"The meek shall inherit squat."

Sermon From the Mount

February 26, 2010

Real Branding Hurts*

There are hundreds of definitions for branding. There are even dozens of good ones.

The difference is, in marketing, it's the brander who hurts instead of the brandee.

The difference is, in marketing, it's the brander who hurts instead of the brandee.

For the moment, let’s consider this one:

Branding is the process of making one company’s products distinct from similar products offered by competitive companies.

Sure, it’s overly simplistic but let’s go with it for now.

Just as there are hundreds of definitions for branding, there are hundreds of ways to make one product distinct from another. We can invent distinctive, new features and functions, create distinctive, new ways to benefit customers, find distinctive, new ways to communicate about features and benefits (even if those features and benefits are not especially distinctive and new). And we can imbue our products with distinctive, intangible qualities that some customers will find enticing.

But not all customers. The process of making a product distinctive requires us to define exactly who we’re going to try to entice and exactly who we’re going to risk turning off. And that’s why branding – real branding - hurts.

“But, I don’t want to turn my back on potential sales”

Having the guts to walk away from something is just as important as having the fortitude to embrace something. That’s hard to do because “I don’t want to turn my back on potential sales.” But, think about it this way; what if you could be reasonably sure that the “customers” you’re walking away from would never really be your customers anyway? What if you could know that they’re so in thrall to your competitors that spending one more dollar on them would be foolish? And what if you could focus all your attention on people who are most likely to find your offer appealing?**

Bank of America is a 900-pound silverback of a brand. Bank of America can afford to be all things to all people. Or it can afford to try. Wainwright Bank, based in Boston, MA, cannot, so they’ve made the conscious decision to be “the socially responsible bank” (my words, not theirs; don’t come after me, Wainwright folks, I’m a big fan) and to appeal to people who find that enticing. You can follow this link and read in detail how well Wainwright’s doing with this strategy.*** I wouldn’t have used them as an example if their results weren’t pretty remarkable.

Cannibals need love too


If you’re a company with a portfolio of multiple brands, sometimes real branding means letting one of your brands take share from another. Procter & Gamble and Campbell’s Soup are great at this and they’re thriving. Their attitude is “if anybody is going to carve off a chunk of our business, it’s going to be us.” General Motors is lousy at it and, well, we’ve picked on the U.S. auto industry enough.


But, even for marketers who are good at it, it’s painful. For somebody like a CMO, it requires a clear vision, an iron will and the ability to turn a slightly deaf ear to the righteous indignation of the brand managers who are getting cannibalized.


John Mellencamp, marketing strategist


When you do it right, branding hurts. Sometimes it means walking away from what seem like potential sales. Sometimes it means allowing one of your brands to encroach on another, and may the best brand win. But if the real goal of branding is to make what you’re selling distinct from similar offerings from competitors (and, let’s all be real honest, the are a lot of similar offerings available) then the hard choices have to be made by people who are comfortable with discomfort.

Next time you’re facing one of those hard choices, hum a few bars of Hurts So Good. Maybe that will make it easier. But it probably won’t.

_______________

* This post was inspired by my good friend and client, Phil Jones of AGCO Corporation. Thanks, Mr. Jones.

** Exactly how to go about doing this will have to be the subject of a future entry. Short answer: call Drumcircle at 617.395.1636 and ask for Bill.

*** I’ll bet that the Wainwright folks don’t see this as a strategy so much as A Way Of Being. A Mission. A Raison d’être. And that beats a wimpy old strategy any time.

December 12, 2009

We’re all selling “tiny transformations and elements of identity”. Or, at least we should be.

This will be the second entry in six months in which I praise the work of Malcolm Gladwell. But let’s be honest; the man can write about earwax and make it absolutely fascinating. So imagine what he does with the subject of how the marketing of hair dye has evolved since the Eisenhower administration.

Maybe you market roofing nails and maybe you market hair dye. What tiny bit of transformation are you offering your customers that your competitors aren't?

Maybe you market roofing nails and maybe you market hair dye. What tiny bit of transformation are you offering your customers that your competitors aren't?

In Mr. Gladwell’s latest book, What The Dog Saw, in the essay called “True Colors”, he does such an exquisite job of crystallizing what we all do for a living (or what we all should be doing if we’re really good at our jobs) that I’m compelled to share it (not that Mr. Gladwell needs my help to secure his nearly perpetual position on the New York Times Best Sellers List).

This is the kind of material you can quote and have people think you’re one erudite and articulate sucker.

“…all of us, when it comes to constructing our sense of self, borrow bits and pieces, ideas and phrases, rituals and products from the world around us – over-the-counter ethnicities that shape, in some small but meaningful way, our identities. Our religion matters, the music we listen to matters, the clothes we wear matter, the food we eat matters – and our brand of hair dye matters, too.

“…products offer something that songs and poems and political movements and radical ideologies do not, which is an immediate and affordable means of transformation (the italics are mine)”

Sure, the brand of hair dye we choose matters. And so do the brands of soda, financial products, eye drops, farm implements, soup, light bulbs, executive training, life insurance and galvanized roofing nails that we choose. Whatever we’re selling, we’re all purveyors of tiny transformations and elements of identity.

This may strike some of us as a “well, duh.” But, in this case, the well duh is such a beautiful distillation of an important point that I believe it’s worthy of repetition.


And, for others, it may open a fresh eye through which to observe the people we hope to sell to. What tiny transformation are you offering? How does what you sell fit into a persons’ identity (and don’t give me some tired response like “that sort of thing is fine if you’re selling perfume but I’m selling drywall supplies”. That sort of narrow thinking was debunked about the time Decartes’ Error was published).

If you sell life insurance, maybe you can have a small part in transforming a couple of customers from a mom and dad into “good providers.” If you sell roofing nails, perhaps you can help transform some random guy with a hammer into a “creator of shelter.”

It’s fun to think about. Almost as much fun as reading a Malcolm Gladwell book.

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