speaking in clicks

One of the curious phenomena of modern life—in an era when traditions tumble, barriers burst and innovation insinuates into every sector of thought, feeling and action—is the persistent delusion that self-adulatory marketing copy has the power to motivate consumers.

You can see such copy at work in many places, but nowhere more egregiously than on Web sites hawking luxury goods to people of “discriminating taste.”

Leaving aside the question of whether anyone with discriminating taste could be bamboozled by marketing copy, let’s have a look at the lengths to which this false gambit is taken by Seiko.com:

GRAND SEIKO
Perfect precision, beauty and legibility
The goal that inspired the creators of Grand Seiko half a century ago was hardly a modest one. They were determined to create nothing less than the best luxury watch in the world.

…and, as we’re inevitably supposed to conclude, “they” succeeded. Trouble is, implied in this statement is the assertion that Rolex, say, or Tag Heuer, have a different goal, and are determined to create something less than the best.

And here, in essence, is the flaw in every aspect of self-adulatory marketing copy: No matter how you spin it, you’re asking consumers to believe a lie.

“The finest craftsmanship”
Whatever the truth of the matter, this kind of assertion is meaningless to American consumers. If you’ve followed the education debate in the US over the last 10 years, you know that even luxury-product consumers have no way in Hell to know, objectively, whether Tag Heuer, Rolex or Seiko makes “the best” watch.

I mean, even given a country rife with engineering-literate citizens, what’s still missing is a consensus definition of “the best.” Here again, the sanctioned use of meaningless phrases adds more mental static to a consumer messaging pipeline already clogged to the seams with bilge.

“Our product is a work of art.”
Another category of delusional marketing strategy is characterized by an indiscriminate appropriation of metaphor and diction from arts promotion—itself a doubtful model for effective promotional copy:

PREMIER
The attraction of opposites
Where classicism and modernity meet, there lies the essence of the Premier collection…The Premier collection draws inspiration from the world of architecture, and its charm from the subtle interaction of the classical and the modern. By blending these different styles, Premier expresses the elusive truth that opposites can attract, and offers a harmonious synthesis of contemporary style and enduring quality.

Now, not only is the copy vague, its underlying premise is pure fiction: The intersection between classicism and modernism, properly defined, is the null set.

Yet there’s a more general reason that positioning your product as a work of art makes for bad marketing strategy. Doing so falsely assumes our country has a unified definition or perception of art. When you take into account America’s muddled attitudes about the role of art in society, you have to wonder whether claiming the status of La Gioconda for a luxury watch is really such a good idea.

Worse, like the rest of the site copy, the self-adulatory tone leaves hardly a hair’s breadth for Seiko to demonstrate its value to consumers. Only in one instance, where the GPS locator installed in a particular model is positioned as a boon to heavy business travelers, do we have any sense that Seiko has appreciable empathy for its target audience. Yet, even here, empathy is undercut by the gushing question:

Could this be the most intelligent watch ever built?

“You talking to me?”
Hence, if you’re going to communicate in American English, you might want to consider how your message will be received. In the US, promotional copy overflowing with references to Sanskrit and “Katana, the ancient art of Japanese sword making” inevitably sounds pretentious, no matter how high the price tag.

Ironically, the watches themselves appear to be the product of a great deal of ingenuity, craftsmanship. and applied science. Given that, we have enough respect for technological and manufacturing prowess in this country to allow Seiko to sell its timepieces on their own merits.

How much better if Seiko’s marketing message actually reflected the down-to-earth engineering concerns at the core of fine watch building. There’s enough to celebrate in the brand’s technical prowess, design innovation, and knack for applied science—when discussed in real terms.

In the end, the copy at Seiko.com, by being imprecise ad inelegant, is the polar opposite of the brand promise it purports to make. And in seeking to prey on the fragile egos of status-hungry shoppers, the self-adulatory prose is anything but flattering to the company’s image.

Discussions about message architecture, content development and branded narrative have a funny way of focusing on words. That’s not surprising, since many messages we receive are word-only affairs. But consider the expression:

 Get the message?

Clearly, our collective consciousness is fully aware that messages are transmitted many different ways, including a range of visual and sound cues, not to mention the implications of a string of text. From an audible sigh to a flick of an eyebrow, to a hand gesture or a subtle shift in posture, we experience the multidimensional aspects of human communication every day.

What does surprise me is the common practice of treating message and design as two separate elements, the one accompanying the other—like a night club band clucking softly behind a yearning chanteuse.

And while that may sound convincing in a boardroom, out in the real world, it just doesn’t play. Why? Ironically, it’s just beyond the power of words alone to explain that. But maybe a few comparisons will help reify this somewhat slippery concept.

Flowing together, creating context.
Consider the home page of Citibank.com as of 3-19-13.

While it’s hardly path breaking, it conjures up a specific train of thought: contentment and satisfaction at achieving your goals. As a backdrop to the distressingly functional copy, it does more than accompany the words. It puts the copy in perspective so that together, word and image transmit a branded message.

Compare it to the credit card imagery on display at Chase.com and feel the impact. Where the Citibank home page is about me, the Chase home page is about merchandising.

At a different place in the spectrum is the Wells Fargo home page, where consumer imagery is jammed between price point copy and a call to action—the price point being emblazened against a bright orange background. The message? You can save on car loans and take a car trip with your family. But first, you gotta get the loan, Baby.

Hence, an ill-considered message rings out bright and brassy—from creative elements stacked side by side. In this case, the result is true to formula, an exemplar of frozen TV dinner Web design, with each component of the page walled off in its own little bin.

Dollar menu messaging.
Not that American banks are the sole owners of this brand of miscommunication. The absence of human connection at McDonalds.com is no less real for being slightly more subtle.

The disconnect is palpable, between the words, chirping about love, and the images, retouched to Botox blandness, as if they were made out of 100% U.S. Grade A plastic. The token salad, surrounded by food items that practically cross-promote the stent industry, conveys a mixed message at best.

Now, I’d be the last one to say the food at Burger King is any healthier. On the marketing front, however, they are better aligned with my sense of taste. Throughout the site, the BK product line is presented in a human context with a more naturalistic touch. While no people are present, you can at least imagine yourself entering the frame and reaching for a drink, a ‘wich, a dessert.

Yet, here too, the balance is off, as the virtual absence of copy is more dehumanizing than the lack of people. After all these years, apparently, this mainstay of American business has nothing more to say to consumers than “Here. Food. Now.”

Trite and false.
Meanwhile, at KFC.com, you come up against a different kind of message architecture malfunction. On an interior page, lovingly photographed sandwiches are juxtaposed against a trite headline, “Mouthwatering Sandwiches.” At the very least, the status of the adjective “mouthwatering” as a hoary holdover from 1950s promotional lingo ought to have been enough to make someone at KFC intervene.

Such a literal approach is a triumph of Marketing Anxiety on a grand scale, topped only by a stunning shot of a luscious desert, captioned “The Grand Finale.” Brand differentiation? Not so much. While the photos convey a viable brand promise (“We deliver a sensual experience”), the copy merely informs us that dessert is typically served at the end of a meal. For this, you don’t need an MBA in marketing.

As I see it, the consequences of treating art and copy as if they operate on separate planes include a radical downgrading of brand identity, trust and engagement. However you approach consumer outreach, know this: your message architecture is too important to be trusted to mechanical cobbling, committee-think or, God forbid, search engine optimization. It needs to be created, with an eye and an ear to where your core value lies as a brand.

In marketing circles, a topic almost always in the news is engagement strategy. As I see it, the theoretical underpinnings of such thinking are a clever chain of inductive reasoning—one part circular logic, one part sheer superstition. For starters, can the market research data purportedly behind the theory be replicated according to the scientific method?

Yet, I suppose there is a grain of truth buried deep in the mountains of white papers, blog posts and PowerPoints cropping up by the thousands each year. Trouble is, the more I read up on the topic, the more I’m reminded of a familiar phrase:

If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.

So while awareness of and sensitivity to how people behave in social space is certainly a factor in the development of sound marketing / advertising, I don’t agree that social engagement is a departure from “communication-based” advertising. If you’re talking to people in any medium, you’re communicating with them. And if you’re getting better results, it’s more likely because of the quality of your work.

Besides, there’s another factor in this equation, which may be the one thing most disturbing to today’s trend-hopping ideologues: There’d be no social networking response to brands without the traditional brand narratives they’ve already established. People don’t dys or respect Brand X, they dys or respect Coca Cola.

Metering the metrics.
In trying to evaluate “what works,” I prefer a simpler measure: to address the audience with creative imagination. Whether your goal is promotion, sales, awareness, brand building or social buzz, the most engaging outreach to consumers is advertising that is itself a quality product. To see what I mean, have a look at how four brands are reaching out to consumers in digital space as of 3-9-13:

• Red Lobster
• Nike
• Hilton Hotels
• Tesla Motors

…in a way not very far removed from traditional advertising. Sure, some of the differences are structural rather than cosmetic, but not as many as the hype would lead you to believe.

Kitchen intrigue.
Red Lobster’s Chef’s Kitchen page uses hover-state technology that’s not new. But the landing pages each hover state clicks to draw consumers in with a freshness and immediacy they’ll expect to find in-restaurant. The interface is intuitive, inviting—and the experience delivers insight into the brand’s back story that is, in a word, engaging.

Net advantage.
At the latest version of Nike.com, the confluence of interactive options creates a symphony of involvement. For one thing, it’s visually stunning. But what makes you stay on the site is the feeling it was created just for you. Instant customization helps ease decision making. The product shots are fresh, action oriented and, while obviously posed, capture a feeling of spontaneity.

And in a site not dominated by video, everything feels like it’s happening in real time—to you. The special effect here is unity of intent. Everything is Nike: no sub-brand confusion and no compromise. It’s a site only for people into sports, or at least, “the magic of sports.”

Resorting to seduction.
A great example of “selling the sizzle,” Hilton.com focuses your attention on the resort experience. Sure, the site features a full array of merchandising. But it does so seductively, luring you with the value the hotels deliver. Here the call to action is a call to your senses, your instincts, your lust to escape.

Finally, the pioneering engineering firm Tesla Motors shows what happens when concept and design are integrated to perfection. This is not a site, I hasten to point out, that could have been conceived and built fire brigade-style with “tight timelines, guys.” In any case, this site makes the product so appealing you’ll have to stop yourself from reaching for a knife and fork.

OK, I’ll admit, I’m totally obsessed with technological innovation. All-electric cars? Delicious. Still, I defy anyone not to feel engaged by a site spinning a great story—with memorable characters, “side missions” and many tempting paths to [product] enlightenment.

So while each of these sites can and is supported by outreach into social space, for my part I can’t see how this level of engagement is possible on Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram or Twitter—not to mention the unsung army of sites catering to 1000s of niche populations.

As I see it, if we’ve evolved enough as an industry to recognize the primacy of audience engagement, we’re evolved enough to pursue engagement wherever we find it. Not because we need more ideological rigor, but because offering our customers thoughtful, creative, engaging human experiences is what actually gets results.

Considering how important marketing and advertising are to the American economy and, like it or not, American culture, you might expect it to be treated with great respect—at least by its practitioners. But judging from the persistence of tired, mechanical marketing gambits, you’d think the promotion of products and services in this country was merely a necessary evil, something to “get out of the way” as quickly as possible.

How else to explain the widespread deployment of campaign materials based on oft-repeated phrases dating back to the dawn of modern consumer society, as documented on 2-23-13:

• save up to (1,390,000,000 results)
• hurry while supplies last (130,000 results)
• limited time offer (11,500,000 results)
• like you’ve never seen it before (11,500,000 results)
• just got better (152,000,000 results)
• don’t take our word for it (12,300,000 results)
• sale-a-thon (9,700 results)
• back to school savings (1,320,000 results)

Each of these phrases, in its own way, is highly manipulative, intended to excite, incite, motivate and generally strike terror in the heart of consumers—that they might miss something spec-ta-cu-lar! Clearly, the main reason these phrases are repeated is that they can offer marketers a quick fix of success. After all, in the short term, consumers can be motivated by fear. The question is whether the short term gains are worth the resentment such tactics potentially instill, once Anxiety’s adrenaline rush fades.

Words matter? Since when?
On the other hand, in a marketing environment increasingly driven by data analysis do words still matter?

Well, yeah.

After all, what’s the point of worming your way into your customers’ psyches and matching your appeals to their stated or implied preferences, only to wreck the illusion of honest communication with an objectifying sales pitch? Think about it. If you were up close and personal with someone you were crazy about, you’d never think to whisper, “Act now, while supplies last.”

In fact, I harbor the heretical view that the more intimately you attempt to connect with your audience, the more sensitive you must be to nuances of language. Now, to be clear, I’m not talking about the presence or absence of Urban Dictionary-sanctioned diction. What I advocate is plain-spoken communication—minus the benefit grubbing (a must for the holidays), anxiety churning (you won’t want to miss) and outright bullying (Don’t wait, call today!).

Turning people into “consumers.”
Sadly, this dysfunctional mode of address appears to be hard-wired into the American marketing mentality. Worse, it stems from superstition—the unfounded belief that everyday people turn into a different species the moment they become consumers.

How absurd is that? No matter what you’re selling, consumers are human beings. They’re the people at the next table, the people in the produce aisle, the people who cut you off on the freeway, the parkway and the turnpike. Some of them are people you actually like.

Yet the habit of talking to people as if they were utterly devoid of feeling, experience or, OMG, intellect is so persistent I wonder how any business is done at all. Sure, at the end of the day, people buy because they just need stuff. But if that’s what you’re counting on, it’s hard to see why we need marketing at all.

Of course, none of this matters unless you truly believe data mining leads to an unassailable analysis of the human psyche—a conclusion the current state of artificial intelligence belies. Yet, if we’re to believe the blistering assessment of major brands made by consumers in social space, it’s hard to conclude the data-miners aren’t on to something.

But if there is a message from consumers hidden in the data, it needs to be teased out by creatives with the skill to actually interpret language. For that you’ll need people with more than just a way with words, a warm body and a good vocabulary they never get to use.

You’ll also need a creative team able to put themselves in the mindset of the people around them starting, ironically, with the people they meet in the mirror. Of course, such an approach will feel revolutionary to a wide majority of your colleagues. To sell it in, you may need a tagline—something like, oh, Reality Advertising.

In many sectors of American society any statement can be deemed True if it’s accompanied by statistics. So if I report that the Nielsen-Norman Group (NNG) has used eye-tracking studies to measure how much people read online, and concluded:

On the average Web page, users have time to read at most 28% of the words during an average visit; 20% is more likely

…chances are, you’ll take that as the final word on the subject.

Now, I don’t buy any of that. Sure, I’m willing to assume the NNG has used a methodology approved by some branch of science, and that the results are valid as obtained by that methodology.

But I don’t accept the underlying premise: that you can study human behavior the same way you study elephant behavior. For one thing, you’re asking people to participate in a behavioral study—guaranteeing self-consciousness will creep into the proceedings. It’s a distinction typically overlooked and should make more people skeptical about the veracity of such data.

Of course, that distinction itself assumes that the elephants in question are unaware that they’re being observed—an assumption challenged by documented evidence of elephant cognition.

Paradigm makeover.
We could go 1000 rounds on this topic but, for now, let’s throw the whole debate under the bus and start fresh—by asking a simple question:

If reading is the main obstacle to digital communication/marketing, why haven’t we abandoned the print model on which so much digital communication is based?

The answer, I suppose, might be cost. But now that digital video recording is available on millions of mobile devices, we should be able to create a standardized modest-production-value video format that would enable us to stage our brand narrative in a multimedia environment. From there, common sense templating should also offer savings enough to satisfy everyone who believes cost is, and should be,  the supreme arbiter of social, cultural and political evolution.

Reading’s new do.
In the scenario I envision, text would be available only in blocks of copy viewable in a separate window as needed. Everything else users encountered would be narrated, conveyed through a combination of video and slide show, with one- or two-line captions. Maybe the solution is a kind of stop action video that puts less stress on bandwidth and—in cases where a bit of detail is essential to clinching the deal—enables users to pause and open a text block, rolled out in animation and enhanced with a variety of visual effects.

Implied in this approach is a communication model adapted to the way we absorb information in aural and visual terms. You’d tell the same story, but roll it out at a different pace and, most likely, in a different order. Just as important, you’d have to think harder about what makes your brand memorable—and what you can reasonably expect users to take away from the presentation.

Beyond cosmetics.
What would a completely multimedia web presence look like? It would depend entirely on the pace you choose to unfold your brand narrative and the scale of the gesture you want to make. One thing it would definitely not be is static: No landing pages, gallery pages, or pseudo-active marquee slideshows. Users would enter a story already in progress and find their own access point.

Imagine an introductory video, encapsulating your brand narrative in a 30,000-foot view. Arrayed near it are resizable windows offering detailed views of products, customer service options, thought-leadership essays, all conveyed in video/animation with voiceover. Products rich in technical detail could include interactive graphs, charts and tables, and would allow signed-in users to create a private holding area where they could drag and drop content modules to consult on a later visit.

Copy would be confined to supers endowed with PowerPoint brevity—but devoid of PowerPoint tedium. And every text, heard or read, would have a distinct personality, as instantly identifiable as any voice stored in your speed-dial queue. In other words, you’d finally be able to tell Coke from Pepsi with the blindfold on

No question, many developmental stages stand between this embryonic idea and a usable prototype. How, for example, would a multimedia site process purchase orders? While I don’t have the answer, I do know I won’t miss the shopping cart motif one bit if a new multimedia standard comes to pass.

Of course, it doesn’t take much imagination to cough up a bed-pan full of reasons not to go in this direction. Left to their own devices, people with not much imagination will always opt for the status quo. But without imagination, the evolution of digital space will be frozen into its current faux-print model forever. Without imagination, marketers in 2113 will still be whining that “nobody reads” online—while perpetuating a communication model that began as a stop-gap measure in 1997.