Livia loved three things: the circus, Dita Von Teese and absurdist humour. In a blinding flash of inspiration she decided to bring her loves together with a lavish smear of the buffoonery of the Ancient Roman mimes and the cabaret.
It would be a spectacle of tit tassels, raucous humour and bawdy fun. She named it Cirque de Bum. (A few people told her that it should more accurately be called Cirque du Bum. And she told them to fuck right off.)
Our story starts one year later, as Livia returns to her tiny office in the backstage of Cirque de Bum after a successful quest for an apricot danish and a chai latté.
When she left it was a standard office except for all the shelves of props on the walls. Now, every single bit of available floor space is taken up by an aggressively gaudy red rhinestone throne with bird-of-paradise feathers and gold lamé cushions, and perched on top of them is the world’s most outrageously drag queen fairy godmother. (Even thinking about her hurts your eyes.)
“Well hellloooooo sweetie,” the fairy godmother rasps. “I’m here to swoop in and save you from a terrible woman-eating monster.”
Livia’s eyes light up. “That’s completely ridiculous and I love it. What hoorrible creetur are you saving me from?”
“Why, your marketing, sweet thang.”
At this, Livia’s shoulders slump and she clambers over the throne to disconsolately sit at her desk and start munching on her danish. “There’s nothing you can do there. Marketing is boring and always will be.”
The fairy godmother reaches over and smacks Livia upside the head with a rolled-up newspaper produced by magic. “Don’t be stupid, sugarbaby. It’s gonna be easy-fucking-peasy to get your marketing back on track. First, your marketing is pretty effective in bringing in new people, right? So tell your fairy godmama what the real problem is.”
“Well, I started this business because it sounded like a hell of a lot of fun. And it is fun, mostly… but the marketing part has gotten deadly dull over the last six months. I know I have to do it, but it’s this monumental chore every time.”
“So what do you do, honeytits?”
“I write articles for a local scene mag, do the whole Facebook upload-photos-of-people-having-a-great-time, make flyers, hand out flyers, glue flyers on things, social media, advertise on a couple of radio shows. I kinda like the scene article, but all the rest have gotten SO FUCKING DULL. I noticed last week that our Facebook page has 1600 photos on it – all of them ones I’ve uploaded. Le sigh.”
“Okay, sweetpea, a quick mental challenge for you. I mean, we both know what the quietest night of the week is, right?”
They look at each other and unanimously drawl, “Tuesday.”
“Right. So if I gave you the theme of, oh, connection, name me five ways you could get more punters into the club on a Tuesday with it.”
“I love challenges! Lessee… I could offer 20% off to any people who turn up handcuffed together.”
“Nice. Especially love the cunning way that doubles the take.”
“Ahthankyew. Also, I could give free tix to anyone who tweets me a photo of their tits – they’ll spend enough at the bar to be worthwhile, probably. Special party for the people who have liked us on Facebook? And a free magnum of champagne to anyone who comes with their sports team, in uniform, natch. Was that five?”
“Not yet, but you get the idea, hunnybunny. That’s marketing, and it’s not boring.”
“Sure, but that’s a one-off kind of deal. It would fill the club one Tuesday, but what about the rest of the week? I have to do Facebook and all those other things…”
“HAVE TO?” The fairy godmother rose up in wrath on glittery platforms until her bouffant touched the ceiling. “FUCK YOUR “HAVE TO” AND THE HORSE IT RODE IN ON, SUGARLUMPS. THERE IS ONLY ONE “HAVE TO” IN MARKETING AND IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH FUCKING FACEBOOK.”
Livia stared up fearfully. “Well, what is the one have to, then?”
The fairy godmother folded herself up like a psychadelic origami and sat back down. “It’s simple, babycakes. You have to find people who would be interested in what you have to offer, and invite them to check it out. That’s all. Facebook and flyers and whateverthefuckelse are just ways to do that, not Unchangeable Recipes. As long as you’re connecting with people who love what you have to offer and making it easy for them to buy it, you’re fine. Oh, okay… you also have to have something worth buying, but you already took care of that, my little sweetiepie, didn’t you.”
“Okay, assuming I believe that, what do you want me to do?”
“Sugartart, I want you to stop. Right. This. Instant. doing marketing that bores you. People are savvy enough to feel the lack of enthusiasm, anyway. Instead, I want you to go on a month-long bender of totally fun marketing. Only do marketing that makes you giggle insanely. Stretch your creativity to its fucking utmost. Experiment. PLAY. All the fun, irreverent naughtiness you put in the show, put it out on the streets. Treat your marketing like one of your acts and stop being so fucking pedestrian. Sheesh.”
Livia quirked one ruby-red lip and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
The highlights of the next month included Theme Tuesdays, a no-photographers-celebrity-only bash (each celebrity was invited by a couriered box with a sequin mask and a pair of tassels inside), a Body As Canvas special, a YouTube series called Livia’s Fartings of Authority, and the hiring of a minion to upload the amazing Facebook photos of all the ribald debauchery.
The fairy godmother came to the office door once, but at the sound of evil giggles she crept away on sixteen-inch glitterpumps.
The moral of the story
Far too often I hear this line in one-on-one sessions: “I don’t really like [Twitter, Facebook, newsletters, writing articles, etc] but I have to do it.”
This is the point where I always ask, “Why do you have to?”
The answers are usually either, “Because [Expert Guy] said so,” or “Because I do. Right?”
The sigh of relief when they realise that no, actually they don’t have to, could fill the sails of the Endeavour for its entire journey from England to Australia.
Clearly you have to do some marketing – unless people are actively hunting you and your work down in order to buy it, then marketing is super important.
But there is not one single rule about what form that marketing has to take. You could write articles, or send personalised direct mail to a group of twenty thoroughly reasearched clients-to-be. You could be on Facebook, or Twitter, or LinkedIn, or whatever – and as long as your bestest people are also there, whichever one you choose is the right one. You could hire a skywriter, stage a stunt, tattoo your URL on yourself, send out free samples, create videos and post them on YouTube, host a sausage sizzle, create a special package for an influencer, produce a coffeetable book, make a free iPhone app, sing on the streetcorner.
Any of these – and thousands of other ideas – could work for your business. So do us all a favour and only use (and rock out) the ones that you enjoy.
Play with your marketing.
There are enough boring I-gotta articles and newsletters and social media accounts and all the rest out there already – don’t add to the noise.
Instead, BRING THE NOISE.
If you’re concerned that your work isn’t passing the so-important “stuff worth buying” test, then you need to check out my special Couch to Magnificence offer. From now until my birthday, May 28, when you invest in DIY Magnificence you will get both the amazing framework AND my ass-kicking-drag-queen-fairy-godmother help. Do it today!
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