When it comes to writing about your brand online.

If you want to hold on to the ‘not yets’.

Think and write like a publisher, not a marketer.

The not yets. 

99% of the people you want to read you, are ‘not yets’.

They may very well buy from you one day.

But it’s unlikely to be today.

So don’t try to sell to them.

Just write, say or do something that compels them to stick around, so you’re front of mind when they do want to buy.

And the best way to do this is to think like a publisher, not a marketer.

Publisher, not Marketer.

As a publisher, you have to produce content that draws the right people in-and-through, also making them want to come back and consume more.

As a marketer, you fundamentally have to think about reporting on the business, communicating why what you’re selling is compelling for your audience and, ultimately, driving sales.

But don’t do that all the time because over 99% of the time I’m not ready to buy.

I’m a ‘not yet’.

Instead, write, say or do something that compels me to stick around, so you’re front of mind, when I do want to buy.

And the best way to do this is to think like a publisher, not a marketer.

I led a few marketing agencies through my 30’s and 40’s.

I employed a hundred people.

Won a hundred awards.

And of the many hundreds of clients we had over about 15 years.

Only one of them ever showed me her arse.

Leah. 

Leah was the friend of a friend when we first met.

Our first meeting was in our boardroom.

Leah was, and still is, really lovely.

And she only grimaced slightly as she, very gently, sat down opposite me.

Two Businesses. 

Leah had two business ideas.

The first was for premium BDSM related sex toys and outfits.

Premium because they were a huge step-up, price-wise and quality-wise, from the world of Anne Summers and LoveHoney.

What Leah did was to create made-to-measure accessories for the more discerning BDSM-ers to wear or use.

But before we got into that, and before I discovered Leah’s second business idea, Leah said,

“Christ. My arse doesn’t half hurt.

Want to see?”

Despite this being the first such invitation I’d had in any client meeting, I didn’t want to seem unpractised in such things, so I replied,

“Sure!

‘Want a coffee first?”

She did.

“Yes please.”

Replied Leah.

And she reached inside her bag for her phone.

Leah’s Arse. 

The photographs on Leah’s phone, of Leah’s arse, were cool.

Purpley and almost black in some places it was, from whatever she was doing the night before.

And as Leah swiped through a dozen or so images, my head began to nod only slightly, but unnaturally quickly.

My eyebrows raised and stayed raised.

My bottom lip protruded throughout.

And in the silence that was left for us to navigate once Leah’s bottom-slideshow was over, both of us looking squarely into each other’s eyes, I muttered the only word I could find,

“Nice.”

Leah’s businesses.

Leah isn’t called Leah these days.

She only runs the second of her two businesses, and is as lovely today as she was back then, I hear.

I hear this from my good friend Ami, the friend that first introduced Leah to me many years ago, so we could make a website together.

Leah’s first business, the one that bruised arses, was brilliant and fun.

Leah’s second business, of which Leah is now Founder and President, has saved many, many lives, is world class, and world famous.

Pineapple Support.

Pineapple Support is a nonprofit organisation providing free and low-cost mental health therapy to pornographic film actors, producers and others working in the adult film industry.

Pineapple finally sprang to life in 2018, as Leah responded to a great number of untimely and sometimes hard-to-fathom deaths in the industry.

In the first two years, over 1,000 (mostly) women were supported.

Doubly Wonderful.

What Leah has done, I think, is doubly wonderful.

Leah spoke about and did something about mental health issues that were killing people; mental health being a subject we all might pretend to look at – but rarely do.

And Leah strode proudly and determinedly into the world of porn; a subject we all pretend not to look at – but definitely do.

Respect.

I know a lot of people running businesses for good reasons.

And I have a lot of respect for a great many of them.

But I have absolutely no qualms in admitting.

That I’d be hard pressed to find someone I respect more than Leah.

I (in my 30’s) once lived with a guy (in his 30’s) that owned and ran posh restaurants.

He’d pay himself £12k a year or something, working 100 hour weeks, for 3 years at a time.

‘What a nob,’ I quietly though.

Until he told me about selling each of his brilliant restaurant brands for half a million to a million quid each.

Thus exposing the fact that I was pointing my ‘nob’ in precisely the wrong direction.

(I could edit that last sentence, of course.

Now I’ve read it back and remembered I am 55, not 15.

But I don’t want to).

His Kitchen. 

The kitchen in his house was lovely.

On many early mornings, I’d discover him reducing sprigs of green things, chopped other things and (I think) meaty things in a tall, silver, battered pan to produce something delicious smelling, treacly, dark and sticky.

Something that, the same evening, he’d expertly rub into a lamb’s leg with the concentration of a top surgeon.

On other days though, in that same kitchen, he’d Pot Noodle.

Pot Noodle.

Annoyingly though, he wouldn’t Pot Noodle properly.

Oh no.

He’d refuse to push the obligatory almost-off lid back down to sufficiently steam and soften the noodles in the crucial pre-stir phase.

What a fucking mad man!

“Does he know nothing?” I’d scream internally.

And you know what else he’d do?

Sometimes, he’d eat bits of out-of-date toasted bread, picked up from the omnipresent crumby zone on the kitchen floor where the over-zealous toaster would, again and again, pop its contents.

Dirty, dirty man.

Real People.

This is a real story about real people.

The emerging businessman (me) that didn’t really understand the difference between revenue and equity.

The obsessive foodie (him) that obsessively innovated, boiling up anything he could find, to produce beautiful, beautiful glazes on frosty Sunday mornings.

The young award winning entrepreneur (me) that was also nobby enough to get pedantic over haphazard Pot-Noodlery.

And this is also the story of the respected restaurant entrepreneur millionaire (him) that eats smashed toast off the floor… because he wants to.

Because none of us is on duty all of the time.

And because he’s human.

And hungry.

And real.

These are real people.

Doing real things.

Get Real.

So next time you’re thinking about what to write in LinkedIn.

And you’re thinking about saying…

We won a client.

Or,

We employed a person.

Or,

We grew our business a bit.

Or,

We’re proud to announce that we won a thing.

Or,

This client really loves us.

Or,

We really love this client.

Or,

This project went perfect and on time.

(When we know it didn’t).

… pause a little.

At least sometimes, please, tell us what you’re really like.

And, when you can, take the time and the care to weave in the lessons and the love to your real-world story.

Tell us what your world is really like.

So we can relate.

So we’re interested.

It’s so much more compelling to hear how you derailed then re-railed, than it is to hear how you delivered a perfect project.

(When we know you didn’t).

Just like, I think, it’s much more interesting to hear how a wonderful, wonderful millionaire food guy is imperfect, as are we all, because he can’t even steam and soften the noodles in a Pot Noodle, in the crucial pre-stir phase.

(Hey; these things matter!)

But he can build hospitality brands so magnetic that we pay £50 per head to eat there.

So, sometimes.

Don’t tell us what you think we want to hear.

Don’t sanitise it.

Because you know what, we don’t want to hear how shiny and perfect you are.

(When we know you’re not).

So don’t get boring.

Get Real.

“What does it feel like to buy?”

Is an important question.

But a question that few brand owners ask.

Properly, I mean.

What’s the point of having a great product, designed to delight, if the buying experience doesn’t delight you equally?

Another Apple.

Every few years.

I want another apple.

Not even because the apple I have is broken or bad.

I just want another one.

Nice. 

Buying from apple feels nice.

A new iPhone, iPad, MacBook Air, Watch or MacBook Pro.

And that’s why I am looking to replace the (slightly clunky but still usable) 8 year old MacBook I am typing on right now.

With a new MacBook Air.

I’ll take my time.

But I will do it.

An Important Question.

“What does it feel like to buy?”

Is an important question.

But a question that few brand owners ask.

Properly, I mean.

What’s the point of having a great product, designed to delight, if the buying experience doesn’t delight you equally?

Doing it is really hard.

Talking about doing it in a way that people find enjoyable, palatable and useful is hard too.

But it’s still nowhere near as hard as actually doing it.

Whilst innovating.

If you’re any good at innovating, that is.

It is entirely possible to be too far ahead of the game.

So far ahead that – should you mention all you are doing, all at the same time – they just won’t ‘get it’.

So far ahead that you miss the opportunity of creating three or four separate, simple, powerful and much more easily digestible headlines.

Instead blurting out something too complicated, too long, less punchy and much harder to remember.

Rinky Dinky Do.

And it is for these reasons that, when innovating, you should first ‘Rinky’.

Then ‘Dinky’.

Then ‘Do’.

Aidan.

Aidan is an engineer, business founder, and friend.

And even though Aidan is not a marketer, he’s one of the best marketers I know.

Not just because he is straight forward, authentic and endlessly interesting.

But because Aidan knows that the long, winding queue of innovations that he himself develops or inspires, need managing.

They need to be drip, drip, dripped into products.

And drip, drip, dripped into messaging.

A Rarity.

Such self awareness is a rarity.

And that’s way Aidan will always win, even when up against the the most Rinky Dinky Do competitor innovations.

Because whilst the others are chest beating and spouting unfocused, over-complicated, self-congratulatory, jargon-riddled hyperbole.

Aidan has the patience to first Rinky.

And win.

Then Dinky.

And win.

Then Do.

And win all over again.

The quality of the food at this little pub we know relates directly to which of the three different chefs is on shift.

The owner chef.

The new chef.

Or the one-legged old chef.

Three Chefs.

When the owner makes food, it’s good.

The new chef’s food is not very good.

And the one legged old chef’s food is really, really good.

The One Legged Old Chef.

Last year, when the one legged old chef had two legs.

Shifts were split between him and the owner.

All good.

But when the two legged old chef had time off to have his leg off.

New chef came in and did almost all of the hours.

The balance was gone.

And so was the food quality.

Say something. 

I think I’ll say something to the owner.

And I’m glad that the one legged old chef is a better chef than two legged new chef.

Because if it was the other way around, I might have been accused of being leggist.

Which I am definitely not.

It’s Better to Know.

I don’t like complaining.

Few do.

But it’s best that the owner knows about the inconsistency.

And I’d like to know if I’m going to get a nice meal.

So when I do say something I’ll keep it subtle.

And sensitive.

“Hey John!”

I might shout across the bar,

“How many legs does the chef have this evening?”

Something like that.

As I say, subtle.

And sensitive.