speaking in clicks

[December 23, 2010]

Is there a universal language of engagement? Judging from the wide variety of personality types I’ve encountered over time, I doubt it. 

But is universality even necessary? Maybe all an engagement strategy really needs is the inrique that comes from having many possible interpretations. Create something rich enough in meaning and even people with contrasting psycho-cultural outlooks will find something they can respond to.

Take the global response to a film like Avatar, for example. Filtered through many divergent cultural outlooks, not everyone is engaged by the film in the same way or for the same reasons. The simple fact that it is, on one level, a film about colonialism, is itself enough to trigger a wide range of emotional responses—depending on which version of global history you identify with.

So my question is, can digital space develop a global vocabulary of its own, a rich, layered mine of meaning and engagement—something that goes beyond narrow conformity to codified theories of “best practice?”

Yes, I know. That’s a tall order. And yet I sometimes find the seeds of what I’m after in random bits of video like the one at the top of the page. To be clear, I’m not advocating the entire digital marketing industry become a subset of the “Hello Kitty” empire.

But here’s what I do see: A three-stage interaction with the viewer:

• Acknowledge: Kitty raises her head
• Recognize: Kitty looks you in the eye
• Communicate: (translation) “I love my bear.”

The more I think about it, the more these three interactions sum up most of what I want from any Web site, whether I visit it once or several times a day. While they have nothing to do with product features or “reason to believe” they are the very essentials of human interaction.

And in the end, that’s what I’m looking to as the future of digital space, one of the key things that will help it realize its potential as a new medium: Its latent ability to conger up a coherent, tangible and engagingly human personality.

[December 17, 2010]

Just as Time, Inc. knows no one will pay for the same issue of People magazine week after week, it’s reasonable to assume most Web publishers realize the need to refresh site content on a regular basis. How many of them do so is a topic for next year’s crop of cultural anthropologists. But it doesn’t take a PhD to know people enter digital space for a face-to-face meeting with “What’s new?”

As I see it, the only reason for a Web site to exist is to broadcast insight, information, opinion, humor, drama, dance, music, art, literature science…in short, everything we mean by “communication.” As it stands, however, many Web sites are less dynamic than a digital circular from your local supermarket.

At most, they may have a news aggregator, delivering related links or someone else’s data via RSS feed. Often, you’ll find it squnched into the top right corner under an under-refreshed flash marquee—hawking topics of only limited relevance to the target audience.

Viewed from the perspective of their value to consumers, most News sections owe their existence to mere box-checking.

“See, my site’s dynamic now!” says the brand manager, ducking out the door for Pilates class.

But as the second decade of our turbulent century unfolds, such mechanical updates read like tired pick-up lines at a singles mixer.

Tell me something I didn’t know.
Today, there’s a non-stop geyser of digital news available to the net savvy—a larger share of the population than many a Type-A MBA wants to admit. At this point, all that last-decade talk about “bringing the best of the Web to you,” is surely over.

Facebook news outlets aside, with the arrival of real-time search technology, the justification for a data-scroller on your home page is practically non-existent.

After all, the only reason someone enters your URL is to access content they can’t get somewhere else. Over the course of a day, the net-savvy bump into the same Top News Stories again and again. Prince Charles and Camilla in the Bentley? Saw that. Julian Assange’s triumphant release on bail? Saw that. The Kardashian Christmas Card…

Like any other aspect of your brand, what matters is what’s ownable—even if that’s just The World’s Largest Selection of Bunny Slippers. So as you map out your digital content strategy, the route you plot must naturally run parallel to the few information streams you can actually call your own.

Of course, starting from what’s ownable takes time and discipline—two of the most endangered resources on the planet. Yet, I can’t believe anyone who bothers to develop a well-defined editorial calendar for their digital content will fail to see its advantages. And at the top of the list is the ability to present your Big Message in digestible chunks.

Considering how much has been said about what people will and will not read, it amazes me how much information brands try to pack into every page.

Attention deficit? It’s a density thing.
What they fail to grasp is that holding someone’s attention is not about content length; it’s about content density. In slavish adherence to usability theory, Web developers shave content down to the briefest possible nub.

Ironically, this means expecting users to absorb 25 or more snippets on a wide range of topics in the space formerly occupied by 3 or 4 topics in print. The density increases when you swap out your news feed for a blog roll.

Try this experiment. Invite 100 people to IM you at a predetermined time, on topics in the news, fashion, film, or gossip. As you stare at the wall of “short, sweet & to the point” text, see how long it takes until information overload sets in. Unless your “D’wha?” index is unusually high, I doubt you’ll get very much out of the exchange.

That’s because a true communication strategy is about rolling out your big message over time, not pushing content to deadline like a train dispatcher. Yes, I understand your client is frantic to announce a product placement on The Today Show. That’s not the issue.

What you need to consider, is how to fit such timely content into your overall strategy. If it means taking down the snappy little widget that went 16 rounds to approval, so be it. For the time being, your audience will be far too focused on Meredith Viera to care.

[December 10, 2010]

After several years of careful observation, I’ve traced point of origin for most Web copy to one of two cattle ranches in Wyoming. At least, judging from the evidence at hand, the vast majority of copy we read on Web 2.0 sites is surely much more rustled up and corralled than written. Not to mention branded…

How does this happen? For one thing, many Americans share a deep mistrust for the written word. After all, writing forces you to think about what you’re saying and, once you start thinking, you aren’t going with your gut anymore. At a time when the phony cowboy ideals of the 1950s are sadly played out, a great many Americans cling to the idea that gut reactions, first impressions, and shooting from the hip are, ipso facto the only Truth.

“Land sakes,” drawls the stubbly-faced cowboy marketer, “don’t you fritter away yer time with none o’ that dang-blasted cogitatin’. Jes git them words out and git ‘er dun. Lordy, I reckon my secretary can type faster’n you.”

The distressing results of this approach are obvious to anyone who actually reads. Show of hands…you in the back…

“But nobody reads” says the bright-eyed Communications Major with the iPad velcroed to his T-shirt.

Git along little wordies!
Funny thing is, we spend an awful lot of time in this industry obsessing over words we swear no one will read. And gradually, I’ve come to realize that most advertising copy is birthed, reared and herded along with the express intent that it should go unread. Its only purpose is to serve as a patterned backdrop for an “ADD TO CART” button—though preferrably with a sprig of parlsey and a side of potatoes.

How does this happen? It starts with the premise that anything too definitive will alienate someone who, in all likelihood, will never visit the page. Hence, the unending stream of shapeless, lifeless marketing prose written in a dialect of English with no identifiable Time, Place, Culture, Gender or Fashion Sense.

Sure, it’s inoffensive; it’s also meaningless.
How does this happen? It begins when agencies make Process an article of faith. Simply develop a creative process, this belief-system promises, assign a project manager to manage it—and whatever results is Success. After all, it grows directly out of the process everyone validated.

Yet, I’ll wager, that process usually lacks any check points along the way—to ensure a project actually makes sense. Far from it. Sense, meaning and message are the very first casualties, as the wagon train of Process rumbles blindly on, giving equal weight to every scrap of “input.”

“Reckon my word’s as good as any around these parts.”

Snuggled cozily inside that wagon, people who can’t cobble together a single coherent sentence feel empowered. They’re only too eager to assess the relative “choppiness” of a paragraph, to evaluate its structure, coherence or flow. The fruits of this confused thinking—and feeling—about Copy are on display everywhere. And before you ask, here’s how it happened…

At this late date, many people are still confused about the relationship between words on a page and the message they want consumers to grasp. Putting too much stock in favorite catch phrases, or peculiar ideas about sentence structure, they miss the real task: Delivering a cogent answer to the question:

Why should I switch off Dancing with the Stars to buy your product?

Not that these issues don’t cross over into all other advertising media. Once, when I was writing a direct mail piece, a client insisted on two corrections to an otherwise utterly misguided project. The first was to change the phrase “Use the enclosed envelope…” to “Use the envelope enclosed.”

“No one can use an enclosed.” he smirked.

His second requirement was no less exacting. I was to change “See the coupon below…” to “See the below coupon…” because otherwise no one would know what coupon we were talking about—even though it was attached to the bottom of the letter.

So, while I couldn’t expect consumers to “use an enclosed.” I could expect them to “see a below.” And all the while my client was dithering about individual words, his competition was eating his sorry brand for lunch.

How did this happen? He was too preoccupied with words to say anything of value to consumers. Not that he wanted to. Like a typical cowboy marketer, he didn’t pay no never mind to communicatin’. He jes wanted to say stuff.

[December 2, 2010]

In mainstream American culture, when meeting a person for the first time, you reasonably expect a handshake or a wave and a ritual greeting.

From “how’s it going?” to “pleased to meet you,” a token greeting gives us a chance to process the heady rush of new input we receive from every fresh face. And though you may hover a bit longer in ritual space (“Love your outfit!”) the conversation is officially launched with both parties feeling safe and respected.

By analogy, a great many home pages remind me of people who skip the hellos and go straight to the details of their latest medical problem. Typical of this genre is DishNetwork.com. It greets consumers with a raggedy assemblage of jarring messages, each of which boils down to:

BUY MORE STUFF FROM US NOW!

And if the implied messaging weren’t unsettling enough, what the site says explicitly is hardly more welcoming. “Dish Network Gives You Something to Cheer About.” screams a prominent headline on 12-2-10.

Nebulous redundancies about “something.”
In fact, in the annals of advertising I doubt any word has proven less effective than “something.” If we’re to believe that brands have only seconds to capture attention, you’d think more people would realize the need for specifics. Yes, the line accompanies a stock photo of a family cheering a televised football game. But far from making that headline more specific, this photo only makes the headline more redundant. 

So, despite the cluttered fuss and bother on its home page, all DishNetwork manages to convey is that it offers TV shows in attractively-priced bundles. Without the benefit of a hot-tub time machine, I’m afraid this is not newsworthy information. Excitement? Engagement? Reason to Believe? Reason Not to Click Away? I don’t think so. 

Finally, after a long lag, the obligatory marquee slide show gets around to talking about “True Integration of Web and TV.” Hmm. Maybe I’ll go dial up Hulu or visit GoogleTV on my own.

Even allowing for the special requirements of a merchandising site, DishNetwork.com is a fiasco. I can’t imagine why anyone who wasn’t already sold on the product would be moved to try it after viewing this home page. Fortunately, for the general health of the digital marketing ecosystem, other brands walk the sell / brand tightrope more nimbly.

Specific revelations about you.
Existing in a niche near the opposite end of the spectrum, Clifbar.com comes much closer to striking that balance. With relatively simple means, Clifbar immerses visitors in the ambiance of the adventure travel experience. Without once saying “We have the energy bar you need to meet your energy bar needs,” it guides users efficiently through its quirky product line with sign posts grounded in the physical world.

More to the point, the site talks to its audience. I defy anyone not to feel the authenticity of its branded voice, one that is, nevertheless, carefully crafted to encapsulate an appealing worldview. Weaving in and out of traditional catalog/promotion-speak are flashes of character, the spirit of the site. 

That this character is also reflected in the brand’s ecological bent—and the modest effort it makes to have an impact—simply illustrates one of the unsung principles of better advertising: Great brands have better advertising because they have more substance and there’s simply more to advertise.

But even from the nuts and bolts perspective, the home page at Clifbar.com functions better than many. That’s because it draws niche visitors in with recognizable symbols from their own world. 

For this is a site that isn’t merely aimed at a target, it’s about that target, about its worldview, everyday experience and, most important, its dreamscape. In advertising, it’s never enough to give customers what they think they want. You also have to give them what you know they crave.

[November 27, 2010]

“Get lost in our legacy,” says the headline at Häggen-Dazs.com, on 11-27-10, above a video in the marquee area.

As I continue to think about the home page opportunity—to deliver a value message that engages, moves and motivates an audience—I can only shake my head at this self-involved execution. Worse, this mood-ring masquerading as an action statement focuses attention on the one thing most “digital natives” lack—a sense of historical perspective.

And yet the problems with this home page run deeper. Like many Web sites from major brands, its very existence is pro-forma. Trouble is, this ya-gotta-hava-webpage mentality short circuits the line of communication to consumers. What’s the underlying premise for this approach? I suspect it runs something like this:

“Because Häagen-Dazs is so familiar, it’s sufficient for the Web site to project branded imagery into digital space.”

Even silence is better than saying nothing.
But since when is Sufficiency a valid marketing strategy? In this case, this lifeless entity succeeds only in degrading the brand. In a world where, in theory, consumers now bypass traditional marketing channels, you’d think more brands would recognize a simple truth: Their digital face should be the defining, driving force of their communication strategy—not a pale offshoot that says, essentially, nothing.

What is there, for example, in the subhead “Serve up holiday joy” that would motivate consumers to buy Häagen-Dazs over another premium brand? What, in these difficult times, is there to motivate them to choose anypremium brand. Now, that’s leaving aside the embarrassingly formulaic copy itself:

Serve up holiday joy:
Find the perfect addition to your holiday dessert table.

One thing is certain. If I had $0.001 for every time a piece of catalog copy contained the phrase “perfect addition,” or “perfect complement,” or “perfect treat,” I could fill and refill a swimming pool with Häagen-Dazs every day of the week for the rest of my life. Worse, there isn’t a dessert item on the planet to which this copy couldn’t apply.

And don’t get me started on combining the culturally generic word “holiday” with the culturally specific image of holly leaves. I don’t know very many Chanukah celebrants who could relate to that image—but that’s a topic for another forum.

Blank billboard or relevant resource?
From this hyperlinked billboard, turn now to Kelloggs.com, for a home page created to deliver value to a wide audience. It is, in other words, a place of action and practical information that people can integrate into their lives in real time. And even though it’s fair to say the Kellogg’s product line lends itself to this approach in a way that Häagen-Dazs doesn’t, there’s still no reason for the latter’s Web presence to be so blank.

In contrast, Kellogg’s greets visitors with a wide array of recipes that prove Kellogg’s is not just for breakfast anymore. How do they do it? By going beyond product hawking and taking ownership of family-friendly nutrition. I’ll leave it to nutritionists to determine the actual food value of the recipes found here but, from a messaging stand point, that value is clear.

Using relatively straight-forward means, Kellogg’s expands the meaning of and enriches the story behind the familiar red letters. “Kellogg’s products,” the home page clearly says, “add fun, flavor and family to special occasions and everyday meals.” That it does so without a flat-footed, literal headline (“Kellogg’s: Where America Comes Together for Fun, Flavor and Family”) is the surest sign someone over there knows the difference between Positioning, Message and Copy.

It is, fundamentally, a home page that works hard for you. Assuming Kellogg’s has the wisdom to develop a carefully thought out editorial calendar, the site is now something more than an entry into digital space. It is, in the words of at least one deep thinker on the topic of branding, a “brand extension:” a Kellogg’s product in its own rite.

As my quixotic quest for the perfect home page continues, I’m sure I’ll live through many ups and downs. But unlike the man of La Mancha, I know the windmills I encounter on my quest need not frighten me. That is, unless their product home pages look anything like this.

[November 19, 2010]

In the lore of digital marketing, “home page” is one of those generic phrases we toss around 1000 times a day. Like a well-worn sofa we hardly notice anymore, it’s so cozily comfortable we’re oblivious to the frayed edges and coffee stains that only make it an eyesore when we’re expecting company. Only then does the fancy blanket come out of the cedar chest, as we desperately fuss and fidget to make the cushions more presentable.

Trouble is, when your branded home page is in disarray, last minute touch-ups are not an option. So it might be wise to rethink your digital decor, starting with a close look at what other brands are wearing this season.

Take, for example, the home page of Nike.com, the hub of a masterful branding network. “Freedom for your feet” the page proclaims, as of 11-19-10, enticing us with the prospect of cool comfort and sporty utility.

Teamwork in action.
Speaking as someone with a textbook case of sports-aphasia simplex, the magic is surprisingly effective. Lucid navigation, artful color scheme and blessedly understated sports imagery collaborate to launch visitors into a charismatic world of vivid emotion. 

As I see it, several forces combine to make it work, one of which has nothing to do with digital space. For Nike arrives online from one of the most effective offline branding efforts in history. Talk about category redefining, paradigm shifting and concept reframing—no one does it better.

At the same time, there’s plenty in the on-screen arena that contributes to the success of this page. Both literally and subliminally, Nike.com has a distinct personality. While there might be things you don’t like about that personality, at least you know who you’re dealing with. 

That’s because all elements of the visual and verbal vocabulary work toward the same goal. The result is something beyond the powers of mere branding. The Nike home page actually communicates—sending an unmistakable message of excitement, energy and fulfillment.

To me, that’s what branding means, the ability to create such a vivid personality that it can be, well, seductive. Capture that quality on a home page and you can sell anything or, at least, capture enough interest to ensure an interior page seals the deal.

Hub or “Huh?”
On the other hand, there’s Breyers.com. Now, in the interest of transparency, let me say that if anyone epitomizes the target audience for ice cream, it’s me. Yet even I realize that its home page, despite a superficial appeal, is a cluttered array of mixed messages. Once I get past the simulated hot fudge, here’s a summary of the chatter that divides my attention:

• Whose Sundae Took the Cup?
• Delicious. Decadent 160 Calories or Less
• Ice Cream Recipes!
• Play Wordalicious! (YUM)

While the first line relates to a cross promotion with “Top Chef” I’m not familiar with, the remaining lines appear on modules linking to internal pages. What’s the problem? So far, all I know is that Breyers makes ice cream as opposed to, say, tractors.

But wait, there’s more! Your browser’s refresh button takes you to a version of the home page with a different marquee image, and the headline:

We know it’s tempting…but please don’t lick your monitor.

OK, that’s cute, but now all I know is that Breyers makes delicious ice cream—which, if you’re like me, is a redundant thought. Click again and…

Brownie Heaven. Chocolate Bliss.

And again…

Discover the taste of joy.
It’s in every scoop of Breyers All Natural Ice Cream.

What a workout, but at least we’re getting somewhere. Breyers makes all natural ice cream, with the implication that the naturalness is what generates the bliss, the joy and the trip to heaven. Not that the home page(s) actually make that link for you, unless you’ve already seen Breyers’ offline traditional advertising. And, as we’re now told incessantly, nobody looks at that.

Opportunity melts…
So despite three attempts, I still haven’t heard Breyers’ message. If I’m tempted to start my next post with a visit to Häagen-Daz, I promise it has nothing to do with my obsession with frozen desserts. It’s because there’s more to say about the opportunity a home page offers to present a seductive, motivating brand message.

[November 12, 2010]

Somewhere in the deep recesses of our digital past, it became common to refer to Web structure as “architecture.” In general terms, the analogy works. Site maps, wire frames and content outlines do incorporate some aspects of an architectural blueprint. On the other hand, while materials science and the law of gravity require architects to deal with structural stress and weight distribution, there’s no real parallel in Web design.

But considering the impact that relative content density has on the utility and popularity of a Web site, I think it’s time we started using such load-bearing logic in our own work, especially when mapping out interior pages.

Self-fulfilling wisdom.
Otherwise, we’ll continue to offer users the kind of experience that drives small-sample qualitative analysts mad with glee (“See, I told you no one reads online!”). Now, while I’m sure that Web design has not yet reached full maturity as a discipline, I can’t accept the blanket statement, “people have trouble reading Web pages.”

At the very least, we have to ask what “people” and what “pages” that statement refers too. So far, all that emerges from the reams of data on this topic is that most Web pages aren’t designed to encourage reading—and don’t take into account the way we use language to communicate (Hint: It has nothing to do with bullet points.).

And that brings me back to the false analogy we make between architecture, the field, and architecture, the collection of vague work rules we use to build a Web site. Yes, I know there are now library shelves full of books on IA, but the mere presence of professional literature does not a discipline make. For that you need vision; as things stand today, we barely have one eye open.

That’s not to say our IA specialists are falling down on the job. I’ve rarely met one who wasn’t passionately devoted to doing things right. But the task assigned to them is simply too limited as it is for most Web designers.

Flatland, revisited.
As I see it, those limitations are most clearly expressed in the flat, linear way most Web sites are conceived. Just the phrase “Web page” is itself a sign of the malaise. Far from being architecture, the end result of six to eight months of work on a medium-sized site resembles a charm bracelet—a random slotting together of modular units, whose thin chain of navigational links is their only claim to coherence.

True architecture, however, is not linear. It’s the creation of an environment and, in the best instances, a human-made ecology. And long before I’ll be ready to believe that people turn into a different species when the go online, I’d have to see what would happen if we served them Web sites that create a coherent environment, built on a human scale.

Without that test, I can’t take seriously the endless parade of articles describing the amazing metamorphosis consumers undergo when they go online. In fact, one is told, consumers mutate into a species unable to read, a species with congenital ADHD, and a species with a radically foreshortened perception of psychological time. But even though I’m a great fan of Kafka, I’m just not buying it.

Take a walk in the 3rd dimension.
What’s the solution in hard-nosed practical terms? Well, there is no simple, one-dimensional answer, because I’m not talking about revising the Best Practices Manual. What’s needed is for everyone involved to look up from their spreadsheets and start re-imagining the entire task.

That way, instead of bemoaning users’ lack of interest in our fabulous content, we can get to the root of what’s making them click away. I’m willing to bet the click-away impulse is nothing more than a homing instinct, the insatiable urge to find a habitable living space for their ideas, their aspirations, and their daily accumulation of factoids.

What is there about true architecture that would inspire people to hang out with you longer in digital space? Imagine if your home page welcomed your audience into a space like this.

[November 6, 2010]

Despite the widespread use of the term “target audience,” most discussion of the audience for a branded communication tends to be fairly generic. Even the tired device of assigning persona names to market segments—”Sally Savvy” or “Andy Anxious”—usually encapsulates only a smaller subset of the generalized generalizations that lie at the core of marketing theory.

Who do we think these people are, exactly? If they’re anything like the people you actually deal with, I’d like to suggest they’re a tad more layered than that.

This Mr. Potato Head view of individuals—as interchangeable variations on a basic theme—is the product of today’s Incredible Shrinking Budget for common sense. Not that it’s hard to understand its appeal. Radical oversimplification makes marketing easier, faster and cheaper. Besides, it’s backed by science.

Taking aim and missing…
Nowhere is the modular view of humanity more apparent than in pharma copy, where, often on a page-by-page basis, marketers reconfigure their audience model to fit the exigencies of the moment. Got a high science point to make? No problem, it’s something everyone can understand, provided we provide a parenthetical user-friendly definition:

JANUVIA should not be used in patients with type 1 diabetes or with diabetic ketoacidosis (increased ketones in the blood or urine). If you have had pancreatitis (inflammation of the pancreas), it is not known if you have a higher chance of getting it while taking JANUVIA.

“Ketones?” My father was a chemist and a chemistry teacher, but do you think I remember what a ketone is? It might as well say “Keystone Kops.” And this from an industry that clearly believes everyone in all 50 states develops temporary ADHD whenever they go online.

And what are we to make of the following passage from the Plavix consumer site?

PLAVIX, taken with aspirin, is also recommended for people who have Acute Coronary Syndrome (ACS), a diagnosis that includes heart-related chest pain (unstable angina) and the 2 types of heart attack—acute ST-segment elevation myocardial infarction (“STEMI”) and non-ST-segment elevation myocardial infarction (“NSTEMI”). If you have been hospitalized with heart-related chest pain (unstable angina) or had a STEMI heart attack, you, too, are at a higher risk for dangerous blood clots and a future heart attack or stroke.

Engaging, no? On the face of it, I can only assume the target persona for this kind of copy is “Stan from Stanford Medical Center.” He’s surely the only consumer I can imagine saying “non-ST-segment elevation myocardial infarction” over his Cocoa Krispies in the morning.

…an imaginary nation of medical students.
Obviously, I wasn’t in the room when these decisions were made. But, at the very least, this message might have been staged more effectively. If regulatory requirements demand such a statement appear somewhere on the site, a plain language summary ought to have been included in a side bar.

Otherwise, who is this site for?

In its current form, the most this kind of Web site can do is give someone with heart problems a case of agina. Sure, there are Americans who can parse out the meaning of the Plavix paragraph, but how many?

As I see it, thoughtless reliance on statistics has kept pharma marketers from using their own eyes and ears. I mean, if so many Americans understood complex medical concepts, “ObamaCare” would have passed without a whisper. I doubt anyone comfortable with the science behind NSTEMI would have bought all that despicable nonsense about “death panels.” Fact is, and the evidence is everywhere, science literacy in this country is sinking like a stone.

Pointing dollars in a better direction.
So I ask again, and as someone caught up in this very marketing vortex: Who is the consumer-pharma-advertising sector talking to?

If this is the only way drug companies know to talk to consumers, I can’t help wondering if the money invested in pharma marketing is, after all, a waste. Far better to focus those dollars on humanitarian efforts around the world and let the results speak for themselves about the integrity and value of each pharma brand.

[October 29, 2010]

Glossy print lifestyle magazines are a languorous holdover from what we laughably call “a simpler time.” Before the wide distribution of Color TV, the ambiance created by luscious splashes of color, the artistic selection of type fonts and the careful juxtaposition of retouched photos helped many a middle-class American oooh and aaah themselves to sleep after a hard day in what we laughably call “the real world.”

Yet today, the digital heirs of these glossy rags show no awareness of ambiance or its impact. Take a quick look at RealSimple.com and see how the utter lack of unity creates a free-for-all of disorienting clashes. Yeah, I get the part about the navigation arranged in neat little bars at the top, not to mention the category-verifying-rollover-slide-down menus. It’s as neat and tidy as a California closet on a Sunday afternoon in March.

But let me be the first to point out that mere orderliness is a poor substitute for high level organization.

Fact is, there’s no relationship between the article titles and their placement, size or weight on the page. In the absence of a thematic, unifying ambiance (“pastel” is not a theme), the home page resembles a pajama-party scrap book far more than a captivating, motivating environment. At best it feeds off the expectation created by the magazine’s offline version.

Engagement amongst the ruins?
Sure, someone has worked hard to dig out tidbits of cozy couture and household hedonism but where’s the big picture—and what’s there to revel in? Clicking through these pages it’s hard not to feel like a hapless scavenger from another era.

Strewn in amongst a random stack of stills, there’s a dissociated rubble of empty phrases, whose only reason for living is to avoid giving offense. And since none of the design elements convey any subliminal content of their own, let alone emotional context for the text, all I find here is page after page of tips and catalog copy, delivered for the most part without humor, point-of-view, wisdom or any other human attribute users might actually value.

Yes, there are articles, and yes, some present a snapshot POV on a targeted topic. But like every other element of the site, they appear behind glass, gem-like, siloed with no cumulative effect.

“Soft goat cheese is lower in lactose than cow’s-milk cheeses,” we learn in a self-contained snippet under Diet & Nutrition. I didn’t know that. Maybe it will help me the next time I’m engaged in conflict resolution.

OK, maybe you think I’m just not womanly enough to appreciate Real Simple.com. Well, there are solid grounds for that assumption, and I’ll thank you to keep that in mind. But let’s have a look at MensJournal.com and see if I can connect any better over there.

Hmm. Same problem, just uglier: Box after box of article lead-ins and, like RealSimple.com, no video, no animation, no data feeds, nothing to justify the creation of an online counterpart to the print experience.

Now, as it happens, during the course of what I laughably call “my career,” I’ve actually spent quite a few hours paging through the print version of Real Simple and I have to say it comes pretty close to being an aesthetic experience. Offline, several complex processes come together to create an airy, peaceful feel that makes even my spartan taste buds dream of a dreamier life.

But digital space, if you don’t mind my saying so, is a different medium, requiring more than the literal transfer of a print-based design strategy. 

Stuffed with content! (Digital taxidermy?)
But considering I’m not the target audience for RealSimple.com, why do I care? Because it raises issues I find relevant across all online genres. I’m talking about the nearly universal adoption of a “design-and-fill” strategy for digital production. Leaving aside the fact that much of the design is atrocious, this approach grows out of a failure to grasp a key principle of communication:

Everything you present to consumers is content.

Whether it’s word, font, color, texture, photo, video or illustration—all of it says something to your audience, and all of it must stay on message. So before building text blocks, downloading design templates and choosing an open source CMS, stop yourself. Later for the Ajax conversation, Dude. Great Web sites are created, not constructed.

That means you first have to know what you want to say and and, by the way, why you want to say it. Nail that down and the rest will follow naturally, provided you’ve spent your money wisely—on limitless talent, not endless PowerPoint presentations.

In the case of RealSimple.com, MarthaStewart.com, MensJournal.com, or hundreds of others, the design elements exist solely to allow users access to text that is…well don’t get me started.

Because long before you should worry about your Web presence at the nerdy-wordy level, you need a clear message platform. Skip that step and your whole enterprise will descend to the level of its most trivial components, as in “10 Silly Halloween Costumes for Pets.” Tell me, Oh Hip. Savvy and Sagacious Editor: Is that your brand?

[October 22, 2010]

“On paper,” the premise underlying search engine optimization is sound enough. By now, at least in some quarters, it’s axiomatic that people are far more responsive to information they obtain through search engines than information they receive via “traditional media.” How much of that search activity is driven by subliminal awareness is probably too hard to measure, but I suspect it’s more than many a digital guru is willing to admit. 

But, for the moment, let’s take it as given that “nobody” pays attention to straight-up TV tube advertising anymore, even if every year, there’s nearly as much social chatter about Super Bowl ads as there is about the Super Bowl itself. If we accept that premise, it follows we necessarily buy into the idea that digital content needs the be developed under the watchful eye of an SEO consultant, to ensure it achieves optimal page ranking and link volume on top results pages. 

Tagging along with that is the process of metadata tagging, writing those cheery little phrases that live and die in the netherworld of digital source code. Yet, the crowning glory of SEO magic is its deft editing of page content. In some companies, consultants sweep in with a list of keywords to punch, based on the topic, generalized audience research and “learnings” about how people search.

Now, I understand the logic of this, but can’t shake my lingering concern: 

What does it matter how many people arrive at your Web presence—if they’re greeted with buzz-wordy content that reads like a cross between a Hallmark greeting card and yesterday’s issue of USA Today? After all, the most important thing about “targeting” is actually hitting the target. 

As I see it, the more “social writing” dominates the consciousness of American consumers, the more the contour and content of your content needs to be far more loose- limbed than any statistical approach could hope to achieve. That is, unless you believe consumers can’t tell the difference between a Wal-Mart circular and a drunk text message. 

Shedding light…
But OK, I have a bias. I want everyone involved in evaluating content to back off and let the creatives you’re paying a salary to actually pursue their craft. If you believe your copy team isn’t talented enough to grab and hold your customer’s attention without leaning on pseudo-science, it’s time you either fired your HR department or fired yourself. 

At the very least, take the money you’re spending on consultants and hire a real copywriter, someone who could, say, actually motivate people to check out a complete line of energy efficient light bulbs. In the case of one randomly selected light bulb product site, the copy might be search engine friendly, but it’s otherwise so unfriendly that only someone who’s already “sold” would be likely to buy.

Whatever might be optimized at this site, it’s not the content. And if you think I’m stacking the deck with an example from the digital backwaters here’s what’s happening on the Web hub of a major brand:

GE is imagination at work. From jet engines to power generation, financial services to water processing, and medical imaging to media content, GE people worldwide are dedicated to turning imaginative ideas into leading products and services that help solve some of the world’s toughest problems.

…or dim bulbs?
Hello? Every day there’s another book about how corporations need to get with the social media program, yet the most important aspect of social media, the vitality and spontaneity of its content, is exactly what’s getting ignored. Sure, I don’t expect GE to mimic the diction of Shmitty, McFunkle and Stump, but you already know what’s wrong with this picture: “Leading products and services?” “Dedicated?” 

To me, the saddest part of this is that the engineers at GE are undoubtedly some of the most imaginative people on the planet. But from the look and feel of their digital presence…well, I don’t think I’ll be inviting them to my next rave party. 

Please. In an era as technologically advanced as ours, it’s past the time when we should be able to distinguish betweeb what’s best left to quantitative analysis—and what can only be crafted by talent and an ear for what rings true. Is the GE home page optimized? Maybe, but only for someone like Dr. Evil, recently thawed out from a bygone era.