Publicists are expensive. I do everything I can to keep my costs non-existent, so I don’t have one. But I still want press. One option I once read about that seemed promising is a mailing list called Help A Reporter Out.
Unfortunately, HARO, as it is called, is an awful product. It makes the fatal mistake that many fast-scaling services make: screwing the most important customer.
Three Customers
HARO has three customers: journalists, who need leads, sponsors, who pay for placement, and subscribers, who consume sponsored content and respond to journalist queries.
Subscribers are the most important customer as they are required for both sponsors and journalists to even bother with the product. Without subscribers, there’s no one for sponsors to influence. Without subscribers, the journalists get no responses.
A typical HARO email goes something like this:
- Lengthy sponsored message
- Cutesy personal update from the mailing list administrator, Peter Shankman
- An absurdly long list of journalist queries
The practical result of this is that a subscriber will have to scroll an entire page before they even get to what they care about. Even better, HARO is sent out as often as three times a day.
Now, I disclaimed that as typical. What’s more interesting to my point are atypical HARO messages. These don’t happen often, but happened often enough to piss me off. HARO has particular rules about how subscribers should interact with journalists. It’s pretty obvious stuff, if you’re not five years old, but boils down to please don’t spam the reporters. Sometimes a HARO subscriber would go off the reservation, do something naughty, piss off a reporter and end up in Shankman’s bad graces.
It’s a closed system – a mailing list, after all. The solution seems pretty simple. When applicable, speak to the individual’s boss, if their wrongdoing was in the service of a larger organization. Then, kick the person off the list.
That’s it. Problem solved.
In Shankman’s defense, it seems he does do this. Then he takes it a step further, by venting his frustration into the next HARO email and scolding the entire subscriber base at large. Here’s a sample:
READ THIS: This morning, while being given a behind the scenes tour
at Busch Gardens, I had to spend a portion of the tour on my mobile
phone, calming a reporter from a major publication. Seems someone
at a major agency took it upon themselves to form an opinion on
what kind of story the reporter was writing, simply from the query
alone. Long story short, this was a situation that should not have happened.
This isn’t brain surgery here, guys: If you can answer a query, do
it. If you know someone who can answer a query, send it to them. Do
not post them on the web, in blogs, or on message boards, and do
not email the reporter saying “You should do it this way.” Had I
not gotten an EXTREMELY sincere apology from a top-level person at
the agency, I’d be outing the person who caused the mess in the
first place, as well as outing the agency. Instead, he’s just banned
from HARO.
Five rules of HARO here: READ THEM.
http://shankman.com/the-five-rules-of-haro/
I can only speak for myself, but as a former subscriber, it’s worth listing all the things in this message I don’t give even a tiny fraction of a fuck about:
- Shankman’s very special behind the scenes tour
- The frustration of said tour’s interruption
- The existence of an over-sensitive, irate reporter who doesn’t know how to use the delete button on her keyboard
- A rehash of common sense HARO rules I already know
- Shankman’s super-duper ballbusting phone call to top-level Tommy
- The ban of another subscriber
- The power of passive aggressive ALL-CAPS text
The Precious Commodity
HARO exists thanks to a simple reality: time is a precious, ever-dwindling commodity. If reporters weren’t in a hurry, they’d spend weeks on just one story, finding the perfect source for their piece. They don’t have that luxury. HARO to the rescue. Similarly, subscribers don’t have time to build a publicity campaign, research publications or spend weeks pitching themselves. They often don’t even have time to learn how. Again, HARO to the rescue.
The issue is that HARO does not give any reverence to the time of its subscribers. Quite the opposite: not only do we have paragraphs of crap no one cares about at the top of each message, there’s this occasional business of Shankman feeling empowered to command the entire list to spend time reading a rant about the misbehaviors of a single participant.
This doesn’t even begin to take into account the amount of time it takes to scour the actual list of queries. Taken in aggregate, it’s shocking. Let’s not forget, it’s a thrice-daily proposition.
The reason it happens is that while subscribers are the most crucial part of Shankman’s business, they’re also the most plentiful – the most easy to replace. Sponsors are magic unicorns, treasured and protected. Journalists are golden geese, continually laying the eggs that make each HARO message. Subscribers? There are tens of thousands of those.
So HARO gets away with it. For now.
Complacency Breeds Contempt
I just checked my calendar. It’s 2009. A mailing list? Hell, let’s move the whole thing over to Usenet. Infinitely more retro chic and you don’t need to bottleneck the queries through a single guy.
The problem with HARO not caring about its subscribers’ time is that it completely erodes loyalty, trading every ounce of goodwill for an ounce of contempt with each message. When something better comes along, they’ll have no problem switching. Ask Blockbuster how that works.
Fine, so you’re saying if I’m going to be a douche and trash this guy’s hard work, I should have a better idea, right? Glad you asked.
Let’s Do It Better
Build a website.
That’s it. A problem actually solvable with a website. Could have been huge during the dot-com bubble, but I bet it’s enough to at least keep Shankman fed. Here’s what you do:
- Persistent accounts that store basic bios and feedback ratings. Elevate the stars, demote those who don’t play by the rules, make it clear who’s making the best contributions
- Categorized, post-moderated, RSS-enabled members-only query threads that let reporters post their queries whenever they want or need. Only postable by verified reporter accounts to keep the bozos at bay
- Tagged queries: instead of having to parse a tedious headline that’s different for each query, provide the option for easy-to-scan tags
- User-configured search agents to send email alerts any time a query seems of interest
- Daily sponsorship opportunities, to keep Shankman in Busch Gardens tickets
That’s it. I bet you could accomplish most of it with Ning, without having to spend a dime. If you wanted to take it to the next level, you could impose a monetary bozo filter for new accounts.
Will it happen? Eventually, I’m sure it has to. Linking journalists with sources is an important job. Just because HARO’s implementation is completely hamfisted doesn’t mean someone else’s won’t eventually hit the mark. Will Shankman do it?
“It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.”
Upton Sinclair, via Daring Fireball
So who knows. In the meantime, I’m off to half-heartedly find some other way to get journalists to talk about me.
I’ve been collecting a paycheck since I was 15. It began at Publix, the best damned supermarket you’ll ever visit. I was a shy kid, reluctant to be employed and encouraged by a dramatically unstable home life to stay as hidden from the world as possible. But I went. I interviewed. I didn’t know much about interviewing at that point. The myriad job hunting bullet points had yet to be delivered to my brain. I don’t remember what I said or even what I was asked. It wasn’t an impressive performance, surely.
But they called me. I had a job.
And I loved it. I’d never had more fun in my life. Thanks to a handful of adult mentors, I went from being shy and insecure in front of strangers to being outgoing, helpful and outrageously courteous, as befitted Publix’s customer service mission. I got to meet people, learn about their lives and help make their day better, all in the time it took to bag up an order and pack in a car. Publix has a firm “no tipping!” policy and this was spelled out on a button affixed to my apron at all times. Despite this, not a week went by where a kindly retiree or harried but grateful parent didn’t stuff a couple bucks into my hand or pocket, buying me a sandwich or drink to end my shift. With a home life that was terrifyingly unpredictable and school that was tedious and unsatisfying, Publix, the people and the tangible benefits of my work there, became an escape that I craved.
There was plenty of reward in the fun of the job, but I found that throwing myself into my work with such gusto had other perks. When all of the front service clerks got reviews, there was much kvetching in the break room. Nickels and dimes, my teenaged colleagues moaned. They barely gave them anything for a raise. When my turn came, my boss, Mr. Starkey, called me into his office. After rattling through his estimate of my performance, I was given a fifty cent raise. It was the largest, Starkey confided, that anyone in my group had gotten. In retrospect, too, I realize that I was rarely tapped to do cleaning chores, since my management seemed to prefer me in front of customers as much as possible.
It was all so perfectly Randian, in a way that satisfied my then-Randroid brain. I gave honest effort in exchange for honest reward and recognition. Love your work, I thought as I pushed a pile of carts back into the store, and nothing feels like work.
Of course, it wouldn’t last. Home, as was its wont, took another lolloping, staggering jolt. For the second time in less than a year, we were moving away. Mr. Starkey was crestfallen. He’d been eager to groom me into cashiering and beyond. These were remarks that were and remain deeply flattering – it didn’t seem like he especially enjoyed terribly many of the other kids who had my title. At my request, he eagerly typed up a letter of recommendation. My favorite line, then and now:
“I would rehire him immediately if he were to return to Sarasota.”
I enjoyed it both for the heartfelt endorsement and for the tiny, whimsical implication that I was somehow in control of my existence.
I went on to be a salesman, an intern, a marketing manager and a project manager. With each job, I hoped to find the feeling I knew at Publix. The feeling of throwing myself into my work, enjoying every minute, and always hungry for more.
To be sure, I had some amazing jobs in the years since. Tremendous opportunities that provoked growth and change. But none of it could ever recapture the lost innocence of that first, magical time I worked at the supermarket. This realization, each time I started a new gig, was always a tiny disappointment.
For almost a decade, I’ve drawn a paycheck from someone. Until now. Not having been to the office, or any office, feels vaguely like retirement. Except there’s a ton of work to do.
And it’s back: that magic Publix feeling.
I love my new job. I’ve spent the last week building a new iPhone app from scratch. My new boss, me, really likes how it turned out. This is the most incredibly rewarding productive activity I have ever chosen for myself. The app is about done; I’ll have more to say about it soon. The most tremendous and powerful discovery came through its creation: I love developing applications for the iPhone. I can do it all day and night until my fingers hurt and still want more. It’s the most satisfying thing I’ve ever invested my working time doing. All I want is to get better and keep building.
Like Publix ten years ago, it doesn’t feel like work. It’s fun. It’s… wonderful.
Time will tell if this feeling and the products it creates will be sufficient to feed and house me. For now, I’ve got enough to hold out for awhile and give it everything I’ve got.
It’s a scary prospect to abandon security and regular cashflow, move across the country, and go into business for yourself, all the while hoping to hell everything will work out okay. Like many projects, it’s one of those things where if you truly took the time to consider all the attendant difficulty, complication and risk, you’d never bother to do it all.
It’s the best decision I’ve ever made.
As I begin this post, I am nine days, six hours and 31 minutes away from leaving a very comfortable, generously-paid job where my colleagues and leadership respect me and treat me well. In just over a week’s time, my girlfriend (and adventuring partner), Aubrey, and I will be driving off into the night, embarking on an incredible roadtrip to seek out a new home somewhere beyond the Rocky Mountains.
There are no words to convey my excitement.
For as long as I’ve existed, there has always been an obligation to someone else’s rules lurking just beyond the horizon. Even on vacations, where time is theoretically mine, there was the lingering, ever-present knowledge that before I knew it, I would go back to a world of obliging someone else’s whims. For the first time, I’ll escape those bonds. It’s a feeling of freedom I’ve never known.
It must be stressed that while Full Sail has been a great place to work and I’m grateful for the experience, I had a job there and I have a handful of problems with working any “job,” no matter who supplies it. When I say job in this context, I mean any paid activity wherein you provide 40+ weekly hours in exchange for a regular paycheck, benefits and perhaps a reasonable approximation of social interaction. I’m a difficult, demanding, even impossible person, so these problems loom larger for me than perhaps they do you.
Continue Reading…
The App Store approval delay is easily the most painful and difficult part of developing for iPhone:
The good news is that nearly two weeks ago, GlobeJot’s major issues had been diagnosed and corrected. The bad news is that, until Apple gives the go-ahead, the fixed version is not available for your enjoyment.
Learn more at the main site.
Here’s the sample input: undercooked chicken.
Restaurant 1′s manager:
“That chicken won’t take very long at all to cook – I’ll get it replaced for you right away. I’m so sorry about this, there’s really no excuse for it. While you’re waiting, are there any appetizers I can get for you? On the house, of course. Let me get you some menus – choose whatever you’d like.”
Restaurant 2′s manager:
“We’ll fix it,” with the dish yanked roughly from me and a replacement dropped wordlessly on the table minutes later, without hint of apology or even embarrassment. Annoyance, on the other hand, is exuded in abundance.
Which restaurant do you feel better about?
Restaurant 1 is a clear paragon of basic decency and above-average customer service. Restaurant 2, despite delicious but somewhat high-end fare, gives the same rude service you’d expect from the most indifferent fast food joint at the busiest rush hour.
But why bother giving above-average customer service? It takes time, it can be expensive, it may require significant investments in training if your team is large or spread out.
The business case is an obvious one: negative word of mouth travels with much more grease than does positive. One bad customer interaction can mean the loss of future business not only from the person you’ve disappointed, but also from many of the people they know. There’s also the trope about it costing more to replace a customer than to keep one. Worst of all, if other customers witness an especially bad interaction, they might abandon you themselves despite an otherwise trouble-free experience. No one wants to deal with a someone who looks like a crook.
That’s a short list and there are plenty of practical reasons not to screw your customers. They all miss the point.
You should give above-average customer service because it’s fucking wrong to give anything less.
I am not a man of any faith. There are few things I hold sacred. This is one of them: If you work a job at a business and interact with customers, whether you are the lowest paid hourly employee or the CEO, your highest duty is to the customer. Not to policy, not to your boss, not to your shareholders, not to anyone alive before your customer.
Why? You would starve without them. The roof over your head, the lunch in your stomach, the weekend trip you’re about to take – all of it exists thanks to the grace and honesty of the customer who will pay, time and again, for access to your goods or services. If their satisfaction, their absolute fucking bliss, is not at the core of what you’re doing, you are absolutely, one hundred percent doing it wrong. I don’t care if all you’re doing is punching the clock, if your boss doesn’t care about you, if you hate the stupid uniform. I’ve been there, it sucks. Doesn’t make a difference – you still owe the customer the very best you have to offer. It is your duty. In my retail days I sometimes broke the rules and defied my boss to make my customers happy while giving them the respect their patronage had earned them.
When you ignore that duty, when you maximize profit and personal convenience at the expense of loving your customers, you will eventually be slaughtered brutally and painfully and your customers will laugh when that day comes. Want proof? Look at Blockbuster. Everyone who existed in North America in the 90′s has at least one tale of woe at the hands of the video store’s brutal late fee policy. Blockbuster stocked only movies that were obvious mainstream bets, with a few token art house and foreign selections, without bothering to sort out what their customers actually wanted to watch.
Then, one day, technology changed, allowing the entry of a bizarre new competitor. Netflix, out of nowhere, showed up and gave customers genuine respect. Netflix provided a service with generous, flexible terms, abundant selection and entirely reasonable pricing. The offering was so compelling, people changed their habits to accommodate this weird mail order movie service. Netflix, in turn, listened to their customers and broadened their selections further while building ever more distribution facilities to ensure that no one had to wait more than a day or two for fresh movies. Through Watch Instantly, Netflix continues providing incredible value instead of becoming complacent and allowing the rise of someone else with a better feel for the needs of their customers. Most importantly, when a customer has a beef, Netflix makes it right with friendly, generous customer service and proactive communication that owns up to every screwup.
It’s up to you. Do the right thing for each customer every single time and sleep well at night with the knowledge that your business is safe and you’re a good person. As for the alternative: I have a handy chart for that you may find instructive.
Choose wisely.
Footnote:
If you’re wondering, restaurant 1 is the excellent Spice in Winter Park, FL. Restaurant 2 is Greens & Grille, in Orlando. Greens & Grille has one particular manager who seems so exceedingly annoyed at the very existence of my girlfriend and I that we routinely forgo their delicious, sublime organic meals because we’d rather not feel quite that unwelcome. We eat three times a day. That grumpiness has cost them, in the last six months, what could have easily totaled hundreds of bucks because they’d get our business a few times a week if we actually felt welcome there.