Showing posts with label naturalness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label naturalness. Show all posts

Bullshit-Free Branding

This article accompanied my speech at the 2010 Pivot Conference, in NYC.

 Let’s be honest: There’s a lot of bullshit in branding.

It’s a pity — and it’s a threat. Because today, brand or marketing communications exuding any whiff of bull will be distrusted, discredited and derided by today’s cynical audiences.

And no audience is more cynical than the 18-34 years-olds — the Millennials — who were born into an online marketplace awash in spam, paid “user” reviews, phishing and other greedy deceptions.

These cynics can sniff out bullshit from a mile away. Actually, they’re waiting for it. And when they zero-in on the source of a communication’s stench — an exaggeration, an ambiguity, an inconsistency, nonsense, a promise too good to be true — they’ll pounce. And rather than just take their business elsewhere, they’ll take up a cause to expose and punish the bullshitting offender by urging others to boycott.

Bullshit-free branding has always been important. Today it’s important and urgent.

Because nowadays, you can’t fool any of the people any of the time.

Armed with Snopes, mass reviews, WikiLeaks and other trusted sources, everything a company claims can and will be verified, almost instantly. Every pissed-off critic holds a megaphone and now the whole world can hear their rant.

Online customer rants: Not good for business.

So what exactly is bullshit, this offensive toxin?

Based on my deep-dive research into bullshit, including On Bullshit by Harry G Frankfurt, Deeper Into Bullshit (pdf) by G.A. Cohen and Your Call Is Important to Us: The Truth about Bullshit by Laura Penny, I’d define “bullshit” as any communication that is:
  • Nonsensical
  • Insincere or disingenuous 
  • Unclear and unclarifiable
  • Exaggerating
  • Inaccurate or
  • Not believable
Bullshit is like obscenity: We know it when we see it. These are some specific indicators of bullshit in branding:
  • Anything too good to be true
  • Exaggeration, superlatives and hyperbole
  • Proprietary claims
  • Weasel words
  • Vagueness and ambiguity
  • Omissions
  • Euphemisms
  • Triteness and clichés
  • Inconsistency
  • Dishonesty
For cynics, this list practically defines marketing. But it doesn't have to be that way.

Marketers would be well-served to avoid these customer repellents and instead practice bullshit-free branding.

So what's bullshit-free branding? It's brand definitions and communications that pass the SNIFF test:

Self-aware

Your brand should not try to be more — or less — than what it is.
Natural
Writing, ideas, and brand names that are not contrived

Integrity
True to itself and customers


Forthright
Straightforward, revealing, sincere, specific

Factual
Claims are true, verifiable and evident; endorsements are earned not purchased

You can't fake your way through this. It takes honest marketing to pass the SNIFF test:
  • Be who you are and act that way
  • Wear your consumer hat
  • Be real and honest but not folksy
  • Write simply and clearly
  • Be specific
  • Avoid triteness, clichés, weasel words and exaggeration
Beyond the tips offered here, there are books and online resources to help you practice bullshit-free branding:
Follow the advice I've offered here, read the resources and links provided, and use the SNIFF test to evaluate your brand communications to ensure they remain bullshit-free.

And remember: Let's be honest.

Please share your ideas on how to create and evaluate bullshit-free branding.

- Anth

Thanks to Amanda "Gucky" Peterson, David Schargel and Matthew Cross for their contributions.

Truth is Stronger Than Fiction

There was a time when a simple, honest name was good enough.

Venerable brands like General Electric, Kentucky Fried Chicken, National Biscuit Company and International Business Machines didn't hide their business name behind metaphors or fuzzy ideas. Each name was a hammer. It delivered one message with brute, blunt force. And it was good...for a while.

Eventually those companies established a path followed by countless others. They cut short their names to cut free of their restrictions, trading names too burdened with meaning for ones that were utterly meaningless: GE, KFC, Nabisco, IBM.

The trend in naming since has been away from the harsh, direct light of descriptive names and towards the shaded canopy of evocative and arbitrary ones. The change is partly motivated by necessity, as descriptive names are difficult or impossible to protect as trademarks.

But it's not just the law: It's a good idea. Descriptive names are similar to other descriptive names so they aren't differentiated and thus don't get noticed (not without a ton of money).

Today, the vast majority of brand names are not descriptive at all.

And I think people are getting tired of it.

The pendulum is swinging back, towards names -- and marketing in general -- that's honest and bullshit-free. Maybe even humble.

Living in San Francisco, I've sought examples of words in commerce that speak the unvarnished truth. I've documented some of these sightings with my cell phone camera. Several relate to food because I am a gastropod.


this little cookie-c.jpg

This Little Cookie: Absolutely adorable. This is disarming partly because its design is slightly flawed, as if the cookie maker ran out of space scribbling This Little Cookie but was too busy baking to perfect the label. The name, reminiscent of This Little Piggy, and the letters' uneven spacing give the whole package an authentically human and unmanufactured quality.


batter-c.jpg

This tidy kiosk is a perfect setting for a brand called Batter. It's a name that's immediate, short, and to the point with nothing artificial added. It suggests their baked goods are as pure and simple.


Food Should Taste Good.-c.jpg

Food Should Taste Good: Not just a simple message, but a four-word name. Because it doesn't follow the established convention of big companies and their short, sharp brand names, Food Should Taste Good feels a little home-made. It's a little unpolished and that's OK. Preferable, actually.


tasty salted pig parts-c.jpg

You know about MECE? Pronounced "mee-see", McKinsey Consulting says that the best solutions are Mutually Exclusive and Collectively Exhaustive. They include everything they need and nothing they don't.

Tasty Salted Pig Parts? 100% MECE.


Ichthyo-c.jpg


Ichthyo: Breathtaking! So honest and so arresting! A word like that...Ichthyo...that twisted car wreck of a consonant cluster! Why, words like that shouldn't be allowed!

And words like that are not allowed in the sweeping majority of the world's languages. But it just so happens that ichthyo was A-OK in ancient Greek, the mother tongue of much scientific and technical nomenclature, including terms like ichthyo and architecture. (Notice how the book's title and subtitle dovetail perfectly?)

A title as inscrutable and unpronounceable as Ichthyo is an irritant -- an itch -- that lures in the reader to scratch. And yet despite the word's alien, other-worldly quality, it just means "fish".


blackwire-c.jpg

Blackwire is the same as Ichthyo but different. They are both honest yet unexpected. Ichthyo is entirely unfamiliar, whereas Blackwire seems oddly familiar. In a world becoming ever more untethered -- insecure -- a product that actually celebrates its cord stands out. What's good for power cords, spinal cords and umbilical cords is good for headsets, too.

My firm, Operative Words, named and worked on the nomenclature for the Blackwire family of PC headsets by Plantronics. the diversity center-c2.jpg

It's clear they mean well enough. The Diversity Center [of Santa Cruz] is obviously committed to inclusivity, as enumerated in their tagline above the entrance. I don't know if Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Intersex and Questioning Community -- lesbiana, gay, bisexual, transgénero, intersex, inquisitivo en Español -- would qualify as mutually exclusive and collectively exhaustive.

But collectively, it's exhausting.

I wish there was a better and more succinct way for The Diversity Center to describe all of these alternative sexualities. If you've got ideas, throw them in the comments section. If nothing else, your submissions will place Operative Words among some pretty interesting Google search results.


interesting items-c.jpg

How could anyone resist INTERESTING ITEMS!?

Names like that: Not fair.

passive lawn-c.jpg


What qualifies a particular truth for inclusion in a product's name? Every product has many true qualities and a name can express but one or two.

Consider this sign for Passive Lawn in New York City's Washington Square Park. It used to be that a lawn was a lawn was a lawn. Activities officially disallowed were listed on a conspicuous notice: No Ball Playing. No Radios. No Smoking. And so on. Until recently, there was no characterization of the lawn itself.

Urban planners and municipal parks departments evidently need to distinguish different types of public lawns, so those intended for quiet pursuits are branded "passive". (A lawn where activities are allowed would presumably be called an active lawn but a cursory online search uncovered no evidence of its use.)

As I wrote in Describe Different, an innovative product deserves an innovative generic descriptor. The most effective new product descriptors combine familiar terms in unfamiliar ways. The best ones are intuitive and accurate. They are truthful.

Passive Lawn strives for truth but it's not the whole truth nor is it intuitive. The novel use of passive requires a mental leap because it defines a new class of passive -- inactive? -- activities. Inadequate as a stand-alone name, Passive Lawn needs the support of No Sports and No Dogs to convey what's not allowed.

I've considered alternatives to Passive Lawn but they are more flawed. Inactive Lawn might suggest it's entirely off-limits, especially with a chained perimeter like the one above. Quiet Lawn is interesting but also misses the mark.

Perhaps the best solution would be the traditional one: A simple list of prohibited activities. Defining the lawn itself -- something useful for urban planners and parks department workers -- isn't very helpful for park visitors. If this sign simply read No Sports, No Dogs, we'd know all we need to know.

In this case, no name would have been preferable to one whose truth is not self-evident.

gold teeth-c.jpg


Up to now, I've focused on truth in meaning. Names and other commercial words can be functional and obvious and honest, yet also unique.

Although meanings are important, so are appearances. The presentation of a name -- font, size, color, materials, etc. -- can magnify, minimize or morph its meaning.

Which brings us to our last exhibit, GOLD TEETH, a spectacular example of meaning and manifestation in true alignment; a visual and verbal syzygy. These words don't merely deliver, they shove. In a compounding reaction, gold and teeth -- each picturable words individually -- combine and project a third mental image that beams so vividly we are compelled imagine it: A gleaming yet incongruous smile flaunting gilded teeth.

This picture in our minds, already palpable and dazzling, is intensified by the words' physical representation: Electric neon, red and shining like polished gold. It is expressive, smiling broadly, exuding the same confidence we might associate with someone who would choose gold for their pearly whites.

It's as if every detail were punctuated with exclamation points: GOLD! TEETH! RED! NEON! CAPITALS!

The honesty of this sign, its stark message and medium, makes it impossible to ignore.


Today's consumers are overwhelmed by marketing excess and underwhelmed by unfulfilled promises. They have become inured to marketing that's rife with the artifice of ambiguity and embellishment. Consumers are disillusioned because much of what they've seen are illusions. Only unabashed honesty will change that.

Like never before, truth is stronger than fiction.

[A version of this post was originally published at Duets Blog, the leading blog on creativity and the law.]

Scribe Winery: The story behind the name

Telling a story is a lot easier when there's a story to tell.

Companies that sell the same things as others have to create a perception of difference, otherwise they're doomed. That's where branding comes in.

However, discovering -- or inventing -- a brand's point of difference isn't always obvious.

But sometimes you get lucky when there's not just a difference, but a relevant one.

I was lucky enough to name a winery that offered something special: A story.

Now dear reader, if you're really on the ball you'd call me on that. There's scads of wineries that have a story to tell, right?
Our winemaker comes from generations of....
Our vineyards are kissed by abundant north slope sunshine and a soft ocean breeze.... 
Our soil is a unique blend of Egyptian clay and 400-count gravel.... 
Our property is patrolled by Shep, the graying Labrador that raised our master winemaker and taught him all he knows...
The thing is, these winery narratives all sound pretty much the same (except maybe that last one about the Labrador). That's why I was tickled to name a winery which had a story remarkably different.

My client, Andrew Mariani, told me about the property he and his partners just bought on the border of Sonoma Valley and Carneros. As we drank wine in San Francisco's Dolores Park -- a great place for a project briefing -- he regaled me with property's colorful history:
This was the place where artificial insemination of turkeys was perfected. Before that milestone, turkeys could only breed the old-fashioned way. Turkey is now available just about everywhere thanks to this innovation.

There's a house on the property that was a speakeasy during prohibition. Rumor has it, this was also at times, a brothel.

Back in the day, a plane crashed on the property.
The winery's property is the setting for stories like these, whose importance and relevance isn't just limited to a storied place. Storytelling itself is important to people who can pay $60 retail for a bottle of Cab.

Those who are able to afford expensive wine have probably accumulated enough nice things that it's their experiences which set them apart. When you already have money, stories are the valuable currency that buy bragging rights.

Armed with the insight that this winery's property had real stories to tell, and that stories are important to their future customers, I recommended the strategy that this brand should be  defined by storytelling.

As part of my strategic and creative branding work for the winery, I offered them ideas of how they could bring storytelling to life. One idea was inspired by a local (San Francisco) Japanese restaurant whose restrooms have hidden loudspeakers quietly playing an audiobook of Japanese language instruction. I suggested the winery do the same, but with audiobooks of literature as the background "music".

Once the central brand idea of storytelling was agreed-upon, the naming creative work could begin. With such a focused and salient direction, the naming itself was, frankly, pretty easy. I scoured resources -- most online -- that listed terms from the worlds of literature, writing, and storytelling.

From my master list of names, I culled several dozen for preliminary trademark screening. As I recall, about 20 made it through and those were presented to my clients.

A handful were shortlisted and two names survived their full legal screening, one of which was Scribe. After spirited discussions, Scribe was adopted as the final name.

Scribe launched with an identity and website designed by the brilliant craftsmen of Nothing: Something: New York. I'm thrilled and thankful their design work is so faithful to the brand. And my God, it is exquisite:






The Scribe website is equally textured, redolent of an old book with weathered typography and vignetted images. The story of their property and its lineage of owners is presented as major and minor "Chapters". The brand reveals a playful side when small insects, such as those which presumably inhabit their soil, skitter across the page. They serve as a reminder that the property has brought forth life, not just to a brand, but to acres and acres of fruit that will, with time and craft, become their wine.




That's the story of Scribe. May their success live happily ever after.


UPDATE: June 2010

Scribe Winery pairs well with foodies. Here are a few recent articles:

Sonoma's Wildest Party (Food & Wine)
Carneros turkey farm returns to its winery roots (San Francisco Chronicle)
Lovely Package

The case for coining

I argue with myself.

I just can't help it. When a problem needs to be solved -- like which name I should recommend to a client -- I'll look at every angle of each proposed solution in light of its objectives. Each of their strengths and weaknesses grapple tooth and nail for supremacy as The Optimal Answer.

It's a bit like professional wrestling but without the leotards -- or the predetermined outcome.

I take comfort knowing there are others like me who, in their efforts to solve a problem, argue with themselves.

I learned this as part of my participation in a Center for Creative Leadership program, where I was assessed for my Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. This well-established (though sometimes questioned) personality test determines a person's specific personality type. According to the theory of MBTI, all six billion people on the planet Earth fall neatly into sixteen personality types.

Me? I'm an ENTP:
Extroverted (not Introverted)
iNtuition (not Sensing)
Thinking (not Feeling)
Perceiving (not Judging)
ENTPs are The Innovators, The Originators, The Lawyers, The Explorers, and The Visionaries.

They also play The Devil's Advocate.

Although a person's MBTI is codified as a pat, four-letter word (like ENTP or ISFJ), there is actually a continuum along each dimension. A numeric score along this continuum reflects the degree to which one is Extroverted or Introverted, Thinking or Feeling, and so on.

It turns out, I'm unusually compelled to argue and objectively consider all sides of an argument.

My own MBTI test revealed that I am almost 100% Thinking, having scored a 59 out of 60 along the Thinking-Feeling continuum. This reflects that I'm governed by head more than heart. I'll always follow the logical, objective, fact-based path over the one that makes me (or others) just feel good.

And so, here I go again in typical ENTP fashion, arguing with myself.

As I wrote in Real words make better brand names, I believe that real words rich with meaning generally offer advantages over made-up words like Kodak.

I also noted that coined names are not utterly bereft of benefits. In the spirit of devil's advocacy, I'd like to build on that and go further into the benefits of coined names and share what makes for a good coined name.

Distinctiveness
A coined name is more likely to jump off the page than one that's a product-relevant, real word. Humans are hard-wired to notice things that are different, so a word you've never seen before stands out.

Trademarkability
Made-up words are more likely to be available for trademark clearance than a real word.

Domain Availability
Online companies gotta have that dotcom domain name. That's why so many have adopted misspelled real words or entirely made-up ones.

Flexibility
Coined names are less likely to reference a specific feature or function than real-word names. Coined names, being more ambiguous, can withstand changes in a company's or product's features, benefits and positioning.

International Appeal
In non-English speaking markets, they generally prefer non-English names. The projects I've directed throughout Asia, Europe and the Mideast revealed to me that, for those audiences, the sound of a name is more important than what it means. Euphony often trumps semantics in non-English speaking countries.

Consensus Building
It's easier for a group to agree on a name that means nothing. Names that are real words will trigger associations, and those associations can become liabilities when picked apart by a large or risk-averse group.

It's no accident that big branding agencies like Landor and Interbrand have a lot of coined names in their portfolio. They attract large, risk-averse clients that have large decision-making teams. There's often someone in the room who "poisons the well" by sharing their own negative, albeit subjective and idiosyncratic, reaction to a real-word name. Large companies also tend to research names to death by using focus groups.

Like I said, it's easier for a group -- any group -- to agree on a name that means nothing.

Given these benefits of coined names, why do I still generally recommend real, meaningful English words to clients?
  • Real words, especially "arbitrary" ones such as Apple, Amazon and Feather, can be just as distinctive, trademarkable and flexible as coined names.
  • They are more memorable than coined names. Words that trigger emotions or images are particularly memorable.
  • Because they are easier to recall, real-word names are more likely to be shared with others by word-of-mouth.
  • They can inspire marketing campaigns, product and feature naming and messaging. Names that don't mean anything won't do this, unless it's just to clarify how to pronounce their name. Take a bow, Geico and Aflac, for turning your lemon names into lemonade.
  • Thanks to their superior memorability, shareability and campaignability, arbitrary real-word names are cheaper to build than coined names. [I'd love to see those differences quantified. Any ideas?]
Coined names still hold an advantage over real words in their appeal to non-English speaking markets, and they are easier for large and risk-averse companies to stomach.

So, let's pretend you're a Fortune 500 company and you're planning to spin-off a big division that will focus on international markets. I'd suggest you include real-word brand names in your mix of name candidates along with coined names.

Up to now, I've painted coined names with a broad brush. But in truth there are good coined names and bad coined names.

What makes a good coined name? In a word: Naturalness.

A natural coined name is one that follows a language's naturally-occurring phonetics (individual sounds), phonology (how those sounds are organized) and morphology (how words are formed). The trick here is that languages differ in these dimensions. If your brand name is going to be marketed to Chinese, German, Hindi, Japanese, and Arabic speakers, you have to aim for a lowest common denominator, linguistically speaking.

Here are a few tips:
  • Avoid stringing consonants together, as many languages disallow that in their phonology. In Japanese, for example, the name Hasbro is pronounced "ha-su-bu-ro". The brand Adidas, formed from its founder Adi Dassler, will be pronounced the same the world over. It has a universally-natural "open" syllable structure of alternating consonants and vowels.
  • When combining morphemes (salient word parts) to create new words, use the same source language. A Greek morpheme should be paired with another Greek morpheme. Mash together morphemes from different languages and the resulting name might feel contrived. Compare Interbrand (Latin+Anglo-Saxon) to Lenovo (Italian+Italian). Interbrand, who actually created the name Lenovo, served their client better than themselves.
  • Pair prefixes with roots, or roots with suffixes. A name that combines prefixes, roots, or suffixes in ways that don't naturally occur will feel contrived. The name InBev unnaturally combines the prefix "In" with the first part of the word "beverage". There are no English words that have "bev" in the middle, so InBev feels unnatural. Another example: Compare Aricent (unnatural) to Lucent (natural). Aricent is based on "arise" plus "ascent", but "ari-" is not a real prefix. Lucent, on the other hand, is built from the productive Latin root "luc-" (meaning light) and the "-ent" suffix, also from Latin and also a common suffix.
  • Consider your consonants. Brand names with phonemes that don't naturally occur in other languages will be pronounced differently, with an accent. This is not disastrous, but it's something to be mindful of. It's well-known that "l" and "r" are pronounced the same in some Asian countries, so "Red Hat" sounds the same as "Led Hat". In Japanese and Spanish "v" is pronounced "b". The sounds "th" and "sh" are fairly uncommon, so those will change, too.
Here's the story of Lululemon, a brand name that was specifically created to sound foreign to its target audience:
It was thought that a Japanese marketing firm would not try to create a North American sounding brand with the letter “L” because the sound does not exist in Japanese phonetics. By including an “L” in the name it was thought the Japanese consumer would find the name innately North American and authentic. Chip [the company founder] felt that the distributor had paid a premium for the “L” [in their original name, Homless] so he challenged himself to come up with a name that had 3 “L’s” for his new company.
  • Use a real foreign word. Back in the day, I gave the name Kanisa to a "knowledge management" company. The word comes from an African language called Lingala and means "you must think". It has no obvious meaning outside of central Africa, but the story behind the name is relevant and it's easy to say the world over. And Samsung might seem made-up, but it's actually Korean for "three stars". Like the trademark attorneys say, "What's arbitrary to one man is fanciful to another". [OK, they don't really say that, but perhaps they'll start.]
  • Try swapping out just one letter of a known word. Zune came from "tune" and Viagra from "Niagra".
There are other coining techniques you can find here.

Keep in mind the principle of naturalness and your coined brand name might not turn out half-bad.

At least, that's what I'd argue.