The ADD-ification of America. 

One of the biggest cultural phenomena in America today is what I call ADD-ification. We all have attention deficit disorder.  We can’t sit still and we’re always in a hurry.  When was the last time you drove your car without some form of entertainment — using the time to think?  Thought so. 

Newspaper stories have gotten shorter, the chapters in our novels can be measured in paragraphs not pages, our meals come in microwavable packages, we even beep at people who sit at traffic lights for more than 5 seconds.  Why?  Because we’re in a hurry. 

How many advertising or branding briefs today are predicated on the insight that we are all pressed for time?  I certainly have written a few. 

Stress is at an all-time high I would imagine, but with the right meds, we can get by.  But hurry, the pharmacy closes at ten!  

(I’ll be off for a few days, see you Tuesday.)

Tags: ADD, Marketing

Junk in the trunk.

Crispin Porter is a good ad agency.  That said, I’ve often wondered whether they can represent large consumer brands in a way that actually grows and sustains business.  I’m not alone.  They have taken some heat in the press and had high profile account losses.

This past weekend, though, they ran a Volkswagen Jetta ad in the New York Times and it was “terrific.”  Sitting beneath the traditional silhouetted car photo – the traditional layout from years past – was the headline “Junk in the Trunk.”  I couldn’t pass it by.  Expecting to read about extra trunk space, I was surprised to find out all about Jetta’s extra features. 

I know Crispin is a great media company and that they conceive startling creative, but maybe they should just sit the creative teams down and ask everyone to hone their print advertising skills.  Our business is not only about being inventive, it’s about learning how to “sell.”  This may be a good place for them to recharge their batteries.   

Tags: Cripsin Porter, Volkswagen, Jetta, New York Times

Obfuscation or planned confusion?

So, I’m reading the New York Times over the weekend and I hit upon a sentence that causes me to vigorously shake my head to clear out the cob webs.  I read it again and again and still couldn’t wend my way though it’s mash-up of double and triple negatives.  Here it is:

“…he opposes (first negative) a ban (second negative) only if it failed (third) to include an exception (fourth) to protect the life of the mother.”

When they write this stuff, are they smiling?

This type of obtusion (Is that a word? It should be.) is what keeps people from reading.  Have you ever, I mean ever, read a user license agreement on a Web site?  Or read a prospectus?  How about an annual report financial section?  Is obfuscation a cottage industry?  (Tax preparation, is no doubt a billion dollar business.)

I’m not for dumbing down the written word, or journalists writing to a 6^th grade reading level, but come on people.  Can’t we all just try to communicate a little better?

Where’s the middle?

Social computing has grown in many directions: social networks, social media, personal homes pages, start pages, just to name a few. There seems to be a crazy gravitational force developing, though, that is pulling everyone toward the middle. Those who have stuck to their core technology and/or mission have reaped the biggest revenue benefit. eBay is still tight. Google is tight. Flickr is tight. YouTube and MySpace are tight. But even these companies are beginning to look beyond their missions. They want more pie and they are greedily pursuing it. 

The more they target competitor’s customers and develop competitive functionality, the more they lose focus and differentiation. They are all moving toward the middle. What will we call the middle? How will consumers describe the middle?

Will every main social computing company have so much pie on their face that they become unsightly? Will all those cherries and blueberries and peaches and custards and apples turn into one brown sticky mess?

Billy Bob Thornton’s “Uhhh huhh” comes to mind.

Simpler times.

Imagine a time in the 1700s when America’s green tea came from a single company with two ships sailing back and forth to China.  Following a 7-month sail, the green tea arrived in lower Manahattan, was offloaded and brought by horse drawn wagon over bumpy cobblestones to a warehouse near Wall Street at which time the shipping barrels were broken open and the tea transferred to smaller dry casks for shipment to points north, south and west.

After stops at two more transportation points, a barge ride, and a jaunt in a rain-soaked buckboard wagon, the green tea arrives at the local mercantile.  Taken out of its wooden  cask, smelling oh so rich by the way, it is then put into 3 glass jars with metal claps and cloth seals.

You, the store proprietor, must charge $.75 for a half pound of the green tea in order to make a little money, which is quite a high price when considering sugar is $.08 and flour is $.04 a pound.  Here in Bumpus Mills, MO green tea is a relatively unknown luxury, and perhaps the most expensive product in the store on a cost per pound basis.  Which promotional route do you go?  Point-of-sale?  Or word-of-mouth?

When is funny not funny?

Was there one Super Bowl commercial  (Am I allowed to use the word Super Bowl without paying a licensing fee?) that wasn’t designed to make people laugh? It seemed that every marketer cared only about creating a humorous imprint on consumers rather than selling a little product. Don’t get me wrong, I love humor. But in the comedy club that has become the Super Bowl I’m afraid consumers are beginning to judge the work, rather than respond to it. The messages are getting lost in the humor. 

The ad I remember most over the last couple of Super Bowls was the one in which soldiers returning home from Iraq were met with spontaneous applause in the airport. That was powerful. And though I’m not 100% sure it was Budweiser, I’m going to give them credit. While I’m giving Bud (not Bud Light) credit, I’m going to like them a little more as a company, albeit not in any thirst-quenching manner. 

On what is supposed to be advertising’s finest day, I think we’re losing our way.