

Especially the successful businesses.

(Whatever ‘successful’ means).

Because after all.

Successful businesses know what they’re doing.

Don’t they?

Karen.

Karen came to stay in one of our holiday studios.

Today.

Karen booked direct through our website.

Paid full price.

Turned up with her son Leon.

And inwardly and outwardly congratulated herself.

Dewy eyed and open mouthed.

To have chosen somewhere, ‘Just lovely’ for her and her 11 year old boy.

Karen.

Was happy.

Money. 

After I’d shown Karen around.

I asked her a question I already knew the answer to.

I asked her how much she’d paid.

To stay with us, I mean.

Karen looked slightly concerned.

So I explained.

I explained that on the same day Karen booked to stay with us.

An article about our holiday studios had appeared in a local magazine.

Front cover, as it goes.

Karen hadn’t seen the magazine.

Or the article.

So Karen also hadn’t seen the voucher code we published inside.

The voucher code that would have saved her £85 on her stay.

Lisa. 

As I told Karen that Lisa would be dropping £85 cash in to her on her way back from the shops.

Karen looked a little shocked.

And confused.

I was happy, though.

Because Karen was happy.

Hospitality.

Hospitality is a funny business.

Some bits come easy to me.

Innovation.

Ideas.

Surprises.

Creating spaces that welcome you in and make you feel special and cared for.

Immediately.

And over and over.

But this also makes me quite angry in many ways, too.

Because I’ve never been entirely happy with anywhere I’ve stayed.

Ever.

Because I always see so many opportunities for innovation.

Better ideas.

And surprises.

Opportunity that the busy owners or the busy people they employ either don’t care enough to want to do.

Or don’t have the time to do.

But either way.

It’s not good enough.

Because it’s boring.

And it’s samey.

And my life.

And your life.

Is far, far too short for boring and samey.

Do The Opposite.

The decision to give Karen £85 was easy.

Because I asked myself a simple question.

I asked myself what I thought every hotel, holiday let, cottage and caravan park I’d ever stayed with over the entire 50 years or so that I’ve been alive would do.

In the exact same circumstance.

Then.

I did the opposite.

Triggers. 

When you run a business.

It is entirely natural to seek out triggers.

Things ‘they’ do.

To help inform things ‘you’ do.

Especially the successful businesses.

(Whatever ‘successful’ means).

Because after all.

Successful businesses know what they’re doing.

Don’t they?