A change is as good as a stomped-on cliche

Right.  That's it.  I'm off.

Well, OK, not really off; just transferring this blog over to a new address on the FC website.

The new location for rants, ramblings and general observations is www.freemanchristie.com.

Same stuff, different address.

See you there. 

Creativity, old ships and bossy little notices

Last Sunday I visited the Portsmouth Historic Dockyard.  What a great place - and not just from a communications point of view either.  I spent hours wandering around HMS Victory, thinking that no matter how bad things get in agency life, at least I'm not likely to end up on the orlop deck getting bits hacked off by a bloke with dirty hands in an unwashed coat, stiffened with dried blood.  I visited the Nelson Museum and learned that Nelson used to invite his officers round for supper to get them to understand his strategy (a lesson there, I think).  And I visited the Submarine Museum in Gosport too - which has to be one of the least slick and, as a consequence, best, most alive museums I've ever visited.  Go and see it - it's well worth the trip.

The notice you see above captivated me though.  It was just inside the Royal Navy Museum.  Most places - being staffed by people who aren't creative because they've never been told that EVERY job is creative - sling up the standard dull little notice "uneven floor".  Not the Historic Dockyard.  They found a way to use creativity to make a potentially dull notice interesting, educational and engaging.  It made my day - just to see some creative thinking in action, not being strangled by some pointy-headed pen-pusher and there, on display, for everyone to see.

Imagine if your bank started doing this... and using your statement to explain a bit about personal finance in a non-preachy, non-pompous way.  Imagine if the letter from the garage telling you your car is due a service was a bit more creative and offered you a choice of vehicles to test-drive while yours was on the ramp?  How about if the restaurant you visited used the bill to give you a neat cooking tip or a recipe or a wine to match with food?

There are SO many opportunities to take the dull, the everyday, the boring communications and make them interesting.

Go on - dare you.

A wristwatch with a tuning fork - and proper copy

To say I have a fondness for wristwatches is a little like saying Herod would have made a relatively poor babysitter. I've got a drawer full of them, ranging from an obscure, swan-neck escapement Zenith I picked up for beans on Fleabay to a Breitling that tells me the time in three different solar systems. But one of my favourites is the one you see above - a mint 1964 Series 214 Bulova Accutron Spaceview.

They're clever watches, Accutrons. Bulova replaced the oscillations of the balance wheel with those from a tiny tuning fork. That means they're more accurate than watches with balance wheels. My watch hums away at around 360Hz (incidentally, the lowest "A" in baroque pitch - modern "A" is 440Hz) and keeps excellent time.

The Accutron was the first watch to run a high-frequency movement, and really started the watchmaking world on the path that led to accuracy of quartz crystal watches.

So what's all this got to do with branding and advertising?

Well, apart from allowing me to be self-indulgent, Bulova produced some of the best watch ads ever. Proper, well thought-through long-copy ads that really sold. There are a whole range of them at this cracking website.

I mean - look at this trade ad, targeted at jewellers who were cynical and sceptical about the new, battery-powered watches - here

What a great ad - using hard, factual information to drive a selling proposition. Wonderful.

Here's another ad that's targeted at the best advocates of all, watch repairers.

But it wasn't just trade ads, the consumer ads were gems. Look at this one - it was a theme Rolex were to use again and again in their 1970s ads.

These are all ads based firmly in fact, with no bull and no waffle - just clear, informed selling copy. Ads like these are rare enough today - which is odd, given the technical advances so many products have made. One would think there was MORE to talk about rather than less.

But either way, it's rather pleasant to find I love the ads as much as the product.

Hyperbole

It's a nasty disease, hyperbole. Unfortunately, many agencies seem to suffer from it - and badly too.

Here's a little example I found earlier today:

With XXXX, you know you are getting the customised product that suits your requirements with the highest level of service.

Well, apart from the cliche-generator button having been hit a little too often, it's not believable. "The highest level of service"? Really? Sooooo, I can expect to call the MD and get him to personally courier over my widget in half an hour?

No?

It's hardly "the highest level of service" then, is it?

What you mean is that "we're competent, won't screw up your order too often and you can have it Wednesday." Yes?

OK. So why not say that? How about this instead:

"Just give us a call, tell us exactly what you want and we'll make sure your widget arrives in 24 hours - or sooner if we can."

Isn't that a little friendlier, more honest and easier to read?

But finding out from the client that they offer a 24 hour delivery (substantiating the claim) is beneath some writers. So, instead, they're lazy and go for hyperbole.

Why not spend a bit more time with the client, find out the details of what they do and tell people? It's a lot more powerful than hitting that bullshit button again, isn't it?

It's terminal

Apparently, according to BA's new advertising campaign, "Terminal 5 is working".

That's good. It's handy when things work. In fact, it's a bit more than that, isn't it? It's a downright prerequisite.

Imagine, there you are, hurtling down the runway, the co-pilot about to give the command "rotate", and a little light comes on in the passenger cabin. It says "Your 777 is working."

Is it just me, or does that message not fill you with reassurance?

In the same way, being told that Terminal 5 is working doesn't really make me think all is well. I know there were some teething problems (if you can call sending baggage for Bristol to Bogota a teething problem), but I thought things were running pretty well down there now. Until that ad told me "Terminal 5 is working". Now I'm not so sure.

You see, it's a bit like coming home to your significant other and saying, "Hi darling, I didn't spend this afternoon in a suite at Claridge's with several bottles of champagne and my secretary. How was your day?" It raises rather more questions than it answers.

Anyone else remember the wonderful British Rail campaign in 1985? It had the tag line "we're getting there". Of course, no-one believed it because BR wasn't getting anywhere. But at least it had the virtue of humility, an admission that they had screwed up before and were trying.

"Terminal 5 is working" doesn't even have that - it's another example of a corporation believing the public are easily duped. They're not - far from it. It's a bit of a shame - the ad concept with its live time updates on baggage and people is a gem. It's a wonderfully simple, creative way of getting the REAL point over. The point that yes, we made a right arse of ourselves on Day 1, but now we're back in control and it's all OK.

A simple, powerful idea that's almost completely shot out of the air by the tagline. Shame.

An allegory...

Opens on a car showroom. Plate glass and polished metal abound. Sun gleams from the paintwork of this year’s new models as the doors sigh open to admit an expensively-suited man. He walks to the nearest desk, where a salesman stands up, shakes his hand and offers him a seat.

“I think I’d like to buy a car.” says the man.

“Well, you’re in the right place... we’ve got lots of cars,” says the salesman, “What sort of thing are you looking for?”

“I don’t really know,” the man replies, “but I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Not a problem, sir, we’re used to helping people who aren’t too sure. How much do you want to spend?”

“Ah - that’s the thing,” says the man, “We don’t have any money - you car salesmen are always so expensive.”

“You don’t have any money, but you want to buy a car?” the salesman asks, a little incredulous.

“Well, not really,” says the man. “I mean, we’ve got some money, but not very much. But I can’t tell you how much, can I?”

“Right. I see,” the salesman says, “you’re on a budget. That’s, um, fine. Just give me an idea of broadly how much you’d like to spend.”

The man says, “well, that’s the thing - we can’t tell you how much or you’ll just sell us the most expensive one we can afford, won’t you?”

The salesman draws himself up in his chair and straightens his tie. “Sir. We’ve been here for twenty years. We’ve sold more than ten thousand cars. Our customers come back time and again to do business with us. We’ve never had a complaint. No matter how much you have or don’t have, we can find a car that will suit you.”

The suited man thinks for a second and asks, ”OK, how much will it cost then?”

The salesman rolls his eyes a bit, coughs and starts again. “OK, we’ve got 150 cars we could sell you. They’re all quite nice. But we need to know what you’ve got to spend so I can show you which one’s best for you - I can’t just sell you any old car - that wouldn’t be right.”

The man looks puzzled for a bit, then says. “We need something that does lots of miles to the gallon, 0-60 in under 6 seconds, seats at least five, goes really fast and is easy for my wife to park!”

“Bit of a challenge, but I think we can do it. I’d recommend our new R567i Granleo. Absolutely beautiful bit of kit, Sir. Here’s one in Hoobie Blue.”

“Nah - don’t like blue.” says the man.

“Fine,” says the salesman, through only slightly gritted teeth, “we have it black, green and puce too. Any of those any good to you?”

“Hmm,” replies the man, “might be. How much is it?”

“The 567i Granleo, Sir? That’s £18,950 - £19,000 with leather.”

“HOW MUCH?!!!” exclaims the man, “That’s insane - we don’t have that sort of money! How are we supposed to afford that? Haven’t you got anything cheaper?”

The salesman picks up his coffee mug and peers despairingly into its depths.
“Yes, but that’s the only car that fits what you asked for, Sir”

“You car dealers are always so difficult,“ says the man, clearly exasperated as he picks up the phone on the salesman’s desk.

“I suppose it’ll do, but I’ll have to check with my wife that it’s OK. Can you leave me to call her now - thanks.” The man waves the salesman away.

The salesman picks up his coffee mug, walks to the espresso machine and makes himself a very large one. Then, reluctantly, walks back to his desk.

“My wife says it sounds OK, but can we get a horse in the back?” asks the man.
“What?” the salesman replies.

“...and I need it in green, with alcantra seats, a dog basket and a gun turret on the roof.”

“Oh yes, and by Wednesday.”

The salesman sites down heavily and puts his head in his hands.

“Right,” he says, wearily. “Let me see what we can do.”

An allegory continued...

A week later, the doors again hiss open and the man in the suit walks in. This time, he has his wife with him. The salesman sees them coming, checks in vain for any colleagues and realises - despairingly - that he’s alone.

“Morning, Sir.” the salesman says, mustering some enthusiasm from the depths of his soul.

“Morning,” says the man, “this is my wife. She’s the one who really makes the decisions round here.”

The salesman and the man’s wife shake hands, sitting down across the desk from each other.

“Right.” says the wife, “About this car...”

“Ah yes,” our hero responds, “the car. It’s here - I’m just having it brought round for you. The mechanics have been working on it all week to get it ready. All we need to do now is sort out how you’d like to pay.”

“Pay?!” she says. “What do you mean, “pay”? We wanted to make sure it was right for us first, before we bought it. I mean, we’ve got three other cars we’re trying out at the moment before we make a decision.”

“Right. So we’ve spent a week working solidly to get your car prepared as you wanted, now you’re telling me you have three others to try out and you don’t want to pay for it anyway?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she says, nodding, with a smile, “you prepare the car the way we asked, then we drive it around to see if we like it. If we like it, we might buy it - but it really depends on how much we’ve got after finishing building the conservatory.”

The salesman stares at her, blankly. “OK, you want a test drive, yes?” he asks.

“Oh no,” says the man, “we want you to build the car to our specification, then we drive it around for a bit along with three other cars we’re trying out. Then, after three months, we might buy it.”

“...if we’ve got enough after the conservatory, darling.” the wife adds.

The salesman - who needs to pay the rent on his showroom, his staff’s salaries and the taxman his ever-expanding wedge, quietly walks to the doors and turns the sign round to read “Closed”. Then, he walks out of the showroom to find a nice, quiet, stress-free job in bomb-disposal.