Imagine for a moment that you sell Fabergé eggs: the most exquisite and delightful works of craftsmanship and attention made by human hands. More than anything, you want to see the work spread, with hundreds of homes graced by these jewelled confections.
So every day you head out your door to find people who would treasure a Fabergé egg. You walk until your pedometer breaks, you talk to a football stadium’s worth of people, shaking hands to rejection after rejection.It seems very clear that most people feel no pressing desire to own a Fabergé egg. (Which makes no sense at all!)
Then you find Josie, who loves Fabergé and needs some for her home.
“Wonderful!” you say. “Why don’t you come back to my shop and look them over?” She agrees instantly and you walk back to your shop.
(This is where things get tricky.)
Your shop is a big black warehouse in a dead-end street. It has dogs with speculative eyes wandering outside and a strange chemical smell no-one has identified. You feel Josie’s feet slow down and her back tense.
“I… uh… forgot. I have an appointment. Across town. With the police.”
And you say to her, “No, wait! It’s much nicer on the inside!” and you grab her hand and firmly drag her in the door (her feet leaving contrails in the dirt). She makes a surprised “Oh!” noise and sits down. Her feet sink into the warm white carpet and her eyes move from one spot of light to another, from beauty to beauty. By the end of her tour she’s nearly swooning with joy and delight and making plans for a thousand purchases.
This is not the end of the story.
In her post-swoon shopping bliss she invites you out for coffee and biscotti and hesitantly asks, “Can I ask… what do you think about marketing?”
You reply, “I hate it. It’s tiring and stressful. My feet get sore and I usually have to talk to a thousand people before I find one who loves Fabergé eggs. But if I don’t go out and find people, no-one comes into my business. I’ve done ads and things but they never work.”
Josie looks thoughtful as she nibbles her biscotti. “You have a marvellous and beautiful business,” she says. (You blush modestly.) “No-one could be better at it. But your marketing doesn’t match it. Not at all.” (This time the blush is embarassment.)
Then she smiles radiantly. “Can I help?”
You do your I’m interested face.
“What if your shop was as beautiful as the things inside it? What if you didn’t have to wander the streets looking for people and dragging them through the door because people flock to you? Run and line up to experience the marvellous things you have to offer?”
“What if… what if your shop had glass walls that let the light out?”
And you weep.
You do magnificent work. You deserve marketing to match.
If you love the hell out of your work but hate marketing it, I’ve made something for you: it’s called Goddamn Radiant and it will transform your relationship with marketing.
This is my best work. This is what I was meant to do. If you know someone who needs this, please tell them about it.
Thank you, dearest.
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