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Failure: the bed-time story

Last night, my pillow talk was with The Harvard Business Review.  Even sexier, it was The Failure Issue.  Normally, my separation of church & state is no-business reading before bedtime.  I carefully choose bedtime stories that make me laugh, think and take my mind away from business.  But, HBR drew me in and ruffled me out of my routine.  So, this morning I was thinking about what I read and why I read it.  Maybe, like many, I was looking for the business version of “Chicken Soup for the Soul.”  Or was it because I was thinking of Steve Jobs — his speech at Stanford that I had recently watched on YouTube?  He talked poignantly about his own failure, specifically being kicked out of Apple and failing so publicly.  He goes on to say that while that failure was extremely painful, he didn’t believe that the successes that followed would have been possible without it.   In his words and spirit, you felt true humility which I think is one of the lessons of failure.  No matter how successful you’ve been or will become, you never have all the answers or the crystal ball.  You have to remain humble enough to keep learning and be wise enough “to know what you don’t know.”  Some pearls of wisdom that stand out from my bed-time stories on failure?  Fail fast.  It’s less expensive.  Don’t bury the near misses.  Hiding the crusts between the couch cushions is a bad idea.  Surface mistakes to prevent costlier errors that can lead to larger failure.  Think about how you define failure.  When you’re testing or exploring new ideas, often failure is a good thing because it is helping to redefine the direction and move you closer to the ah-ha!  If you can create a culture of learning for yourself or your organization, failures can be invaluable R&D.  Former P&G CEO, A.G. Lafley said:  ”I think of my failures as a gift.”  Author, JK Rowling said: “It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all.”  In our culture, we often think of failure as the opposite of success.  But, instead, failure can be the harbinger of success.  Just be willing to go into that uncomfortable zone that feels like the time-out corner for grown-ups.  Take the time to look at the good, bad and ugly.  How the bed-time story ends is up to you.

A Conversation with 9/11

You.  I see you still, the fire breathing dragon with the blackest eye from the bluest day.  Today, you are at a downtown café, a bright red coal from a cigarette collapsing, folding in on itself.  Like an unfaithful lover that haunts the crevices of who I am.  Who remains like the toxic dust you left on my belongings.

That day, you force-fed me change in fire hydrant fashion.  You told me that while it wasn’t the last day, it was a pathogenic day.  The kind that gets under your skin and grows there.  The media rushed in with empty words like “new normal.” Like normal was a comfort that could be cloaked in fear.  Toothpaste and western sundries were handed out on the Pier to lines of a new breed of refugee, with blanked-eye stares that spoke the language of loss.  We waited patiently with exaggerated politeness borne of exhaustion and disbelief.

We listened to our City and our Country tell us to go on with “Business as Usual.”  Get back to work like good little capitalists.  Crunch some numbers in between the funerals you will attend.  Do your part by acting normal and stimulating the economy by purchasing things that no longer matter to you.  Buck up and breathe in the air that tastes like torched humanity.  There’s nothing wrong with the air quality here.   Uncle Sam winks with a cough.

And, then the punishment of listening to the rhetoric of people who were not there, as they transformed tragedy into opportunity, outlining the enemies for us to hate.  Simplifying 9/11 into populist fodder that simply “puts a boot in your ass.”   And a decade later, we are still trying to figure out whose ass the boot should go in.

You hover over us still.  Hiding under the subway seats and inside vacant cars and unclaimed boxes.  You live inside the sounds of a distant siren or a loud explosion.  You are the wire mesh fence surrounding Ground Zero with prayers tucked inside.

You are the battered brown suitcase I carried from couch to couch when I was homeless.  You are the kindness of strangers tinged with floating debris.  You are the leather loafers given to me by a woman I never met.  You are the canvas ConEd bag filled with donations from people I will never know.  You are the steps I walked in streets that were too empty and bars that were too jubilant.  You are the NYPD and NYFD with heads bowed at St. Patrick’s.   You are a bar room of people singing New York, New York.

You sucked energy from the every day and left us with tired spirits.  Brought down cell service and forced us into the solitude of uncertainty.   Rekindled old flames as people opened up closed doors.   Heard voices from the past.  Read frantic emails frought with worry.  Get out now.  One email demanded.  I love you said another in all caps with no exclamation point.  (There was none needed.)  Please marry me said another.

You are the one who forced us to think about our lives.  A sooty existential force.  A Nietzche in barbed wire.  You forced us to look in the mirror.  Are you living right?  You asked.  Are you happy?  Are you with the one you love?  You made us slow down for a few brief weeks, maybe months, and contemplate the future in a new light.

You linger with me when I watch the sunset over the Hudson or when I watch a Fourth of July parade in rural Vermont.  When the flag furls, I see you too, crashing through a stripe, ripping a star.

You with the blackest eye from the bluest day.

You’re with me now, still lurking, watching and waiting to come out again.

Purple Rain

Only Want to See You Laughing in the Purple Rain

I’m sure someone must have created a list of movies that you will watch over and over again — no matter how many times you’ve seen them.  Purple Rain is one of those for me.  When I hear the title song, I’m immediately transported back to my freshman year at American University.  That album was one of the soundtracks of my first year of college, and I also slept out on the streets of Georgetown to get concert tickets.  So, the Purple Rain brand conjures up many things for me.  On the most basic level is abandon…weekend lover?  What was that?  The idea was compelling to my innocent mind.  Then, the feelings of pain, angst and longing — all key aspects of any freshman year.  ”I would die for you,” exactly how you feel during those dramatic moments of first love.  And watching Prince play guitar…a reincarnation of Jimi Hendrix with James Brown dance moves mixed in.  To a young girl who grew up listening to country music in rural Vermont, this was pure genius and so urban — everything I expected the world “out there” to be.  I wanted to be Prince — or at least know someone remotely like him.  The way he holds an audience in the palm of his hand.  Is equally playful and thoughtful — a songwriter that can look into your soul.  Make you think he’s writing about you.  So, tonight, there was Purple Rain and I stopped channel surfing and once again found solace…this time in a different place in the song:  ”Honey, I know, I know, I know times are changing.  It’s time we all reach out for something new, that means you too.”  Adaptation sounds a lot better coming from Prince.  So, please guide me to the Purple Rain.  Purple Rain. Purple Rain.  If you know what I’m talking about, click your  mouse and sing.

220 Miles from Home to Times Square

The beat and energy of Times Square

What struck me as I watched my odometer click to 220 as I rolled into Times Square was that 220 miles was not that far away physically, but it was another world away from my log cabin in Southern Vermont. Now, I was in the great neon arena with Pop Tarts World just down the block — a sugar-induced ode to the Pop Tarts brand of my youth. I was watching the tourists look up and soak in the brand vibrations. And, then I relished going out the back door of the Hilton away from the crowds and going into Hell’s Kitchen and beyond; each block West bringing me further from the circus of Times Square into the grit of the City.

One of my favorite spots from this trip in was the roof top bar at Ink48 hotel at 48th and 11th Avenue. Amazing views of the City. Truly worth hailing a cab and soaking in the view with your beverage of choice.

Now, the parking garage is calling and it’s time to head back home — taking the Henry Hudson north and driving toward the green hues of home.

Extended Stay Deluxe (NOT!)

When I talk to my clients about branding, I often refer to brand building and brand bruising experiences. Here’s a bruiser for sure. I was in Waltham, MA to do our Marketing Power in a Day program at the Westin. When I called the Westin to book a room there, they were sold out. So, then I went next door to the Hilton Garden Inn and they were also sold out. This sold out pattern repeated for several hotels until the only one left standing was the Extended Stay Deluxe. We arrived there and checked into the first room, and proceeded to pull out the couch which we needed for additional sleeping quarters. That couch wouldn’t pull out and looked like it had been jammed in by the previous guest. So, back out to the front desk we go, and explain that the pull-out couch is stuck. So, now our Front Desk Dude (customer service rep would be a huge stretch here) gives us the access cards to another room. We haul all of our gear to the next room only to find that the bed isn’t made. Back out we go, and now the Front Desk Dude suggests a third room. So, feeling a little like business nomads, we go to the third floor and open the door to find a room that reeked of urine and looked like it hadn’t seen a broom, mop or cleaning fluids of any kind in years. At this point, the car was starting to look good. So, back down we go to the Front Desk Dude, and we are actually laughing because it seems so absurd that getting a room has become a mini-tragi-comedy. There are no other rooms, so now it’s time to just roll up our sleeves. We ask him if he can give us fresh sheets and we will go back to room #2 whose only fault was an unmade bed. (At least, it smelled normal!) So, he happily provided us sheets and thanked us for not yelling at him. We realized we needed blankets, so he gave us access cards to the original room and told us to take the blankets from that bed. He also explained that he was the only person on staff that night, so he couldn’t leave the front desk. We quickly got in touch with our inner-chambermaid, made our beds and then started thinking about bed bugs, rather hoping that there weren’t any. This culminated in story-telling of the worst hotel stays we had ever had. My top two were the Ramada at JFK airport and a Motel Six outside of Dallas, Texas. My marketing compadre remembered another Extended Stay Deluxe that was also an oxymoron. So, what are the Branding lessons here? Aside from the severe over-promise by using the word “deluxe,” what would have made the experience smart a little less would have been having the night comped or at least the price reduced. I don’t think Front Desk Dude was empowered to do that, but that would have at least softened the brand bruise when this story gets repeated over and over again when I do marketing and branding seminars over the next decade. This experience also made me appreciate the consistency of the Hilton Garden Inns that I’ve stayed in. So, kudos to Hilton for that and Extended Stay Deluxe, change your name!

Radio, Radio

My Musical Companion

As much I love iTunes and my CDs, there is still nothing like a great radio station.  A radio station is a companion.  A friend that keeps you company when you drive or while you’re working.  When I lived in NYC, I was loyal listener of WFUV.  I loved the intelligent mix that defied the categorization of today’s commercial radio.  So, when I moved North to Vermont, I was anxiously scanning the dial to find a new musical compadre.  It didn’t take me long to find The River.  Their tagline?  Different is Good.  Their playlist?  Lucinda Williams, Jimi Hendrix, Beth Orton, Steve Earle and Curtis Mayfield in the same set.  Like my NYC love, WFUV, The River also defies commercial categorization.  They play music in the same way you might invite friends to a dinner party.  Let’s face it 10 Lady Gaga’s at one table is too much.  You want the Boss to sit next to Johnny Cash and Ray Charles to easily converse with the White Stripes.  Neat categories don’t really represent life.  Not only does the River play an eclectic mix of artists that I already know, but they also turn me on to new artists and post their playlist on their web site. Recently, the River has introduced me to The Avett Brothers, The Low Anthem and One eskimO.  Many times during the day, a song comes on that makes me pause and think.  When I heard “I and Love and You” by The Avett Brothers, I put my computer screen to sleep and just closed my eyes and listened.  Thank you, The River, for giving me music that slows life down.

A Tale of Two Bags

Chinatown bag and Furla Side by Side

Two black bags — one bought in Chinatown on the street over 10 years ago, and the other purchased in Toronto at the Furla boutique two years ago.  Chinatown bag was $25.00. Furla bag had way too many zeros behind it for a bag, but I was having one of those status-fear moments.  It was a weak moment.  I had a big meeting, and I knew there were “designer-types” in the meeting — the kind of folk who eye a Chinatown bag with a raised brow when you’re not looking.  So, I caved and bought the Furla bag thinking of it as a good luck charm.  I gave myself that “I’ve earned it” speech and tried not to look at my Amex as I signed the slip.  Even though my ancestors were circling me with looks of sheer disgust:  What is a pragmatic Yankee doing buying a ridiculous bag like this?  Well, my ancestors had the last laugh on this one.  The Furla bag’s strap fell off during our first outing — and it wasn’t even stuffed to my usual limits.  I had even been gentle with it, almost like a fine piece of lace.  Now, with a wounded strap, I had to go to Furla on Madison Avenue and they had to send the bag off to the Furla hospital to be mended.  And after  that, our relationship was never the same. I never trusted the Furla bag.  I felt like I had to coddle the bag like a newborn infant, and as all women know this is not what you want in a bag.  I need a bag that can run with me, take severe changes in the weather, flow seamlessly from subway to taxi to Subaru, be stuffed with files, welcome a laptop, embrace PDAs, problems, curiosities, and that stands by me like Tammy Wynette (or Elton John) stands by her/his man.  So, now when I eye the bags on Madison, I remember the tale of the two bags and look down at my Chinatown bag and smile.  This bag is way beyond recession proof:  it is life-proof.

The Danger of Doing Nothing

I know you’re tired and that this year has taken a lot out of you.  So, no more “pollyanna” quotes about uncovering opportunity.  Instead, let’s look at what happens when you do nothing.  You sit and wait for the phone to ring or a magic email to appear that solves everything.  And, when that doesn’t happen, the only things that move and change are those around you.  You become the dust in “another one bites the dust.”  So, what can you do?  You can “Think Different” as the old Apple tagline reminded us.  Seems to have worked pretty well for them, hasn’t it?  Good news.  This is something that we’re good at.  We can  help your company think about your marketing differently.  That doesn’t mean that we dump on everything you’ve ever done.  Instead, it means that we try new things.  We adapt to what’s new and what’s next.  We take some leaps and try different approaches.  It’s what I call adaptive marketing, but what can also be called Moving forward instead of Sitting still.  Get up from that chair, stretch and take one step forward.  Feels good, doesn’t it?