A lot of ad people come to me with their problems. Some naively cling to the belief that they can prosper sans my advice. Eventually, every one of them ends up calling me late in the evening. This is despite knowing that I put my phone on “do not disturb” mode from 10 PM until dawn. That doesn’t dissuade the pestering little guys from sending tedious text messages, riddled with spelling errors and emojis, praying I break my nighttime communication prohibition. The gist of their queries is usually the same: what do people want out of huge brands?
Like all things, I choose to take it extremely personally. They are calling me, after all. One day, in an early morning haze, I had a momentary epiphany. I know what brands want. Brands do not represent a diverse set of interests, hoping to appeal to a broad base of support. They don’t just “do shoes” – whatever that means. Consumers – smart ones, anyway – wish to see their brands as friends. Ones who annoy, who hound, who are “there for you” when others are not.
Maybe they’ll even pick up the phone and give you a ring after hours, simply to check in and bend your ear lobe a bit. That’s what’s missing in advertising and marketing – intimacy. While I may view a targeted banner ad on my favorite website as speaking directly to me, it quite different from Mr. Phil Knight of Nike calling my home at 2:30 in the morning. In my home where my wife sleeps, where my imaginary friends come and play with their toys. I don’t have to wonder if that’s personal – he’s saying my name, he’s wishing me a buona fortuna, and inquiring about a long, dead dog of mine. That’s what people want.
We want to be heard. We need to be heard. And TV commercials are too broad for anyone to identify with the story. The cute thirty seconds are clearly speaking to millions of people. Not good enough. Adults want to cuddle up to brands, playing that stupid beach paddleball game, for which there is no definitive way to win. It’s a game only picks losers.
Ideally, brands aren’t merely good additions to your life – they are substitutes. Who needs real friends when the fine folks at Coca-Cola and Verizon are oiling you up on a daily basis? Brands understand people in ways people can’t. They have enormous budgets and focus groups, thousands of employees with you in mind. They rely on bulletin boards plastered with your photographs to get a sense of who you are. There are countless pushpins and yarn connecting your passions to your problems and everything in between. When they're done, they'll know you better than your parents. Your friend Dave might remember your birthday if you remind him enough. Yet he’s always sending you short Martin Short videos when any halfway attentive pal would know Marin Lawrence is your true comic hero.
Give the people what they want. Phones ringing off the hook, doorbells ringing off the knob, emails ringing off the desk. When you see a brand, you don’t see a gigantic company with stuffy boardrooms and the random foosball table tucked into an open office space. You see a friend with the same hobbies and issues. Brands aren’t a reflection of society. They are a reflection of you. And it’s why every brand ought to sell mirrors.
Like what you see?
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