Tallymander 2.0 has been in the App Store for a few weeks. Here’s the story on my favorite product, so far.
Once upon a time…
Tallymander was born because once upon a time, I worked for the man and that meant wearing fancy pants and shirts that buttoned (the better to establish my image as a professional and advance my career). About once a month I rounded up my finery, counted it, and took it to the dry cleaners.
My mental math abilities could be bested by a fruit fly so I wondered if the App Store had anything to make the counting easier. They did, but it was either crap or too limited for my needs. The idea for Tallymander was born. I wanted to make something simple but useful.
I expected to make about $40 off of it, but I knew I wanted the challenge so I plowed ahead anyway. 1.0 shipped and people liked it. Really liked it! I got a handful of emails with kudos and feature requests. I wanted to get cracking on GlobeJot but decided I would spend a little time adding some customer requests to Tallymander first. A couple more weeks of development and Tallymander 1.1 was submitted. I forgot all about it.
Until one night, around midnight, when I got the “Ready for Sale” email that iPhone developers live for. Tallymander 1.1 was live.
And an App Store Staff Favorite. I peed myself a little. There followed a slew of copycat apps following this prominence. So it goes on the App Store.
The future
Tthanks to a handful of enthusiastic users and a little help from Apple, Tallymander managed to make me a tidy bit more money than the $40 I had expected. About $4,000 to date, in fact. Not bad for an app that started as a two week UX trial.
Continue Reading…
I remember the first time I went to IKEA.
It blew my brain open. It’s the coolest retail experience in the history of the world.
There’s only one problem: you gotta keep track of a lot of data if you want to get out of there with everything you wanted to take home.
Enter SwedeShop, my unofficial IKEA shopping list app. Find out more at the main site:
http://www.danilocampos.com/apps/swedeshop/
It’s a chattery time for App Store problems. Apple rejected Google Voice, then neutered Ninjawords and still presents an utterly opaque face to developers.
There are a laundry list of problems facing the growth of the App Store. I won’t bother to rehash them here. Let’s focus on the one that most thoroughly jeopardizes the future of developer businesses: Customer Service. Every other problem can be overcome or worked around but without the power of caring for your customers, your business has no reason to exist.
In an aside to a link last month, John Gruber muses:
I’m wondering how much of the problem is that the App Store is built on the foundation and framework of the iTunes Music Store, which was designed from the outset specifically as a venue for selling 99-cent downloads.
This is the most crucially important point: the iTunes Store was never designed to sell software. Among other things, Craig Hockenberry enumerates all the ways in which the App Store is hobbled by this historical truth. It’s a good, important post that you should read if you care about this kind of stuff. But it doesn’t address long-term outcomes related to customer service that will doom the developer community.
As an iPhone developer, I have no control over my storefront – Apple manages it for me, with basic data I provide. On the one hand, this is incredible news: access to a huge pool of customers, a complete distribution infrastructure and – best of all – I never have to worry about payment processing.
There’s just one issue: Apple doesn’t give a damn about my relationship with my customers.
Generous, attentive, impassioned customer service is an important piece of any successful business. My customers mean the world to me. Unfortunately, iTunes does not provide a clear, encouraging feedback channel.
User Reviews
When you’re selling music, user reviews are a simple tool. Much is subjective, but overall quality will be reflected in the reviews.
With software, the reviews have become more complicated. The most tantalizing way for a customer to speak out about software that is giving them problems is to write a review. And that’s what they do. Bug reports, feature requests and anything else that comes into their minds gets dumped into the reviews. And why not? The ability to write a review is prominently featured and uses a built-in, official form. It’s infinitely more seductive than leaving iTunes to write an email to the support contact. It’s also a venue provided by the same service that is taking the customer’s money, so it feels more intimately linked to their purchase than anything they can do on an external website or in their email client.
This is infuriating since the communication is strictly one-sided. There’s no way for the developer to follow up on these reviews to ask for more information. Without that information, acting on a bug report is often impossible. The worst part is that without dialogue, it’s impossible for the customer to learn more about their problem, discover workarounds and discover that there’s a living, breathing person who truly cares about the quality of the software they’ve just purchased.
Like it or not, the iTunes user review becomes the support form of last resort.
The Consequence
There are ways around this. Tap4Help is an interesting example, providing a built-in feedback and support request system. Developers, like Lucius Kwok, report some success explicitly declaring their email right in their application description with a call to action encouraging its use. I do this, too, but it doesn’t catch them all.
Why not? Nothing will ever come close to the power and authority of iTunes itself. I theorize that part of the reason so many customers prefer the review form to using a support email or link is that they know that iTunes will provide them satisfaction. No matter what, iTunes will show their review. They will be heard.
By keeping these customers so thoroughly at arm’s length, Apple retards the formation of relationships that will build developers’ business. I’ve turned angry emails into loyal customers through the power of honesty and genuine interest in customer issues. I’d desperately love to provide that dialogue for every customer, ever, but iTunes, under the current system, will continue to siphon off some portion of those opportunities into its black hole of customer reviews.
Having good conversations with your customers is as essential and non-negotiable as having an engine in your car. When Zappos tweets at me in thanks for my praise, I feel as though my relationship with the company has been further validated. When Netflix gives me complete and generous support when I have trouble with their service, I feel respect for them, since their conduct conveys respect for my business.
It’s all about how the customer feels. If you never get to talk with them, you’ll never get to impact that feeling.
Let’s Do It Better
This is not a hard problem to solve. If you happen to work on the iTunes Store infrastructure team, you may feel differently, but the company you work for is in the business of accomplishing the impossible on a fairly regular basis. My sympathy is limited.
Developer Review Replies
This is the easiest part. Let the developer reply to user reviews. This isn’t groundbreaking and I’m the eight thousandth developer to suggest it. So make it happen. The developer can join the conversation and solicit additional information so that bug reports that go into the reviews can actually be productive. Notify whomever left the review that they have a response via email. For bonus points, let the customer reply directly to that notification to reach the developer.
Feedback/Support Form
Let the user provide feedback or support requests through an official, iTunes-embedded form. Send the feedback to the developer via email, with an anonymized reply-to address, like craigslist uses, so Apple can cover their ass on privacy concerns. For bonus points, provide a rating for each application that states how responsive each developer is to requests sent via this form.
There is no step three. With those two provisions, an open dialogue has been created for anyone who bothers to seek one. Software, even for the iPhone, is not music. The one-sided echo-chamber conversation of the iTunes Music Store does not work in the App Store. With the two modest tools I’ve described, developers will have an infinitely easier time creating the relationships they need to build their business.
I’m not going to hold my breath. Hopefully Apple is working on this stuff, but in the meantime, I need to figure out better ways to put myself in easy reach of my customers.
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.
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.