GREY MICROMARKETING

I went past this cafe near work. There are 8 cafés within 5 minutes walk of my office. I was full of expectations when, from the distance, I noticed that one of these cafés had decided to use its windows to toughen up its competitiveness. Each one of the 3 posters in the windows says:

HERE
HAPPY HOURS
everyday 5pm to 7pm
BEERS ON TAP
COCA COLA
ORANGINA

Not quite a hard sell. Not sure it would work in Manchester or Boston. Too weak in alcoholic content.

I have yet to go in, but I will as soon as the poster microcampaign comes down.

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TRULY EMOTIONAL MICRO-MARKETING

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Today a marketing idea added some warmth to my sunday lunch.

I decided to venture to a part of Paris I had heard about but never yet been to: Butte aux Cailles - a picturesque mini-Montmartre in the unlikely setting of the tough 13th arrondissement.

Not dismissing the very tasty 'porcelet or the crème brûlée façon grand-mère', the best thing about the Chez Paul's menu was a little notice on the front of the main menu and on the back page of the dessert menu. Clearly today my planner side won over my foody one. The note was telling me (as you read it, think poetic french, rather than my butchering of a translation)

"we remind you that if you wish to send a postcard to someone you care about that's not here with you sharing this great moment, we will offer you the postcard as well as the stamp"

Forget the impersonal postcards stand by the toilets. This is welcomed interruption.

THE EFFECTIVENESS OF THE USELESS

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I was thinking of the paradox of working in communication of how to help generate positive surprise...consistently. So I was interested to read in ‘Daniel Gilber’s Stumbling on Happiness’ is that people are the only creatures capable of imagining what happens next.

In my purposeful procrastination I revisited the catalogue of ‘Le Grand Repertoire: Machines de Spectacle’. It was one of the best events I went to this summer. For most of August, the Grand Palais in Paris was filled with over 120 useless machines. Well, kind of useless, as they were machines made or recycled objects that are/have been used by french street theatre companies over the last 50 years. As each machine is unique, they are catalogued ‘unintellectually’ in four groups : small, medium, large and gigantic.

The machines’ names tend to be very functional : machine to make apples with the bite of Catherine Deneuve ; machine to produce smoke ; catapult to throw a piano ; moving bath; machine to break glasses ; chicken piano ; machine to create six romans for two actors ; machine to walk like an egyptian……and so on.

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Unsurprisingly, my vote for the most impressive and prolific company went the ROYAL DU LUXE – they are behind the ‘Sultan’s elephant’ visit to London last year . I liked the philosophy (putting his media strategy at the beginning of the process) of its main machine builder – Jean-Luc Courcoult : use a town as the theatre to tell a story to the whole population – either directly or through word of mouth.

I found the machines of ROYAL DU LUXE the most spectacular. The most famous machine is ‘the Giant’, a machine that is 10 meters high, weighs 40 tons, needs at least 8 people to make him move and is preceded by a parade or similarly enormous creations.

I liked the fact that although they must have been planning this exhibition for a while, this most famous machine was missing from the exhibition and was replaced by a miniature replica. When I googled it, I found him parked on a chair with his feet in a river by the famous Pont du Gard. A fantastic sight. He clearly couldn’t be bothered to show up in Paris. How French !


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My favourite machine was the ‘machine to spread nutella on bread slices’. The company that created it – Monique – had a very different philosophy : ‘our machines must be impractical. They exist to tell poetic stories.’ The machine took about 15 minutes to spread – not too efficiently – some nutella on a slice of bread for the delight of a child sitting at the end of the machine covered by two small theatrical curtains. His face at the end of the 15 minute was the best proof I could think of to evaluate the machine’s effectiveness.


I liked three things about these machines :
- their brand is built by what they do, not what they think or say
- they are the tool for telling the story, not the story itself
- they have the capacity to make you dream, but what you dream is up to you

Thinking about the two companies I ended up picking, they seem to fit with the 'stereotype' of the positively suprising ads; those which are either spectacular or very human and funny. Does this make my conclusions unsurprising? Damn.

Closed Paris reveals its service culture

This year I decided to listen to them. Like most people, I tend to ignore the annual notices that shopkeepers leave on their shops' door to inform them of their businesses' holiday plans every August.

I was surprised by how these little ignored pieces of communication on closed shops are such a rich window into Paris' service culture.

These notices often stay up for up to a month and are the main communication between a shop and its potential customers, but with a few exceptions, they all feel homemade - including those in branches of national banks. They even often have corrected mistakes on them. Why not reprint/rewrite them? It's as if whoever was in charge of the little note, did it 5 minutes before having to leave to catch a train.

They are often verbal and use very formal language. Why don't more of them use pictures? I blame it on René Descartes who has a lot of responsibility for the rational side of  French culture.

They are complex. Often telling you a whole bunch of stuff you don't need and occasionally not telling you the only information that you need: when if the shop reopening?  My favourite is one outside an antiquarian in Rue de Richelieu which has added a number "in case of urgency".  It made me start thinkig about what kind of urgency could you use the number for?  The Louis XIV chairs have hurt themselves in a waterskiing accident?

But when they are original, they are unbeatable - like the one outside the Tour d'Argent restaurant which begins with a "sorry to have wasted your time"

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And amongst all the white noise, here's the three that talked to me the loudest - even if not necessarily in a good way.

 

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The first one, becaused it sounded like someone phoning in sick on a monday morning after a long weekend - you are closed for works?...when everybody else is closed for holidays? that's a likely story...but the drawing on the side added the wink I needed

The second is the only one amongst dozens that I saw that used an image with few words and humour to say a very simple message: re-opening 22nd of August.

The third one is my favourite. It sums up French service culture when the shrug of shoulders is executed in a painfully slow, slow motion.  It's a message written on the back of a closed envelope - probably an unopened complaint -  and it just says : "reopening beginning of september".  Short, sharp and vague.

Price, price, price

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Whilst all its neighbours are trying to make their 'dish of the day' sound as mouthwatering as possible, this restaurant goes against the grain with incredible clarity. It will be hard to resist for anybody with a sensitive wallet.

Drunk crossing

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Love behind the news

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On a grey day in Paris I came across the first message: "I love you. have a good day". The following day it had changed but retained all its optimism.  This is a fantastically unselfish way of using one of the stands that holds the front page of the newspaper of the day. This newsagent in Rue des Petits Champs leaves positive messages when he feels like it. I love how a newsagent is using his optimism to single-handedly trying to balance the pessimistic headelines in the press.

'Personal' public transport in Paris

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For the first time I saw my metro line in a new light. The usually impersonal line spoke to me at the 'Louvre-Rivoli' stop with this small notice placed where a replica artefact from the Louvre should have been. "The piece is being repaired. Please excuse us. Line one." Very different from the usual "The management" or "RATP" - the company owning the line. Line one has been unconsciously part of my daily life; this simple human piece of communication has now brought it into my consiousness.

This car park is talking to me

This underground car park in Paris clearly has a lot to say. I only partially understand its language. Why does it needs to be so formal?

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