“I was raised to be charming, not sincere.” ~ Cinderella’s Prince’s in Into the Woods (via Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine)
Last night, while updating my virus definitions and doing whatever else it is that virus protection programs do, Avast popped up to remind me that September 19th will be International Talk Like a Pirate Day and cheekily suggested I allow it to install an app that will change my standard “your virus definitions have been updated” voice-over to something a bit more creative. I haven’t really ever had a strong feeling one way or another about virus protection — I go with whatever is recommended to me by geeks I trust to know more than I do. I can say, however, that unless Avast does something pretty stupid or fails in quality, they’ve turned the dial up on my customer loyalty.
There is something about a company exhibiting a sense of charm and whimsy that appeals to me. Something that sends the signal that even though there’s work to be done, we also have to remember to just not take it all so seriously.
I couldn’t help but think of how this relates to the post Grace made yesterday about Solazyme’s President and CTO, Harrison Dillon and the challenges his company faces trying to woo human beings (specifically us American-type meat puppets, but others, too) out of their complacency habits and into a state of enthusiasm for energy solutions to our looming global crisis. Grace’s final comment on the subject is:
What Harrison Dillon, Farmer D, Team HyPower and everyone else trying to make a dent in the sustainability tragedy of the commons is not more untimely and unmanageable legislation – they need help finding ways to make us smile, just like Prius owners.
The video Grace includes focuses more on the ego-feed side of being a Prius driver, but I think ego appeal might take a backseat to the charm factor.
When I think of the brands I’ve viewed positively over the course of my consumerism, I have to say that elements of whimsy and charm play into them in a much bigger way. For example, I started out an Apple girl and stayed one through most of college until a PC was forced on me for financial reasons. For a long time after, even though I worked and owned PCs, I still had a more positive view of Apple. There are many reasons for it, but the truth is that probably the biggest factor was the now-famous 1984 Mac advert. At 12 years old, I had read 1984. I got the commercial and I liked getting it. It was clever and mischievous and an unconscious part of me identified with the type of minds that would put that sort of an ad forth to represent their product. True, it might have feed a small ego thing (and years of Mac vs PC flame wars certainly were ego-intensive), but I don’t think the ego feed was the real factor, especially when you consider it lingered beyond ownership. Years later, despite the fact that Steve Jobs is a micromanaging fruit loop who flirts with Big Brother instincts, I still have a quirky affection for Apple and irrationally fond memories of my old Mac and IIe.
It wasn’t about status. So what was it?
As cars go, although I never owned a Saturn or a PT Cruiser, I’ve had friends who absolutely loved theirs to the point where it became like a pet. That insane kind of “how can you feel this way about an inanimate object” type love. As Grace pointed out, Pruis owners form their own subcultures and cult behaviors around their vehicles. The object becomes imbued with the characteristics we assign to the brand.
Google won people like me hard and early with their colorful logo and their clean page, but what I remember most about that introductory period was the “I’m Feeling Lucky” button. I probably haven’t pressed that button in ten years but I still like that it’s there. I don’t think I’ve used another search engine, other than to compare results since I found Google (in what my memory swears is the end of 1997, but others have insisted to me had to be 1998). It’s silly, when I think about how personally I take it when the Google company does something I disapprove of — but there’s a camaraderie rooted in that “I Feel Lucky” button that lingers.
Someone recently recalled (I’m sorry to admit I don’t remember who or where) the early quirk of humor Linden Lab displayed by putting up the Grid Monkey graphic when the grid would go down unexpectedly. It reminded me of just how amused I was the first time I found that. Unlike now where I’m frustrated and annoyed by every slow grid day and horrific SIM performance day (mostly those that end in Y lately), I used to see that graphic and feel an odd fondness and fellowship. I’m not sure if it was the humor alone, or simply the “yeah, we’re we know, we’re working on it” smirk it conveyed, but something about that graphic inspired a spark in me similar to the one I felt last night when Avast piped up to ask permission to talk like a pirate.
I think companies often forget that we want to like them. We want to approve of them. We want to feel some kindred little sense of whimsy and humor that shows us their products and services are not just grist or machine-work. True, we want to have faith in the products and we want them to work, but we also give a lot more leeway to the brands that charm us. We want to connect via the products to that human factor which assures us someone is at the helm even if we can’t see them — that we’re not just wandering denizens on a ghost ship set to automatic pilot.
I think some of the most lasting ways internet companies build customer loyalty probably start from an idea that springs out of too much caffeine and not enough sleep when one code monkey looks at another code monkey and murmurs “hey, you know what might be fun…?”
More companies need to learn to talk like pirates in the Avast way instead of just the “how do we rob them without them noticing” way. And, if they can get Johnny Depp to talk like a pirate on my computer, so much the better.
Just throwin’ it out there.