When you run a business.

If you give them nothing more than what they asked for.

Don’t be surprised when they never use you again.

Because, arguably, that’s nothing more than you deserve.

ASDA.

So here you are.

In ASDA.

You’ve got the list your partner gave you and there’s this thing on it you’ve never heard of.

Ketjap Manis.

You don’t know what the fuck it is.

What it’s for.

Or why they want it.

Nevertheless.

Ketjap Manis is what you need.

Ketjap Manis.

So there you stand.

Feet anchored.

Shopping list dangling at chest-height.

Head rotating right-then-left like a human lighthouse.

Mouth wide open.

Looking for the ‘Happy to Help’ bebadged, shelf-shuffler whose very purpose it is to save you from confusion.

And eventually, there they are.

Crouching and balanced on their haunches like a large, busy-handed frog.

Restocking and straightening the Head and Shoulders on a low, far-off shelf.

Aisle 6.

“Excuse me.”

You quietly say as you approach.

“Excuse me.

Ketjap Manis.

Do you have it please?

It’s on my list you see and…”

“Aisle 6.”

The large, busy-handed frog interrupts.

“Sorry?”

You reply.

And again, without looking up…

“Aisle 6.”

The still-crouching busy-handed frog repeats.

So off you go.

Your quest for one thing you don’t have a fucking clue what it is or looks like.

(Ketjap Manis).

Replaced with another.

(Aisle 6).

Me too.

Now, before we start the ‘me too’ mutterings about any supermarket’s large, lazy, busy-handed frogs.

And before we start the, ‘My business would never treat anyone like that,’ mutterings.

We should pause.

And take a good look at our own businesses.

Your Business.

If someone orders a jumper from your online store.

And all you do is send it to them when they expect it, in the condition they expect.

Then honestly, how is that any bloody different than a lazy “Aisle 6” response?

It’s entry level.

It’s boring.

And it’s lazy.

The Busy-Handed Frog.

I already know what you want ASDA’s large busy-handed frog to do.

I know you want the large busy-handed frog to spring up as you approach, smile, call you sir or madam, ask how they can help, then once they find out, walk purposefully to Aisle 6 alongside you, actually looking at you as they do, asking how your day is going as they do, then explaining how there are in fact two kinds of Ketjap Manis, but the one that’s 40p more expensive really is much better because it’s more concentrated.

So it lasts longer.

And tastes better, too.

But you didn’t ask for any of that did you?

You just wanted to know where the Ketjap Manis was.

And in scenario one… they told you.

So I’ll repeat.

If you are the e-commerce store owner that just sends me the jumper.

Or the coffee store owner that just plops the coffee down in front of me.

Or the plumber that mends my radiator and leaves.

Or the car MOT mechanic that says ‘it passed’.

Then you’re no better than the ‘Aisle 6’ frog.

Because you were asked for ordinary.

And that’s what you delivered.

Do Better. 

So here’s an idea.

Be the e-commerce store owner that sends me a Cashmere Comb with my jumper, and a hand-signed note that helps me understand that by combing my jumper every 3 months it’ll stay looking better for longer.

Be the coffee store owner that slips me a teeny, individually wrapped biscuit embossed with the words, ‘As Sweet as You’ – for me to munch or gift.

Be the plumber that calls me 7 days after the radiator repair to see if all is well.

Be the MOT mechanic that smiles and hands me a lemony fresh ‘Travel Safe (and see you next time)’ air freshener with my MOT certificate.

Because when you run a business.

If you give them nothing more than what they asked for.

Don’t be surprised when they never use you again.

Because, arguably, that’s nothing more than you deserve.

It’s never simple to execute simple ideas simply.

Always try, though.

I’ve been working with a business that really is the best of its kind within its geography.

By ‘best’ I mean it has the greatest market share.

And the greatest number of customers within the competitive set.

So more people chose it than any of its direct competitors.

It also happens to be the most awarded within the competitive set.

(More awards doesn’t mean they’re the best, though.

They might just be the best at winning awards.

But it helps).

Anyhow, I’m looking at a piece of brand work today.

And I’ve come to a bit that is a nice reminder to me of what this work is all about.

It’s the ‘one sentence’ bit.

One Sentence.

I am about to build one sentence for this business that is three things.

First, Descriptive.

This means it says – clearly and unambiguously – what they do.

Second, Distinctive.

This means it says why they are different. This must be something that they alone ‘own’. And it must be of obvious value to prospects. (Ultimately, just by saying this bit – without the brand name – you will still know who they are).

Third, Motivating.

This means it should move you. It should make the sentence compelling. It should make you desire what this brand is and does. And it should make you feel that you want to, at the very least, get to know them better.

Homework.

So there you go.

Homework, if you like.

One sentence.

One sentence that describes your brand in a descriptive, distinctive and motivating way.

(And that also functions as an easy to digest sentence, by the way.

So not 100 words).

One sentence.

What’s yours?

I paused to think about this.

Because, at one time, I was undecided about which to choose.

A. Ask.

B. Just do it anyway.

But now that I finally realise the enormous, world-changing and universally positive benefit – to everyone – of choosing one over the other.

I know the answer.

It’s A.

Agencies.

When I ran brand, marketing and design agencies.

(I ran 4 for 15 years.

There were 30 people in the team.

And we turned over about £1.5m.

So we were quite big but not massive).

We helped to tell the world how fast, tough, secure, pioneering, easy to use, high-quality, environmentally friendly or just plain friendly that hundreds of brands were.

Those brands were our clients of course.

Those lovely people that paid us to articulate their very presence.

And their differentiated offers.

As brilliantly and as distinctively as we could.

Awards etc.

We won 70 awards.

Made some money.

Made our clients some money.

And all was good.

Except.

(Now I come to think of it.

Almost 10 years after closing all my agencies).

Except one thing.

One Thing. 

One thing that was not good about how I ran my agencies.

Was this.

I don’t think I ever asked any client one very important question.

Sometimes, it didn’t need asking.

It was clear that the answer was, ‘yes’.

But for the majority.

I actually didn’t know.

Because as I say.

I never asked.

One Question.

That one question was this:

“…Are you lying?”

Or

“So, are you actually any good?”

Or

“Can you actually deliver on these promises you’re making? These promises that I’m being asked to amplify as compellingly as I can. For money.”

And I regret that.

Today.

Today, I do a few things to make me happy and earn money.

One of those things is – strategically – helping businesses to get noticed, remembered and chosen.

And one thing I do know about my clients.

All of them.

Is this.

They’re all reeeeeeeeally fucking good.

They all deliver on the clear, compelling and owned promises they are making.

But people like me have a lot to answer for in the brand versus consumer relationship.

Because what I also know is that the majority of brand, marketing and design ‘professionals’ and agencies don’t really know if their clients are lying.

They don’t really know if their clients are any good.

And they don’t really know if their clients can actually deliver on the promises they’re making.

Because they’re not paid to check clients can.

They’re paid to say clients can.

So that’s what they do.

A or B.

I paused to think about this.

Because, at one time, I was undecided about which to choose as a brand builder and communicator.

A. Ask if your clients are lying. (And if they are – bin them).

B. Don’t bother asking and just take the money for saying what they pay you to say anyway.

But now that I finally realise the enormous, world-changing and universally positive benefit – to everyone – of choosing one over the other.

I know the answer.

It’s A.

I met someone lovely at The Do Lectures.

(Meeting someone lovely at The Do Lectures is a given).

She was lovely to me.

I was horrible to her.

Then we hugged.

(Hugging people at The Do Lectures is a given).

And we’ll probably be friends forever.

(Finding forever-friends at The Do Lectures is a given).

Anyhow.

I’d better explain.

What do you think of all that, then? 

My new friend was telling me about her clothing brand.

(She’d heard of Always Wear Red).

She told me all about what she was doing.

Her sustainable approach.

Her love of the shape of it.

Her love of the colour of it.

Her love of the materials she chose.

How she’d learned new skills.

Her love of how the layers ‘sat’ together.

How she’d built great partnerships with clever people.

And a lot more besides.

Then she asked me something.

My new friend asked me:

“So.

What do you think of all that, then?”

Squinted.

I paused.

Thought.

Squinted.

(That means I’m thinking).

And, with a smile, I replied.

“I don’t really care.”

Pause.

There was a pause.

She smiled.

Then, we hugged.

And after another short pause.

She took a deep breath.

Looked down.

Rocked from foot-to-foot in the grass for a moment.

As if to steady herself.

And she started again.

Start again.

My new friend then began to tell me about her family.

How much she loved them.

How connected and hard working they all were.

How her family’s hard work created this small window in her life.

A window that released her.

A window within which my new friend ‘did art’.

Art.

My new friend then told me how her art kept her sane.

Happy.

Fulfilled.

Alive and rejuvenated.

And she fizzed and bubbled as she stared into my eyes.

Her own eyes now wider than ever.

As she told me how she wanted to explore how the feeling of personal freedom and expression she felt when she was creating sweeping lines and crazy colour ways.

Might translate to textile design.

And whether that textile design might translate to sensitively made pieces of clothing.

In tiny batches.

That, when worn, might help the wearer to feel the same feelings of happiness and rejuvenation she did.

My new friend was much more animated when she told me the second version of her story.

She smiled more.

She was louder.

She gesticulated more.

She was… teary.

And I cared.

We hugged again.

Emotional.

It was emotional for my friend because my new friend told me the story behind the story.

And it was emotional for me because in that moment.

In that field.

In West Wales.

A business.

Became a brand.