If I ever DJ (I won’t), i’d just play this. It’d be a short (but awesome) DJ set:
This Charming Man (New York Instrumental)
I would then put on my gigantic mouse-head helmet thing, and give the cheering crowd one of these:
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Tags: smiths
Netflix has lost its social object.
For its initial (massive) run Netflix was defined by its “social object” of the Red Envelope. For some period of time, the Red Envelope was a sort of badge; an external manifestation of internal values:
The Red Envelope signified a person’s love (not like) of movies. Not a movie fan, but a movie fanatic.
Having this Red Envelope on your desk / coffee table allowed for the thing that the movie fanatic wanted to happen to happen:
A visitor to the movie fanatic’s home/office would see the Red Envelope, and ask about it. This allows the movie fanatic to do what he (not “wants to do”) must do: Talk about his passion.
The Red Envelope was the conversation starter, and the tool that enabled the movie fanatic to become an evangelist for Netflix. It was the tool that allowed the burden of promotion to shift from Netflix to the movie fanatic.
It was the tool that accelerated Netflix’s growth.
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The Red Envelope is largely gone. It’s been replaced by a stream.
The stream can not and does not act as a social object.
Markets are conversations.
The conversation starter — the Red Envelope — is gone.
The conversation has died down considerably.
Music has lost similar social objects.
Vinyl’s resurgence is only partly explained by its sound quality.
The main reason people crave vinyl is that it acts as a social object — an external representation of internal values — and, when seen sitting on someone’s coffee table/hanging on their wall, provides the conversation ignition for the music fanatic to become an evangelist for the band who they love.
It was the tool that accelerated music’s growth.
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The vinyl record (and its less-effective counterpart, the CD) is largely gone. It’s been replaced by a stream.
The stream can not and does not act as a social object.
Markets are conversations.
The conversation starter — the Vinyl Record (and, its less-effective counterpart, the CD) — is gone.
The conversation has died down considerably.
Writing has lost similar social objects.
Books have long been the classic example of social objects (an external manifestation of internal values). We have — museum like — portions of our house that act as a display case for these values (they’re called book cases). We have tables specifically designed to display these — coffee table — books.
These books provided the conversational ignition between the fan of the author of the book, and their friend, and allowed the fan of the author to become an evangelist for the author, and thus shift the burden of promotion from the author herself (or her less-effective counterpart, the publisher) to the fan. (“Books are the new vinyl” will become a meme, just watch).
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The book, while not gone, is rapidly being replaced by a stream (download).
The stream can not and does not act as a social object.
The conversation starter — the book — is gone.
The conversation has died down considerably.
What are our new social objects? The iPad. People use it as an external expression of their internal values. It’s why the market for iPad covers is so high.
Apps may fill this role to a degree. You are, to a point, defined by your apps.
It’s not the same, however, and we all know it.
Savvy companies will recognize that they must create social objects even as their products largely move to the intangible.
Failure to do so deprives customers of the tools they need to make the switch from fan to evangelist, and therefore decreases the chance of the burden of promotion from the creator (or label, publisher, producer) to the constituent, and thereby puts a ceiling on growth.
About two years ago, I wrote a post entitled “The Stream That Snuck up on You” about the ways in which streaming was inexorably becoming a larger part of how we access music.
I think that we can all agree that — with the rise of Spotify (which, at the time of that post hadn’t launched in the US), the growth of Pandora (IPO, or otherwise, I’m not sure it’s sustainable), and, the launch of Apple’s iTunes Match — streaming is now a much larger part of our life than it was in the past, and that we ain’t going back.
As is so often the case, music was the proverbial canary in the coal mine; this time, with respect to streaming. Music, because of its relatively small file sizes, and youthful (and thus more computer savvy) demographic tends to lead the way in tech disruption.
Other industries/mediums follow.
What this means is that your days of storing things on your computer — files, movies, photos, etc. — are largely coming to an end.
Don’t believe me? Think about the number of external harddrives you bought between the years 2005 and 2010. Now think about the number of external harddrives you’re buying these days. It’s not just because of a Moore’s-law-related storage capacity increase. It’s because you’re gradually, but inexorably (yes, I like that word) moving to the cloud.
Tags: moore's law
We buy a musical instrument because it represents the possibility of creating art that we/others might enjoy/buy (why do you think guitar stores have mirrors?)
We buy a computer because it represents the possibility of writing a book/building a business (why do you think Apple gives away apps like GarageBand and iMovie with their computers?)
We buy ingredients for dinner because they represent the possibility of a meal enjoyed with the family/loved one (why do you think food tends to be sold in the quantities it is?)
We buy a vacation because it represents the idea of happiness with family/loved one (why do you think EVERY parent feels compelled to take their kid(s) to Disney?)
You have to understand the purpose/job of the product. Why do we HIRE a product/service – what do we really want from it?
This HBR article (worth the $6) sums it up:
Unlike traditional market segmentations that are based on a correlation of product sales or service with the attributes of the purchaser (such as age, gender, income level, and education level), jobs-based segmentation seeks to understand the causal roots of purchase-when a buyer needs to “hire” a product or service to get a “job” done.
Think in terms of what role your work is filling in the life of the customer. Think also where your customer would turn if your work didn’t exist. Then make sure that your work is doing the job your customers are hiring it for… better than any substitutes could.
When the product/service you offer is hired by someone because they feel this product/service will do the job of making them better/smarter/more beautiful/more creative/more successful/etc. (i.e. increase their possibility) you will have a hit.
This hangs in my office:
Of all of Mr. MacLeod’s work, it’s the one I always come back to.
Tags: Hugh MacLeod
I love it when products/companies/individuals impliment “small” changes that signify something far greater.
These “incremental” changes or innovations can be so slight as to be nearly subliminal to the customer, but the impact these changes can have is anything but small.
The most recent example of small change having a disproportionately large effect that I’ve noticed is Audi’s headlights.
I’ve never paid much attention to Audi as a car manufacturer. As is so often the case with durable good type products, the feelings you establish (good or bad) in your early experiences with products tend to inform your life-long opinion of them. This is why brands try so hard to capture the loyalty of the 18-24 year-old male; they know if they get them at that stage in their life, they’ll have them forever. I had a bad experience with an Audi back when I was in college, and, thus, embargoed the company as a possible choice for me since then.
Until now.
It wasn’t some car review that made me reconsider the company. Nor was it word of mouth (either from an actual conversation or some social media variant).
Rather, it was this:
The line of LED lights that Audi has introduced (I don’t know how recently) into their headlights just pops out. For me, this “small” detail completely differentiates the Audi from other cars of its ilk (BMW, Mercedes, Lexus) that, truth be told, otherwise really do sort of look all alike.
What keeps this detail from being “small” is that it represents something larger. In literary theory, you refer to this as “synecdoche” (a part representing the whole; e.g. Blake’s opening line of “The Tyger”: “Tyger! Tyger! burning bright/”).
The LED lights in these headlights represents something much larger in my mind: adherence to quality, innovation, style, etc. This detail has made me completely rethink Audi.
As another example, Apple is, of course, masterful at this. Think of what happens on your iPhone if you tap the camera icon on the lock screen rather than slide it upwards. The entire screen bounces up a bit — subtly and stylishly showing you precisely what you need to do in order to launch the camera app from the lock screen.
Too often, we feel we must make wholesale change in our products, services, (selves), etc. In reality, a slight change that is illustrative of something deeper going on below the surface tends to have a more profound impact.
“Small” change has the power to absolutely surprise and delight users. A customer may not comment on these details, but — in aggregate — they register and accumulate powerfully in their mind. The overall outcome is tremendous loyalty.
Tom Waits “Small Change”: