Swag vs. Surprise: 3 Lessons

A couple weeks ago I wrote about the role swag and surprise play in social engagement. Turns out…this is kind of a hot topic. When it comes to swag and marketing, just about everyone has an opinion.

I posed a question on my facebook page (hoping to get some gut reactions from friends outside the marketing industry.)

Are you more likely to engage with brands through social because you want a relationship with them or because you want access to perks, discounts, free stuff?

Carmen O. I want a relationship with brands I identify with on a personal level in some way (e.g., Seventh Generation (social responsibility) or Enjoy Life (access to allergy-free food.) I don’t pay attention to whether there is a freebie, I already feel I’m in a relationship with these brands. Engaging through social no doubt strengthens that.

Laura S. I do not seek any sort of relationship with a brand. My loyalty to a brand is based strictly on the functionality of their product and the social/environmental impact of their company. For large national brands, I equate any social interaction with them to advertising, so unless there is some sort of perk or reward for interacting with the brand, I’m not interested.

For example, Facebook keeps suggesting I follow Bounty paper towels. I buy Bounty because they work, not because they have an interactive Facebook page. I would only tolerate their content in my newsfeed if I got something out of it.

Local brands are different to me, kind of like cheering for the hometown hero. I enjoy knowing how they are growing, what they are learning, and how they are changing. I want local brands to succeed because their success reflects well on my city, which is a reward in itself.

Monica J. I just experienced swag love yesterday. I ordered some products recommended by a friend from MooGoo. They came all the way from Australia. In the box, they had included a note thanking me for ordering from so far away. They also included free gifts and samples of other products I hadn’t ordered. They didn’t have to do any of that, but it was so very awesome that they did. It spawned immediate social media action from me as I was motivated to go like their FB page, gush on their wall about my experience, and thank my friend for recommending MooGoo. They earned me as a customer for life just by being thoughtful.

The swag post received a couple comments from great minds in the industry, as well. Their comments drive home a few points I wanted to make about swag and surprise. You’ll find them below…

1. SWAG AND SURPRISE ARE NOT SYNOMOUS.

Let’s be honest. We all love free stuff. But if you’re anything like me, you’ve pitched more than a few branded tumblers, keychains and koozies in your time.

Let’s get a couple things straight, shall we?

You can surprise without giving out swag. (Good.) You can give out swag without surprising and delighting. (Less good.) You can surprise and delight with the help of swag. (Hooray!)

Swag is stuff. Surprise is a sentiment.

Swag is about creating a one-off. Surprise is about creating a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Swag is evidence that your brand has a promotional item budget. Surprise is evidence that your brand is paying attention to your customers.

Swag is one-night stand. Surprise is an LTR.

Swag http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=0exXGfzivJ8

Surprise http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=MGDXgEFnrTs

Got it?

2. TIMING IS EVERYTHING. When you employ the use of swag and surprise may be just as important (if not more than) as what you give someone. Remember: surprise and delight isn’t intended to “buy,” “coerce,” “convince” or “sway.” It’s meant to show the people who love your brand that you love them back…and you’re tuned in and paying attention.

Mack Collier, @MackCollier I think an important clarification needs to be made in the discussion of giving customers free stuff. WHEN they receive the free stuff can be the most important consideration.

In general, if the gift comes BEFORE the purchase, it’s an incentive to change behavior. If the gift comes AFTER the purchase, then it is viewed by the customer as a REWARD. A reward helps build loyalty, which can turn customers into fans. In researching my book I discovered that this is probably the biggest marketing disconnect between brands and rock stars. Brands, for the most part, target getting business from NEW customers, via incentives, offers and free stuff. Rock stars also offer free stuff, but they target their biggest fans via secret shows, autograph signings, etc. The idea is to target your fans, create something amazing for them, then let them become your marketing channel via word of mouth.

3. THIS IS ABOUT MORE THAN GOODS. IT’S ABOUT BEING GOOD.  Surprise and swag can work together to create a truly remarkable experience, but at the end of the day surprise isn’t about stuff, it’s about sentiment.

In the same way the coolest swag loses impact when there is no thought behind it, a simple, handwritten note has the power to overwhelm and delight. Why? Because it shows someone—a real human—cares. And in a world of tweets, text and automation, a real connection with a real human goes a heck of a long way.

Geno Church, @GenoChurch I love hand written notes. I keep every one I get. I often buy from Frank & Oak, an online men’s clothing club. With every purchase I get a little hand written note along with a random nugget. It’s not the typical thank you, and it speaks to the folks at F&O. I find that a meaningful treasure.

BRINGING IT ALL HOME… So am I proposing that you swear of swag? Definitely not. What I am challenging you to do is get to know your customers. Get in there and pay attention. Find out what they need and what they want. Really listen. Find out what makes them tick and what makes them smile. Then challenge yourself to blindside them with something remarkable.

UP NEXT WEEK: 7 Awesome Examples of Surprise and Delight that will Blow your Mind.

YOUR TURN: In the meantime, step up to the mic and share your thoughts with us. Are you more likely to engage with brands through social because you want a relationship with them or because you want access to perks, discounts and free stuff?

Free Love: The Influence of Swag + Surprise on Social Engagement

Be advised: Today I am going to share an opinion that may ruffle your feathers a bit.

If you are looking to increase conversation about and brand loyalty…give people free stuff.

Now that I have your attention…I’ll admit, it’s a little more complex than that.

From what I have observed, there tend to be two schools of thought when it comes to the role of free stuff in marketing. On one side you have the swag-crazy “buy your love” types willing to throw t-shirts and koozies at anyone with a Twitter following. At the other end of the spectrum you have high-and-mighty marketers who believe clever content is all it takes to earn a follow or inspire a love connection. The types who unapologetically snub their noses at the notion that “surprise and delight” might include free swag (and God help you if you dare to utter the phrase “klout score” in their presence…)

Both of these camps are in the wrong. You can’t buy love, and content is simply not enough anymore. Attention spans are short and expectations are high in this vastly over-connected, ever-evolving, socially-saturated landscape. As the power dynamic has shifted and consumers have taken the wheel, their needs and wants have changed. People aren’t just connecting with brands because they value their industry or product (let’s be honest, toilet paper, butter and laundry soap aren’t all that interesting.) They want to establish a one-on-one relationship with a brand and they want the brand to establish a relationship with them. Social engagement between brands and fans has become a lot like dating, but we’ll get to that soon enough.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I plan to make a case for the valid and valuable role “free stuff” plays in a sound marketing strategy. I have no intention of advocating on behalf of freebies, rather I intend to explore the way “surprise and delight” is resonating with consumers and elevating brands. I plan to share some tangible examples of surprise and delight from my own experiences, as well as a few case studies from brands I believe are doing it right. More on that to come.

In the meantime, let’s take a look at some of the research that validates the role of “free love” in the minds of marketers vs. the minds of consumers.

A BRIEF SYNOPSIS CMOs like to think social engagement is a direct result of quality content. They focus their energy on creating content, and see little reason to incentivize loyalty. The overwhelming majority of consumers surveyed, however, say that incentives (free stuff, special offers) are the number one thing that lead them to engage with a brand in the social space.

THE LONGER STORY According to a global study, 67% of people surveyed expressed an expectation that liking or following a brand would result in exclusive offers. When the same question was posed to a group of CMOs, the results were vastly different.

“The CMOs surveyed believed that social engagement is more of a by-product of quality content, and are less concerned with incentivizing loyalty among their followers. According to [the CMOs], customers interact with brands because they want to be heard (41%) or are looking for news or information about products (40%). Only 33% believe their fans are looking for incentives or rewards, and only 27% believe customers are seeking special savings or experiences exclusive for followers.”

Fluke findings, perhaps? Not so much. The results have been reaffirmed by several other studies.

Similar findings were uncovered by ExactTarget, which explored what prompted consumers to engage with an email, like a brand on Facebook or follow on Twitter.

“‘Stuff’ remained the main driver for engagement, with the top two motivators being discount promotions (52%) and receiving ‘free stuff or giveaways’ (44%). For Facebook, it’s the same.”

At the end of the day, 67% of consumers are motivated to socially engage by a behavior that only 27% of marketers are willing to recognize. Sounds like a conundrum. It also begs the question are we, as marketers, seeing reality? Or are we choosing to interpret reality as we would like it to be?

FOOD FOR THOUGHT (we want to hear your thoughts in the comments below!)

1) What motivates you to connect and engage with a brand?

2) Have you ever been the recipient of a “surprise and delight”? How did that experience change your relationship with a brand?

3) What is your general sentiment toward brands that make “free stuff” part of their marketing strategy?

4) What are your favorite examples of surprise and delight?

UP NEXT WEEK: Swag vs. Surprise + Delight

The Sidewalks of Chicago

There is a place in Chicago, high above the streets I can tell you about. I've only been there once.

There is a place in Chicago, high above the streets I can tell you about. I won't tell you the name, because it's not important. But it's there, believe me. High above the hustle and bustle of a street named after a state, some of the most world's most talented musicians have met their destiny.

It is more treasure chest than shop. A landing pad where string instruments arrive like long-awaited foreign dignitaries with names like Francois and Annalinda. Some of them are named after artists or constellations, others named after lovers lost between the pages of the world's greatest unwritten love stories. Each one has a history. Many of them, if not most, are centuries old. One sat in the corner, listening to gossip at Marie Antoinette's ball. Another recalls the first breath of fresh air after years passed hiding in Amsterdam. The youngest is rumored to have a distant cousin that continued playing that night as the ship went down.

When you meet the dignitaries your instinct is to hush. You want to believe they will whisper their stories if you listen closely enough.

There is a sadness to the dignitaries. They have lost-and survived-everyone they ever loved and every hand that ever loved them in return. They have lived a series of lives, a constant reincarnation marked by the passing of time and the ticking of t he clock. Dutifully, they have sung again and again under aging hands, having lost as soon as they are found. They serve faithfully. They endure knowing others cannot. The dignitaries mourn; you can hear it if you listen, like holding a seashell to your ear. Every last breath, ever final farewell and ever swan song remains in the and of their scrolls and the spaces in between.

The people who buy the dignitaries spend a small fortune; at times, the price of a modest home. It seems unfathomable, but once you've heard them sing, you understand they're not just buying an instrument, they're liberating legends and wrapping their fingers around a legacy.

There are families that bring small children to meet the dignitaries. And though the children do not yet know it, their families have also brought them to meet their destinies. The children politely bow and greet the dignitaries. One by one, down the line, they raise their tiny fingers and tiny hands until they stand before The One that sings out in their native tongue. In a split second a path is cleared and a golden light shines just a little bit brighter through 48,000 crystals dangling above the sacred hall on 7th Avenue.There is a place in Chicago, high above the streets, I can tell you about. You would never find it were you not looking. It's behind a door with a brass handle and across a marble floor to an ancient elevator, the kind you only see in old movies. A black man with kind eyes will help you now. He'll pull aside a brass gate with strong hands before asking you which floor you're headed to. Tell him the 6th floor or maybe the 8th. It could have even been the 9th, I can't quite recall. Pass down the short hallway, then a right down the long corridor. If you hit the water fountain you've gone too far.To your right you will see a series of leaded glass windows. Some will be propped open. Step toward them, take a deep breath and see-really see. In the middle of this building in the middle of all this concrete, nine stories below there is a garden thriving in a city. Almost nobody knows. But now you do.Take a seat on the old wooden bench worn from years of visitors coming and going. Close your eyes. Somewhere in the distance the click of a woman's high heeled shoes comes nearer, then further away from you.It's quiet now and you are aware of the sound of your breathing and heartbeating high above a city that does not know of courtyard gardens or dignitaries or of your existence.

At the end of the hall there is an arched doorway. You can see it from where you sit. A single, short step leads up to an old wooden door. Light escapes through a crack between the floor and the base of the door. Beyond the door you hear voices, muffled but jovial. Then the click of a door beyond the door.

And then the singing begins.

You are hearing a familiar song for the first time. Every memory rushes back to you. Discovering toes. The comfort of being tucked into bed as a child. The infinite weightlessness of soaring through the air on a tire swing. The touch of your grandfather's hand patting your back. The smell of July at 10:30 p.m. The feel of a paintbrush in your hand. The taste of vanilla ice cream and South Carolina peaches. The exquisite sensation of slipping beneath the surface of the water in a swimming pool. The exact moment a ride on a bike with no training wheels finally makes sense. The electricity of the first kiss. The rush and rebellion of your first beer. The people you know and knew are laughing and smiling and waving as they go sailing by on a brilliantly colored carousel. Every dream, every hope, every wish is coming back to you now, like lady bugs

Open your eyes.

Stand up.

Turn away from the arched doorway. Walk down the long corridor. Take your time. Turn left down the short hallway. You'll find the elevator and your friend waiting to return you to the lobby from the 6th or the 8th or the 9th floor. He's quieter this time.

When the elevator stops and the doors open, step out and cross the marble floor. Pull open the door and step outside. Let the sunlight envelope you as you squint upward seeing only white light.

To your left a yellow taxi pauses at a stoplight as a child passes through the crosswalk leading a yellow balloon.

High above a bow is lifted from strings as a familiar life begins again on the sidewalks of Chicago.

Dear Marketers...Do Your Job.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=s5mqPPW0hY0 There is a quote by C.S. Lewis that goes a little something like this: Don’t say it was delightful; make us say delightful when we’ve read the description. You see, all those words (horrifying, wonderful, hideous, exquisite) are only like saying to your readers, “Please will you do the job for me.”

I dare say the same is true of marketing. As marketers we do a lot of talking and thinking about how to engage people in talking about, sharing and loving our brands. Asking people to do all of those things, rather than inspiring them to do so, is a lot like asking them to do your job for you. Sometimes I think we forget that our job isn’t just making “pretty trash” (as Greg Cordell has been known to call it), our job is to make people care and fall in love.

In the instant we cease to dwell on selling a service or pushing a product and chose to refocus our energies on creating a remarkable moment or simply bringing a little extra dose of joy into the world, we cease to be “marketers” and start living up to our potential as the magic makers and pixie dusters we really are.

A Sixteenth Year: Life, Friendship and the Burnham Building

While I was home for Christmas vacation I found myself meandering down memory lane by way of old yearbooks, photos and a handful of notes my mother had pilfered from my backpack and carefully tucked away for the last 10+ years. Between the pages of smiling faces I rediscovered inside jokes (long-since forgotten) and summertime promises, dusty with the passing of time.

I'm a writer by trade, but every so often even I find myself flooded by an emotion that renders me speechless, leaving me grasping for the just-right words. Like the fringe between asleep and awake, it's a magical grey area; a combination of reality and fantasy, somewhere between a dream and a memory.

I had an amazing group of friends in high school. We were a ragtag team, our own little roving pack of misfits. We perfected the art of skipping school and had a thing for country drives. A tank of gas was the price of freedom, and ten dollars was all it took to feel invincible and impervious to the world. Truth be told, I don't know that I have ever felt more present in the moment than I did during those afternoons with the windows down, the radio up and the sun shining in on our little corner of the universe.

Sophomore year we made a group decision to participate in the school play. Not having a theater at our own at our high school meant passing a semester in a suspended state of hormone-infused, sugar-and-caffeine laden evenings in The Burnham Building, a practical, sturdy, brick building that had once served as the city's lone high school.

Night after night we showed up for rehearsals and reprimands from cranky directors and stage managers. Though the months felt infinite at the time, looking back, I now realize we were growing up and growing apart at the speed of life. Each day prepared us for the great unknown that lay ahead. We laughed hard and we crushed hard. We drove to Taco Bell to ponder the future over 7-layer burritos. We overanalyzed anything and everything anyone said or did. We complained about our parents, our part-time jobs, our age. We talked about the future like we had it all figured out.

Over the course of those few precious months of practices and rehearsals, I took my first (and only) sip of peach schnapps (just one capful). My first real crush grew into my first real love, (rather than bringing it to his attention I silently spent every night thereafter hoping he'd magically take note.) I discovered one of my closest friend was living a secret life, soon to surface (ultimately breaking the hearts of girls far and wide.) I tirelessly battled my parents when "everyone else" was allowed to do XYZ and I was not (and for each of those "grave injustices" when they stood their ground I don't think I'll ever be able to thank them enough.)

For all the time we spent at Burnham, I remember very little about the building. I can't recall if the seats were cushioned or wooden, painful or comfortable. I don't remember where the restrooms were located or what the dressing rooms looked like. My lingering memories are rooted in emotions and senses: the rush of sitting close, the scent of Abercombie cologne, cherry pie and Diet Dr. Pepper, awkwardly dancing between tape lines as Cake's "Going the Distance" blared from somewhere off in the distance.

As for the building, the one memory I have retained remains that of the backstage walls. Having been used for decades, the painted tiles of backstage Burnham were covered in messages from other plays, other people, other times. Decades of names and notes; a time capsule from the past to the present by all who had passed. Hidden away from the rest of the world, those walls were a place to make a mark and remind the future that we were here. My friends and I, like so many others before, left a legacy preserved for posterity in black Sharpie ink, and when we walked away from the building after our final curtain call that spring, I had no idea it would be for the last time.

Life changes us. It changes the way we think, the way we trust, the way we love. We not only grow older and wiser, we grow different. We begin to opt for the direct route home rather than the meandering country drive. A ten-dollar tank of gas becomes little more than a line item on a monthly budget, midnight swims no longer cross our minds. We  grow older and grow to accept certain inalienable truths: not all is possible, not all is infinite, so much is so very fragile. We move away, we move into new chapters and new lives, leaving our eternal autumn behind.

At 31 I now understand that the handful of friends with whom I roamed the backstage of Burnham were not just the people I spent my formative years with, they were the loves of my life. With each country drive, first cigarette and  Dr. Pepper toast, our lives were being inextricably intertwined. Like siblings, we grew up together. We became a family suspended in time.

Last week I had the opportunity to catch up with one of my dear high school friends. As we reminisced, I mentioned my intention to return to Burnham one day to revisit our wall. Turns out the city razed the building a few years ago. They put up something shiny and new in its place.

Author Richard Ford once said, "What was our life like? I almost don't remember now. Though I remember it, the space of time it occupied. And I remember it fondly." Stage lights may dim and buildings may crumble to the ground, but I like to think the ghost of my 16-year-old self is still happily sitting in the theater seats I cannot quite recall. Surrounded by the contents of her backpack, shoes strewn to the side, I like to imagine her putting off geometry homework for one hour more, head in the clouds as she makes makes a mental note to call her best friend about something "Carlos Juan."

I don't know that I will ever return to the site where Burnham once stood, it seems my mind has preserved it better than time. I'm sure that in a decade or two, the details of songs and snacks will have escaped my mind. But as for the space of time it occupied...that, I am certain, my heart will remember fondly.

Brand Fans, Storytelling + Video Tape

Before you dig into this post, take a moment to reflect on the last time you saw a really great, really memorable, really brand-endearing produced television commercial? With the exception of perhaps Dollar Shave Club, I’m hard-pressed to come up with an answer.

I recently read a statistic that noted by age 65 the average American has watched more than 2 million television commercials. At 30 seconds a spot, that boils down to 1,000,000 minutes of life. If my math is correct, that further breaks down to 694 days. This means the average adult has spent nearly two years of their life watching television commercials by the time they blow out their 65th birthday candles.

There is a quote from Mumford & Sons that goes something like, “Where you invest your time, you invest your life.” I don’t know about you, but I can think of plenty of better ways to spend two years of my life than watching lukewarm tv commercials.

Your bran's fans and customers share their passion for your brand through stories about your brand. Whether you’re asking people to give up 30 seconds of their life to watch a tv spot, or hoping they’ll invest 30 years of their life as a loyal fan, your brand’s best stories aren’t those that clever marketers create, they’re the stories you empower your advocates to tell.

The proof is in the VHS.

[vimeo http://vimeo.com/33885096]

An Open Letter to the Good People of Earth

On Friday, I, like so many, watched in horror as the events in Newtown, Connecticut unfolded.

Those of you who know or follow me know that I don’t tend to shy away from topical discussions in my social streams, but somehow Friday was different. My heart ached to voice my anger and send thoughts of comfort to those affected, but I just couldn’t seem to find the words to say what I needed and wanted to say.

We had a planned Christmas gathering on Friday evening. After spending the night basking in the spirit of Christmas and the presence of loved ones, I came home, pulled up my personal blog, GoodPeopleOfEarth.com, and the below post manifested itself on the page. Robbin asked me to share it here, too.

Our thoughts go out to the victims, their families, friends and communities–and every heart impacted by this senseless tragedy. We’re sending love, thoughts and prayers your way from our little corner of Greenville, South Carolina.

—- An Open Letter to the Good People of Earth: Reflections on a Tragedy

I have fond memories of kindergarten. I remember singing along to “The Letter People.” (Mr. H was my favorite.) My kinder memories are swirled with the scent of melting wax on craft days, the ding of the recess bell and the savored flavor of a first gulp of lunchtime chocolate milk.

Kindergarten was a time of innocence. There were thrills to be found in checking out two library books a week courtesy of Mr. Dewey and his decimal system. A blank sheet of manilla paper was both the canvas and catalyst for endless possibilities. This time of year was a flurry of red-and-green paper chains, counting down the days to Christmas as little hands hurriedly engineered reindeer out of pipe cleaners and clothespins.

Today was a tragic day.

Several years ago I lost a dear friend in an unfortunate accident. Until the fateful morning I received that unexpected early-morning phone call, I had been relatively untouched by the impermanence of life and the reality of death. It was more of a hypothetical, as foreign as the concept of infinity or intricacies of quantum physics. Death was something other people dealt with. When my friend died, everything changed. According to my age I was teetering on the fringe of adulthood, but at the core I was still naively invincible. I didn’t see that phone call, that morning or that tragedy coming. It rocketed me into a harsh new reality, one from which nobody walks away unscathed or unchanged. The world I had known and loved felt strange, foreign and no longer my own.

Life doesn’t ask permission to change you. Bad things happen to good people. The rug gets yanked out from underneath us when we’re least expecting it. People are deprived of final farewells and last “I love you’s” every single day. The difference between a Friday you’ll never forget (try as you might) and just another Friday is often as non-consequential as spilling your coffee or deciding to take a different route to work that day. Life does not ask permission to change you.

Nearly a decade after my friend’s passing, there’s rarely a day that goes by that I’m not haunted by unshakable thoughts bubbling to the surface somewhere in the back of my mind. I wonder about him. I wonder what he would be doing now. Would he be happy? Married? Would he have children? Would he be trying to grow a beard, training for a 5k or penciling me in for brunch on Sunday? At 31, I try to think back to the person I was and wonder what it’s like to be frozen in time at age 23. I wonder what it’s like to never know the excitement of walking down the aisle toward your destiny. I wonder what is lost for those who never have an opportunity to throw a graduation cap in the air, hold their firstborn child in their arms or simply run through one more autumn’s worth of golden leaves.

These are the kinds of thoughts that break my heart on a day like today. Empty swingsets. Silent playgrounds. Abandoned pencil boxes, cubbies and backpacks. Finger-painted masterpieces full of happy families and smiling faces tacked to refrigerator doors in homes where life did not ask permission and life will never be the same.

I started GoodPeopleOfEarth.com as a sort of rebellion against all the bad news in the world. Turn on any news station and you’ll find it, much like the tide, beating against the shore promptly at 6 and 11 day after day after day. And while I have made a commitment not to focus on the negative in my life, on days like this, even I find myself wanting to scream, “What kind of world is this!?”

I saw a lovely post floating around featuring a quote from Fred Rogers. And while words can’t right the wrongs, restore lost moments or make sense of the senselessness, in time I hope we will all be able to refocus our eyes on “the helpers,” as Mister Roger’s mother once called them. The Good People of Earth are out there. Their numbers are great. And I believe they carry a torch of hope for the world I know and love.

Humanifesto 2.0

http://vimeo.com/8224953 Maybe it’s the writer in me, but I really love a manifesto. Few things humanize a brand more than laying it all out there, opening the kimono and letting the world in on what you stand for and stand behind.

I recently stumbled across a page of quotes from author Stan Slap. (How’s that for an awesome name?) As I perused them, they started to read more like a brilliant manifesto than a bunch of individual quotes. I mashed them together. Take a peek…

Lead your own life first. The only thing in this world that will dependably happen from the top down is the digging of your grave. Work/life balance is not about escaping work. It’s about living exactly the way you want to when you’re at work.

I want to be in healthy relationships. I want a real connection with people I spend so much time with. Who creates trust and higher purpose amongst their people and gets unparalleled levels of support for common goals. Hard-core results come from igniting the massive power of emotional commitment. I want to know the work I do means something to somebody and helps make the world, if not a better place, not a worse one.

The high quality of a company’s customer experience rarely has anything to do with the high price of their product. The company may have captured their minds, their bodies and their pockets, but that doesn’t mean it’s captured their hearts. You don’t have to fear your own company being perceived as human. You want it. People don’t trust companies; they trust people.

Remarkable is in the Details

Last week I hopped a plane with my family and jetted off to northern California to enjoy a little wine, sunshine and together time. Near the end of our trip, we packed up and headed south to San Francisco. During an afternoon stroll I happened to wander into The Argonaut Hotel, which was right around the corner from mine.

Before I continue, let’s establish one thing. It’s fair to say I am a “dog person.” (Note: this is the understatement of the century.) While I don’t typically travel with my own dog, there have been times in my life when it has proven difficult to find a dog friendly hotel.

Immediately upon entering The Argonaut, I stumbled across this little sign welcoming, recognizing and celebrating the weekend’s four-footed guests. The Argonaut welcomes pets 200 pounds and under (yes 200, that’s not a typo), for free. Pets are treated to free perks like pet beds (available in various sizes), food and water bowls, and treats. The hotel even sponsors an annual “Howl’oween” event.

From their website:

Pet Friendly Hotels In San Francisco? The Argonaut Is A Dog’s Best Friend. We admit it, we wear our puppy love on our sleeves. Can you blame us? Who can resist those big brown eyes and wagging tails? So we know how hard it can be to leave your furry sidekick behind. That’s why the Argonaut Hotel has adopted a pet-friendly policy that not only welcomes your pet, but also includes no size restrictions or extra charges.

It would seem I have returned to Greenville to talk about a hotel where I wasn’t even a guest. Why? Because I believe we could all learn a little something from The Argonaut.

The following is a mashup of wise tidbits from Nelson Boswell, Rick Tate, Gary Comer and Walt Disney. Combined, it forms a pretty profound nugget of wisdom…

“Here is a simple but powerful rule: always give people more than what they expect to get. Merely satisfying customers will not be enough to earn their loyalty. Instead, they must experience exceptional service worthy of their repeat business and referral. Understand the factors that drive this customer revolution. Worry about being better; bigger will take care of itself. Think one customer at a time and take care of each one the best way you can. Do what you do so well that they will want to see it again and bring their friends.”

Know your customer. And know your competition. When the other guys are focused on simply meeting the basic needs of the customer, aim your energies and efforts on giving them that AND more. Find their sweet spot. Whether it comes in the form of a philanthropic perk with purchase, a dose of humor where it’s least expected or a simple welcome sign celebrating the customers you love (and the four-legged creatures they love)–remarkable is in the details.

Are you in the giraffe business? You should be.

A couple weeks ago, a pack of BOFers had the opportunity to join our courageous clients at Anytime Fitness for their annual conference in Chicago. I could write ten pages of blog post about how inspiring the event was and still barely scratch the surface, so instead I’m going to share an interesting tidbit that stuck with me.

While in Chicago, we had the opportunity to sit in on a session with Alexandra Valentin, Corporate Director of the Ritz-Carlton Leadership Center. During her talk, Alexandra recounted a customer service story that made all 1,400 people in attendance gasp and “aww” in amazement. After doing a little digging around online, I found a video post from the gentleman who received said outstanding service…and wanted to pass it on. If you don’t do anything else today, take a few minutes to watch this video. It will change how you think about customer service and the customer experience.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=aH90uzU5YUw

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that we don’t just work in the (insert your industry here) business. We are all in the people business. I wonder what would happen if we stopped treating customers like customers and started treated them like friends and family?

Anyone can surprise and delight. I challenge you to find your giraffe and create a remarkable experience for someone this week.

CHIME IN: Have you ever been on the receiving end of surprise and delight?