As a man thinketh, so is he.
—James Allen
THOUGH THE UNCONSCIOUS MIND IS OFTEN DESCRIBED AS the sacred gift of wisdom’s past, it is our conscious mind that gives us the ability and insight to shape our futures. By giving us the arcane sense of self-awareness—that uniquely human capacity of not only knowing but also knowing that you know—this mysterious mental process has long captivated philosophers, theologians, and scientists. Though consciousness might escape us each night as we fade into sleep, we awaken faithfully with it each morning, using it to grab hold of life’s reins, making decisions and directing behaviors. Over time it has given us the unprecedented ability to establish and transform cultures, wielding a hand in our own evolution. Though the unconscious mind might dream of tall castles in the sky or flying high like a bird above the world’s atmosphere, it is the conscious mind that actually turns those dreams into the engineering that builds skyscrapers and the science that flies us to the moon. It is consciousness that creates art, contemplates our own existence, and plans the purchase of a new product or service.
But how does this amazing process come to be? Simple. It is through our feelings that we are able to step into the enigmatic world of consciousness. Feelings enable humans to become aware of their emotions, those automatic programmed behavioral responses to environmental cues. As a result, much of conscious thinking is actually just a series of reflections and interpretations about how we are feeling. As Antonio Damasio suggested in his “somatic marker hypothesis,” which established a revolutionary model for understanding decision making, environmental stimuli trigger unconscious emotions that lead to conscious feelings, resulting in the mental exploration of the challenges and opportunities presented to us. By evolving the faculties for conscious contemplation, humans were able to transcend their innate programmed behaviors and rationally design solutions to contemporary problems not covered by evolutionary development.1
Consciousness has also given rise to higher thought processes such as imagination, speculation, and structured thought and language, which allowed our ancestors to develop strategies and better coordination in social settings to ensure survival. Through language we were able not only to communicate with others but also to speak to our selves. Essentially this is consciousness—the “self-talk” in our head that often judges the potential outcomes of our choices. By weighing the advantages and disadvantages, this internal committee helps us decide whether or not to purchase a product and which one to buy. Today the contemporary challenges we face include how to navigate and manage the ever-increasing array of brand choices we encounter daily. Making the right brand investments and consumption choices is the new evolutionary imperative for survival and success in today’s industrialized market economies.
The conscious mind enables a broad spectrum of intellectual thought. From abstract reasoning to concrete analysis, it empowers our attraction to lofty ideas and ideals as well as precise facts and figures. It can either align us with the brand vision of a computer that changes the world or can impel us to investigate the nutritional facts on a jar of peanut butter that promises better health. Still, our intellect is ironically driven by the motivational pleasures of our most basic instincts. As Read Montague says, “Evolution has essentially bootstrapped our penchant for intellectual concepts to the same reward circuits that govern our animal appetites. The guy who’s on hunger strike for some political cause is still relying on his midbrain dopamine neurons, just like a monkey getting a sweet treat.”2 In essence, higher thought uses the same neural currency of the feel-good responses of primary rewards such as food and sex, helping us to assess the relative rewards and risks between options. As Montague explains, “You don’t have to dig very far before it all comes back to your loins.” In other words, the higher meaning we ascribe to a given mission or cause can be so gratifying that it subordinates even our own biological interests, largely because it taps into the same pleasurable feelings that drive our primary appetites.3 This is why when people align themselves with the higher beliefs of a brand, those beliefs can create an overriding loyalty—a loyalty so strong that customers are willing to overlook occasional product and service shortcomings due to the pleasures generated by the overall allegiance to the brand’s mission.
One of the biggest enduring debates in marketing is whether to employ a rational or emotional approach in advertising—a pointless argument from the stance of cognitive science. While the evidence suggests that overwhelmingly it is emotions that drive behavior, it is misguided to believe that thinking and feeling are somehow mutually exclusive. Emotion and logic are intertwined. Rational decision making requires emotional input to function properly.4 And facts and numbers can just as easily excite our sensibilities through eye-opening proof points, such as a 400-horsepower engine, a 750-gigabyte hard drive, or a five-carat diamond. Statistical signature characteristics of quality and superiority trip the circuits of anticipatory pleasures for prospective buyers. This is especially true when the fact is unexpected and the product attainable.
For example, knowing how much per bottle that glass of the Romanée-Conti costs (the French Burgundy known for fetching over 1,500) will likely heighten the anticipation and enjoyment for wine drinkers. In one study, scientists at Caltech and Stanford told subjects they would be comparing Cabernet Sauvignons at various price points when in fact the researchers gave the participants the same wine and varied only the price. The subjects consistently believed the higher priced wine tasted better. Later, brain scans revealed that there was greater activation in a pleasure center of the brain when the participants in the study believed they were drinking more expensive wine, even though the wines were identical.5
By using tried and true product-focused competitive advertising, many companies have created enduring marketplace momentum in their brand’s favor. Perhaps the most prolific and beloved example of this is Apple’s “Get a Mac” campaign (also known as “Mac versus PC”). This was essentially a series of side-by-side factual product-based comparisons, using the amusing odd pair of anthropomorphic brand ambassadors. They entertained us with their barbs and banter, but the content of the ads focused on hard-hitting claims of competitive superiority, including claims that PCs ran slower because they came preloaded with often-useless trial software. Most marketers usually consider demonstrations of their products’ advantages versus those of the competition as the domain of hard-sell rational tactics and not that of the emotionally evocative. But Apple’s effort effectively appealed to both our emotional and our rational sensibilities.
Another immensely popular and effective campaign featured one of the UK’s best-loved television animals, the Andrex puppy. These heavy-lifting, touchy-feely spots did more than just tug at the heart-strings. Since its introduction in 1972, the puppy has been featured in nearly 120 commercials, an approach that has helped Andrex to a commanding market leadership for more than 40 years.6 Many experts are quick to attribute the success of these advertisements to the emotional appeal of the cuddly pup, but the campaign originated out of a basic product demonstration of the hard facts: soft, strong, and long. When the adorable Labrador gets tangled in a roll of Andrex toilet tissue, menacingly unraveling it throughout the house and yard, a voice-over rationally affirms, “In fact, it gives you more paper on every roll than almost any other tissue.”
Are these triumphs of emotions or logic? It is invariably both, and delineating the relative effect of each in specific circumstances is difficult if not impossible from the stance of cognitive science. These two brain systems are confoundedly interdependent and inextricably linked. The frontal lobe, the part of the brain that plans behavior, is deeply connected to the emotional regions below. Every day we are inundated with conflicting facts, figures, and emotional entreaties as marketers vie for our attention and affection touting their brand as the best option. A neural process of “executive control” helps us to resolve these conflicts. We do this through our anterior cingulate cortex (ACC), an area near the top of the brain’s frontal lobe and along the walls that divide the left and right hemispheres, which is believed to mediate between fact-based reasoning and emotional responses like anticipation, love, and fear.
“For a long time we’ve been interested in how the brain figures out how to integrate cognitive information about the world with our emotions, how we feel about something,” says Joshua Brown, a research associate in psychology at Washington University in St. Louis. “For many reasons, people think the ACC might be the brain structure responsible for converging these different signals. It seems to be an area that’s involved in deciding what information gets prioritized in the decision-making process. It seems able to link motivational and affect information—things like goodness or badness—and to use this information to bring about changes in cognition, to alter how we think about things.” Brown believes that the ACC may function to anticipate the potential of making mistakes and help us to avoid them altogether.7
While neurobiologists have demonstrated that unconscious emotions have primary influence on thought, certainly our thinking can similarly impact our emotions. Cognitive behavioral therapy has amassed plenty of evidence that changing rational thinking can re-shape and change our emotions and behaviors. Our lives are not merely the products of unconscious emotions and instincts but also the sum total of all of our thoughts as we react to those inputs and impulses. We can’t always choose what happens to us, or the emotions that result, but we can consciously reframe the meaning of those events and feelings. Albert Ellis, one of the most influential psychologists in history, developed “rational emotive behavioral therapy,” which is a type of cognitive therapy that emphasizes how one can replace irrational thinking patterns with thoughts that are reasonable, empowering patients with positive emotions and productive behaviors. Neuroscientist Joseph LeDoux has uncovered that whenever we recall a strong emotional memory and think about it differently than before, it actually gets chemically recorded in the brain in a completely new way. Introspection can actually modify how our memory is imprinted in the brain, developing a neural basis to lasting changes in thought and behavior.8
But marketers continue to not only reinforce this artificial divide of emotion versus logic but also take sides. Proof of how muddy these waters can get comes from the results of an ongoing study by TiVo Inc., the maker of digital video recorders. The findings from this research have been used to support the argument that rational ads work best. The study examined television commercial viewing habits of 20,000 households to determine what ads are fast-forwarded least. Among the least skipped ads were those that put the product front and center. These so-called harder sell and direct response ads communicated in a straightforward and fact-based manner. And according to the study, viewers watched and listened. But in looking at the study more closely, their results might have had to do with more than just the facts. One report indicated that two of the top-performing so-called rational ads were a commercial from Bowflex home gym and a commercial for Hooters restaurant. Is it possible that the infamous well-endowed Hooters girls and the chiseled bodies of the Bowflex models are somehow purely rational commercials? It might be more logical to conclude that viewers hesitated to skip these spots because of the passions in their loins rather than the logic in their heads.9
Though James Dyson is now known by millions as the man who made vacuum cleaners sexy, his pitch was anything but. Dyson’s ads were as straight as Joe Friday’s “Just the facts, ma’am” style of criminal investigation. As New Yorker magazine reported in 2010, “Dyson is in the paradoxical position of being the chief marketer of an anti-marketing philosophy, and the name behind a brand that pretends to have nothing to do with branding.” An inventor and industrial designer, Dyson founded his company on twin product pillars, equal parts engineering and design. Dyson didn’t employ glitzy branding or fancy ad campaigns. The allure of the brand came from the product itself, as he turned an everyday household appliance into a fashion statement. Made of beautiful polycarbonate plastic with flecked aluminum and a pleasing glossy bright-colored sheen reminiscent of a Jeff Koons sculpture, they were sold even by clothing impresario and prolific fashion designer Paul Smith in his London store.10
But Dyson made millions because he also offered visible proof that his product worked, by letting people actually see the dirt they sucked up with his pioneering see-through, bagless vacuum cleaner. His advertising was as effective as his product because he told a simple, sensible brand story aimed squarely at a key marketplace weakness: “Bags and filters lose suction.” As the brand spokesman in an early ad, Dyson succinctly summed it up: “A few thousand prototypes later, I had it. No bags. No clogged up filters. And the first vacuum that doesn’t lose suction.” Dyson never waivered from the facts about how his best-selling vacuum came to be. From the hard-working end product of 5,127 prototypes to a clear product demonstration, from patented Cyclone technology that moves the air inside the vacuum at 924 miles per hour to a smart-sounding, technologically advanced name, G-Force Dual Cyclone, Dyson knew the least sexiest aspects of his vacuum would sell the sexiness of its design. The end result is a remarkable perception that the vacuum cleaner is worth every penny of its premium price. Dyson now owns a brand image that is head and shoulders above the competition.11
Today Dyson is a billionaire and one of the wealthiest people in Britain. His products continue to steal market share from everyone; they have earned the brand a 40 percent leadership share of British sales as well as market leadership in the US, Canada, Australia, France, Belgium, Spain, Switzerland, Ireland, and New Zealand. Even during a recession in 2010, the company reported that it had doubled operating profits in the past 12 months to £190 million thanks to new products that are equal parts fashion and utility. Dyson has moved past vacuums and into such products as an unusually cool-looking and easy-to-clean bladeless fan and a high-tech hand dryer that obviates the need for paper towels.12
One of the classic brands I planned strategies for in the 1990s was Trident gum. Trident had established its unique ownership of an oral hygiene niche, based on one data point from a survey conducted among practicing dentists: “4 out of 5 dentists surveyed recommend sugarless gum to their patients who chew gum.” Through a single simple statistic, Trident usurped a highly relevant position in the chewing gum category. Importantly, the claim addressed barriers to usage by leveraging the credentials and endorsement of medical authorities who challenged the prevailing widespread belief that chewing gum is bad for teeth and socially undesirable.
JWT, Trident’s then-agency of record, developed a campaign called “Chew on this,” a thought-provoking effort that earned the brand a 1994 Effie award for marketing effectiveness. The “Chew on this” platform communicated a few key facts simply but effectively to support the claim that Trident “helps fight cavities.” In one spot the voice-over announces, “Chew on this: nearly seven out of ten of us usually don’t brush after lunch . . . now chew on this: great tasting Trident actually helps fight cavities when you chew it after meals.” To expand on this message, our creative team at JWT developed a pool-out spot based upon another couple of statistics, further encouraging greater usage frequency in an ad we labeled “Average American.” In this commercial a voice-over announced: “Chew on this. The average American eats five times a day and only brushes twice. Chewing Trident after eating can help you fight cavities five times a day.” The success of Trident’s “Chew on this” advertising was rooted in the simple, relevant facts that were consistent with the brand’s oral hygiene heritage. The ads weren’t sexy, but they still excited the sensibilities of gum chewers, inspiring a significant sales increase through the power of easy math.
Nobel Prize–winning psychologist and behavioral economics founder Daniel Kahneman observes that compared to our intuitive, unconscious systems, the cognitive system that supports conscious rational problem solving is lazy. Deliberate critical analysis is slow and tiresome, requiring a demanding cognitive effort that uses up energy in the form of glucose. Because of this, we structure our daily lives to economize our thoughts, leaning on intellectual tools like math and logic especially when we are feeling overwhelmed and lethargic. In addition, when we lack energy, we lack the ability to critically filter information. Kahneman says: “There is evidence that people are more likely to be influenced by empty persuasive messages such as commercials when they are tired and depleted.”13
And when given just the right amount of easily understood facts or figures, it helps people to overcome resistance by reducing discernment to marketing lures. One of the reasons this occurs is that when the mind is busy consciously processing information, it loses the capacity to critically filter additional information. The facts and figures occupy our limited waking thoughts and we momentarily let down our guard. To understand this effect, Stanford University professor Baba Shiv conducted an experiment in which experimental subjects were provided with two options: a tempting chocolate cake or a healthful fruit salad. During one experiment, the group was asked to remember a two-digit number while deliberating between the sweets, and in another, they were asked to memorize a seven-digit number. Previous studies have shown the limitations of working memory at approximately seven units of information. By pushing the limits of conscious thought, they reduced their subjects’ ability to consciously resist their unconscious physical impulses. The brakes of restraint could not be as easily applied because their cognitive effort had been redirected toward the task of remembering the number. Those required to remember only two digits had the available cognitive capacity that made them more likely to resist the temptation of the chocolate cake and instead choose the fruit salad, the healthier, more rational option.14
Often too much information can backfire. When marketers attempt to cram a lot of information into a short ad, the results can be self-defeating. Less is in fact more. That is because the conscious mind will leap to conclusions, forming a coherent narrative based upon partial information. This strong tendency to draw conclusions from incomplete information is a cognitive rule that Kahneman calls “What you see is all there is.” Kahneman argues that consistency and coherence, not quantity or quality of information, are the keys to forming opinions.
As he explains, “The confidence that people experience is determined by the coherence of the story they manage to construct from available information. It is the consistency of the information that matters for a good story, not its completeness. Indeed you will often find that knowing little makes it easier to fit everything you know into a coherent pattern.” In other words, if the story increases in complexity and length, it runs the risk of reduced coherence, inadvertently undermining the effectiveness of the communication. Kahneman observes that evoking consistent associations and providing cognitive ease for processing information are essential for causing us to accept a statement as true, adding that “much of the time the coherent story we put together is close enough to reality to support reasonable action.”15
Marketers need to provide a logically connected argument that customers can easily understand and pass on to others to justify their actions in buying a brand. As Kahneman describes it, “Neither the quantity nor the quality of the evidence counts for much in subjective confidence. The confidence depends on the quality of the story they can tell.” We need to arm prospects not with a laundry list of facts or a complex in-depth product analysis but with the right narrative. It is not through the tedious tale, but rather through the simple story made up of uniformly fluent facts that are repeated consistently and can be accepted as true, that the mind settles on a coherent pattern that suppresses doubt.
For example, Dyson’s marketing campaign has always been grounded in the same consistent story, the immutable account that began one day when Dyson became frustrated when he was cleaning his house and his vacuum cleaner lost suction. Inside every box of Dyson vacuum cleaners is a little brochure that tells this brand story. It explains how Dyson discovered an obvious design flaw as he tore apart his vacuum cleaner’s bag, finding that it had become blocked with dust and dirt, and setting him off on his committed journey to design and build a better vacuum; how he overcame adversity when the odds were stacked against him; and how he failed more than 1,500 times before getting it right, launching the product that was first doubted and ignored by competitors and later admired and imitated.16
The implication for marketers: Coherence, not content, is king. Our minds are designed to seek patterns, and when something feels askew, we take notice and become guarded. That’s because humans have evolved to avoid harm and today we approach brands with instinctive trepidation. Our higher circuits are designed to imagine every possible scenario of what might go wrong to help us plan how to protect ourselves from danger. Losses are typically weighed about twice as much as are gains.17 When faced with conflicting associations and a convoluted rationale, we retreat, cutting our losses and decreasing our risks. Shoving the kitchen sink into a thirty-second ad or cluttering retail shelves with obfuscating brand extensions backfires because cognitive ease and fluency of communication are critical to persuasion.18 Simple, uncluttered, clear-cut stories and environments work best because of their ability to soothe and assuage our slothful, critical, and often suspicious minds.
Instead of making it easier and simpler, most marketers have made it more difficult. Today we are mired in a plethora of new products each touting a tenuous raison d’être in an attempt to secure yet another irrelevant niche. For example, the average drugstore sells 350 different kinds of toothpaste and 55 floss alternatives.19 We are faced with an increasingly cluttered and fragmented media environment of conflicting messages. Studies in North America have shown that on average we see 3,000 ads per day.20 It’s no wonder that eight out of ten new products fail. This quicksand of content freezes shoppers in indecision, forcing them into paralysis by analysis, as their ability to process multiple streams of information becomes cluttered and unintelligible. Brand and marketing message proliferation overloads consumers and undermines the very purpose of brands as shortcuts to easier choices and better lives, creating a lose-lose situation for marketers and consumers alike. Psychologist Barry Schwartz argues in his book The Paradox of Choice that too much choice not only erodes our psychological well-being and happiness, it can also demotivate us in making purchase decisions. Our mind is programmed to fixate on potential shortcomings, the glass that is half empty. Instead of reveling in the variety, we tend to assemble an idealistic composite of the forgone choices and focus our attention on a wider range of slightly inferior offerings. In one study, shoppers were more likely to purchase jam when they were offered free samples of six different jams as opposed to being offered samples of twenty-four. In another study, experimental subjects were asked how they would react if the price of a desirable Sony appliance was dramatically reduced and displayed in a shop window. The offer was met with foreseeable enthusiasm. But when a second, similarly marked-down appliance was placed next to it, enthusiasm waned and sales dropped as hypothetical customers became frozen in indecision.21
The panelist sat in front of me, with his arms crossed and face steadfast. “Not gonna happen . . . no way,” he retorted, explaining in no uncertain terms that he would never buy a German vehicle. These were the Asian-brand buyers, the die-hard Toyota and Honda loyalists who wore their self-righteous pragmatism like a crown. They preferred the low end of the car lineup, the compact sedans, the more utilitarian and affordable the better. Quality was defined on their terms, and for them it meant getting from points A to B . . . period. They had an emotional attachment to their logical sensibilities, creating missions out of their rationalizations. This sense of purpose made them feel a bit smarter, even a bit better than others, a belief that bordered on hubris and self-righteous indignation. They scoffed at those flaunting the conspicuous consumption of so-called luxury badges.
But something unforeseen happened as the focus group was hijacked and ushered into the adjacent showroom to view the allnew Jetta prototype. They had been instructed not to discuss their thoughts with others until they had a chance to regroup in the focus room. Instead, I watched as their heads nodded and their eyes narrowed and widened as they vacillated between inquisitive investigation and contemplative consideration. Later, they went back to the table in front of the two-way mirror and were asked the million-dollar question: “How much do you think it will cost?” They aimed high, somewhere in the 20,000-plus range. When they were told that the starting price was about 16,000, the collective back pedal commenced. The vibe in the room shifted as if the winds had blown in a completely new set of panelists who were now excited about the prospect of a German designed–vehicle proudly adorning their driveways. Instead of rationalizing why they would never consider Volkswagen, they began asking buying questions. “No way” became “When is it coming out?”
This episode reminded me of a sophisticated, well-dressed woman I once interviewed at a major North American auto show. I was pulling people out of the crowd to videotape their reactions to the all-new Lexus LS 460 that shimmered as it rotated behind the velvet ropes on a large circular stage. She had been checking out the adjacent Mercedes-Benz exhibit and was perhaps drawn by the crowd and camera crew surrounding the new full-size luxury sedan. Inviting her inside the car, I discovered that Lexus wasn’t realistically in her consideration set. “What do you drive now?” I asked. She replied, “I have a Bentley.” She smiled coyly as if trying not to boast while at the same time tacitly acknowledging the elite status that so few were qualified to hold. But when I told her that this luxurious, 400-horsepower Lexus would come in a hybrid version, retailing for more than a hundred thousand dollars, she began singing a whole new tune. Her resistance turned to enthusiasm—she simply “had to have one.”
In both of these examples, brand rejecters turned on a dime into brand advocates because of key pivotal facts: for the Jetta, it was the lower retail cost suggestive of value, and for the Lexus, it was its availability in a hybrid and the higher retail price suggestive of quality and status. Satisfying the needs of prospective buyers for rational justification made this unlikely U-turn in the purchase funnel possible. In each instance the logical facts were not working in isolation, devoid of feelings. Quite the opposite. They actually excited the emotions of prospective car buyers by signaling the attainability of something they had long desired. The Volkswagen Jetta rejecters who became interested had an unrealized, latent desire to own a better class of vehicle. Their unconscious defense mechanism that drove their utilitarian pride was no longer necessary when they learned that they were, for the first time, able to affordably join the ranks of the elite. Likewise, the Bentley owner had a very real emotional desire in sharing the social status of the green movement that the Toyota Prius had made so famous, and Lexus was the first brand that allowed her to take pride in this cachet while still on her more exorbitant terms.
Returning again to our Trident gum example, an important reason the Trident “Chew on this” campaign was effective is that it gave people a reason to chew gum, overriding social pressures and personal resistance to do something previously stigmatized. It allowed people to act on their physical impulses without guilt or hesitancy by giving them justification for their behavior. I recall surprising an acquaintance of mine, who frowned upon gum chewing, with the revelatory fact that chewing Trident actually helped to fight cavities. A couple of weeks later I ran into her and was surprised to catch her in the act of chewing a stick of Trident bubblegum. I said in a good-natured accusatory tone, “I thought you didn’t chew gum.” She bantered back, “I’m not chewing gum. I’m fighting cavities.”
The behavioral economist Dan Ariely, in his book Predictably Irrational, has convincingly popularized the idea that systematic hidden and irrational forces guide decision making and behavior. It turns out classic economic theory had it all wrong. The free choices of individuals are not always what is best because we often decide irrationally. What standard economic theory fails to take into account are the roles of the unconscious and our emotions in the assignation of value in decision making. Similarly, classical marketing theory is also wrong in the belief that all that is needed is a unique sales proposition that positions the brand apart from the competition as the more logical choice. A logical proposition works only if there are emotions behind it to drive brand momentum. Only then will brand prospects seek out their own rational reasons to do something about it. We are not rational creatures. We are rationalizers.
And when our emotional desires begin to shift toward a prospective brand, we subsequently seek to align our reasons to be consistent with that intention. Our rational mind is always looking for evidence to support our dominant beliefs . . . the stronger the emotion, the stronger the belief, and the greater the tendency to seek out supporting evidence. This confirmatory bias is why we often overlook the flaws of the ones we love, even if that loved one is a brand. We focus our attention on the positive qualities of the brand while ignoring the deficiencies. This predilection is what prevents Republicans and Democrats from finding common ground in the same set of facts, and why it is impossible to win an argument with someone on an emotionally charged issue like abortion or the existence of God. No amount of logic or reasoning can overcome strong feelings because the emotionally charged mind will always find its reasons to believe. But for people who are on the fence or who are considering but have yet to select a brand, it is absolutely necessary that the right reasons be offered in order to move them toward sales closure.
As much as it is important to interrupt patterns, build comfort, fire up one’s imagination, and shift feelings, we must also satisfy the critical mind by giving people permission to act on the visceral impulses that propel us through life. What this means for marketers is at some point if you don’t throw the prospective buyer logical lines or factual bones that make sense and ring true, they simply won’t bite. Much as our higher-thinking neocortex jumps to conclusions, making up stories about how we are feeling, it is our critical mind that finds the justifications to support those stories, inclining us to act.
This predisposition is deeply ingrained because our minds have been trained by experience to look for reasons. It is our unconscious tendency to respond to a rationale even if it appears to be irrational, accepting factual information that doesn’t always really make sense. Harvard professor Ellen Langer was one of the first social psychologists to think about the role of the unconscious processing of information. In a study Langer conducted in the late 1970s, researchers approached people in the act of using copying machines and asked if they could cut into the line and make photocopies. The experimental subjects were given different reasons for the request ranging from the sensible to the seemingly senseless, such as “because I’m in a rush” and “because I need to make copies.” The researchers found out that compliance was higher when they gave a reason, even if the reason didn’t really make sense. The subjects responded to the context of the request and not necessarily the specific content. Simply structuring the question with an embedded reason was sufficient to gain compliance to the request. This phenomenon was not without its limits. As Langer explained, the rationale of “because an elephant is after me” didn’t cut it.22
When marketers structure a request for people to choose their brand, they benefit from including a reason, any reason, even if that reason is the “sheeting action” of Cascade dish detergent. It contains just enough logic consistent with a claim for virtually spotless dishes. If you don’t give a reason, you are ignoring a very important component of how our emotional mind and rational mind work together, and, in turn, you are failing to address a key barrier to sealing the deal.
Once the prospect has established interest in the brand, at some phase of the purchase process you have to engage his or her frontal cortex. This is the part of the brain that plans behavior and decides whether or not to open the wallet or tighten the purse strings. You need to penetrate the critical filter that asks the questions, “Does this jibe with my past experience? Does the story hang together? Does it make sense?” If the answer is no to any of these questions, the conscious mind exercises its executive control by vetoing the suggestion and rejecting the sales pitch. The critical filter is like the gatekeeper, the bouncer at the door that decides whether or not to give permission to enter the domain of the unconscious mind.
Even though the unconscious drives behavior, it lacks the capacity for reasoning, accepting unconditionally any facts or suggestions presented to it by the conscious mind. While the unconscious mind is immensely more powerful, it is also very gullible. It responds but doesn’t think. On the contrary, our conscious mind is thoughtful and skeptical but has a limited attention span. Any pitch toward the welcoming heart must be accompanied by an acknowledgment that placates the cautious cynic.
Provide facts to get excited about. We need to stop vilifying rational approaches as somehow inferior and ineffective. When advertising agencies tell marketers that rational ads don’t work, they only appear self-serving and more focused on creative awards than the sales at hand. The goals are engagement and consideration in which both emotions and rationality play key roles. Rather than categorically rejecting the so-called rational, we to need find facts and figures that spark anticipatory pleasures or relevant emotions. This means looking deeper than hackneyed or bombastic claims. A detergent that is 10 percent stronger on stains probably won’t cut it. Likewise, advertising a set of cutlery that cuts through solid rock without ever losing sharpness will only fall on deaf ears. Conversely, Lexus once successfully advertised gold-plated air bag connectors that in one fell swoop communicated both luxury and safety, seizing ownership of a feature not unique to the brand but equally satisfying to rational and emotional sensibilities.
Reframe support points as barriers to resistance. When designing marketing and ad strategies, don’t think of the support points as a list of nice-to-know facts, think of them as consumers’ barriers to action. What sticking points need to be overcome in order to give the prospect permission to buy the brand? Also make sure these points logically tie together in a single coherent narrative. For instance, if you’re selling orange juice and your benefit is fresh squeezed taste, you don’t want to talk about being fortified with calcium and Vitamin C because these things don’t taste good.
Find your brand story. What is the narrative equivalent of your elevator pitch in your brand positioning? Not just the value proposition, but also the emotionally inspiring simple story. Once you have created your brand’s narrative, break it down into a single phrase or sentence that includes both the emotional benefit and rational reason. In his documentary film The Greatest Movie Ever Sold, Morgan Spurlock asks marketing executives of Ban deodorant: “What are the words used to describe Ban? Ban is blank . . .” After an awkwardly uncomfortable but humorously long pause, one executive— seemingly caught off guard by the very basic query—says: “That’s a great question!” Another executive finally interjects: “Superior technology.” Spurlock quips: “Technology is not the way you want to describe something somebody’s putting in their armpit.”
The point is you should always know your brand story and be prepared to succinctly summarize it, not just the logical or technological facts but also the emotional desire that drives the brand’s impetus. For example, one of the great brands I have worked on is Snapple All Natural Tea, a brand that has consistently been “made from the best stuff on earth” because it contains “healthy green tea, tasty black tea, real sugar.” It’s not just good; it’s good for you.
Let the product do the work. When your product appears to do realistically remarkable things, showcase it. Like Dyson did in his vacuum commercials, or as Blendtec did in its viral videos of its powerfully destructive blenders. These demonstrations can help sell the product just as well as poignant tearjerkers. Apple has an effective commercial for the iPhone that turns product into pitchman. The product does the selling through a close-up demonstration of its amazing features and applications set against a simple, black background, using only an iPhone and a pair of hands.
Don’t try to slip one over on them. When the conscious critical mind catches wind of attempts or perceived attempts at manipulation, marketing efforts can come back to bite you in the backside. For example, one troubling trend has been the reduction of product size without a corresponding reduction of price, or worse, with an increase. This can result in public outrage, negative online chatter, and weakened loyalty toward offending brands. Dove’s famous “Real beauty” campaign came under public scrutiny and sparked controversy amid rumors that the supposedly natural, real models had been Photoshopped. Whether or not these rumors were true, it serves to underscore how a very effective campaign can be potentially undermined if there is conscious attention drawn toward potential inauthenticity, especially when extolling the benefits of “real.”
Not all media attention is good attention. “Astroturfing,” a term derived from the synthetic carpet designed to look like natural grass, is when a campaign planned by a corporation or other organizations is disguised as a grassroots effort. For example, in 2001 the Los Angeles Times accused Microsoft of astroturfing in response to the antitrust suit against the company by the US Department of Justice. Apparently hundreds of letters prepared by “Americans for Technology Leadership” were mailed to newspapers to voice disapproval of the suit. Unfortunately, some of these letters had allegedly come from incorrect addresses and dead people, putting into question the validity of the senders and the source of their claims of support for the company.23 Another example: When Honda published photos of their new Crosstour on Facebook, negative comments about the design were countered by the positive commentary of a blogger who failed to identify his relationship with the company. He was outed by the angry crowd as the product manager at Honda.24 And in 2012, Chick-fil-A was accused of launching a fake Facebook account to rebut criticism stemming from the announcement that The Jim Henson Company was pulling their toys from the chain because of the restaurant company president’s opposition to same-sex marriage. Outspoken teen Abby Farle defended Chick-fil-A on Facebook, but when someone found her recently uploaded profile photo on a stock photography site, widespread animosity and protest toward the company ensued. Whether it was an epic corporate PR blunder or the rogue actions of someone wishing to anonymously support or further embarrass Chick-fil-A, manipulating social media is like playing with fire.25
Keep it simple, stupid. Among the many banal aphorisms in marketing and business, here is one worth remembering: Short and sweet is best because long and complex reduces coherence and consistency. Even when you have the benefit of long-form copy such as with digital media, remember the backdrop of the increasingly crowded Internet and a reduced attention span. This truth only increases in importance as markets increase in complexity.