The death of print: proceed with caution on funeral plans.

I remember vividly when my mother allowed me to subscribe to my very first magazine:  Teen.  I had been begging her for about two years, but she insisted that until I was thirteen, I was not an appropriate audience.  Fast-forward through junior high and high school – Teen, Seventeen, Sassy, Jane – all landed in my mailbox monthly.  Fast-forward through college – Glamour, Cosmo, Marie Claire, Vogue – and my love of reading magazines started developing into a passion for creating magazine content.  In May of 2005, I finished my degree in southern California and two weeks later was on a plane to New York because that was where publishing dreams came true.

I eventually landed in the production department of Allure magazine and could not have been happier.  I was doing what I set out to do – making magazines a reality for consumers like myself.  A few years in though, as magazines seemed to fold around me almost daily, a scary reality set in: print (as I knew and loved it) was dying.  And then in the spring of 2010, a beacon of hope from Silicon Valley: the iPad.  Soon after the launch news, the entire staff was invited to a meeting with Condé Nast’s CEO.  If you were to do a quick scan of the floor seconds after the invite was sent, you’d have seen Gawker.com on every computer screen – that’s where we in the biz got our news first – and everyone wanted to know if we were going to get the dreaded “Well, Allure’s had a good run, but it’s time we said goodbye…” 

Later that week, I was in the theater at 4 Times Square intently listening to Chuck Townsend as he explained the innovation that was taking place around us.  He showed us a video of what was happening a few floors up at Wired, and explained the possibilities of digital formatting for the publishing industry. 

I left that meeting with a renewed love for magazines, but wondered how it would affect the actual medium of print.  The questions I had then are still unanswered today.  How do digital magazines work – are they simply downloadable pdfs or to what degree can consumers feel involved?  Who creates the pages and features?  How does the digitization of print affect the arts of journalism and photography?  What potential is there for interactivity, not only with publishing content, but also with products and services through advertising?  Does print really have to die to make way for digital, or can the two co-exist?  I recently saw this ad from Belgium insurance company AXA. 

Neat, right?  It was actually a little hard for me to leave my job to attend graduate school during what I thought was an interesting time for the industry.  But I’m excited to explore my ideas in an academic environment and know that in a very short time I’ll be back in the workforce, only better equipped to bring those ideas to publishing (or wherever else my career takes me).  In reading the article “Print is Dead, Long Live Print: Digital Magazines Have Publishers in a Spin” (Kit Eaton, FastCompany.com, March 2010), something posted in the comments section struck me the most.  The article was about the publishing industry’s “Power of Print” campaign, and it’s odd timing given the digital revolution.  The commenter argues that “… until the last baby boomer dies, there will be an audience for good old fashioned print” (Loraine Antrim).

 Looking at the topic from a customer insights perspective, I think one of my struggles will be in defining my target persona.  I know for a fact there are plenty of people out there (myself included) who like the feel of a glossy page and aren’t ready for a 2lb electronic replacement.  How do I move forward and innovate, without alienating those who have been loyal for years?  How do I make something available and affordable to the masses?  On a business-to-business level, how do I pitch the idea of digital advertising to brands that are used to printed pages?  As far as research, I know I will need to really get in touch with consumers and dissect their relationship with publications – observations, depth interviews, surveys.  I would also like to get in touch with some of my contacts in the industry and find out what they are currently doing and what they would like to be doing to revolutionize the way we read.   

Another article, “How the Magazine Industry Can Save Itself” (Ritik Dholakia, Fastcodesign.com, September 2010) explains some of the potentials and cautions of the changing industry.  The author explains many ways to approach adding new value through content by innovating not from a publishing perspective but from that of a curator, and he explains that depth and frequency of engagement rather than volume of impressions should be measures of success.

            In summary, I’ve been an avid consumer of and contributor to the publishing industry for almost two decades now.  There was a time not too long ago when I was fearful my treasured magazines would cease to exist all together.  I realize now they actually probably will cease to exist as I knew them growing up, but that change is nothing to be fearful of.  Equipped with the tools of customer insights, I can be excited about the future of both the consumption and creation of magazines.  

"Let's make a (new car) deal!"

When thinking about experiential marketing, many things come to mind.  Shoe shopping in Bergdorf Goodman, cosmetics shopping in Sephora, and even apartment “shopping” after I moved to Austin.  However, the one experience that is standing out as particularly meaningful is my recent car buying experience.

The experience started last July in Manhattan.  It was humid, hot and stinky.  For those who haven’t experienced it, New York City has a distinct odor about it in July; I came to refer to it as “Garbage Smell.”  Car shopping was a task that presented mixed emotions - I was excited to be taking on the next phase of my life - grad school in Texas required wheels for the first time in years, but I was dreading negotiating – especially when it was gross outside and all I wanted to do was cuddle with my air conditioner.  I think subconsciously too, I was dreading the experience because I was sad to leave New York.

The experience began on a whim. I was walking down 11^th Avenue in mid-town (where all the dealerships live) and decided to stop in – probably more for the few moments of cool fresh air rather than a real intent to purchase.  I knew a car was in my imminent future, but I hadn’t really done my homework.  I went first to an Acura dealership.  Being a single woman walking into a car dealership is really amazing.  There were probably three men in suits standing around and, no joke, they kind of looked like this:

  It actually took them a minute to approach me.  I could almost see the thought bubbles over their heads, “she must be meeting her husband” and “she’s probably picking up her car from the service department.”  Nevertheless, one cautiously approached me (I half expected him to call me “sweetie”) and asked if he could offer his services.  I told him basically what I was looking for - at that time it was something a few years old, low mileage, an automatic, that I was intending to pay cash, and that I didn’t want to spend over $15,000. 

He toured me around the showroom, schmoozing me and attempting to persuade me to lease something way over my budget, but I remained strong and got good at saying “no thank you.”  We finally ended up in the basement of the dealership (car dealerships in the city have distinct spatial environments – there is no outdoor lot, so the cars live on different floors within the building).  We finally came to a car I could actually see myself in – it was a 2009 black Nissan Rogue with leather interior and a sun-roof.  As much as I tried to hide it (yes, my poker face is terrible), the dealer could tell I was interested in the car despite the fact that it was well over my budget, and he invited me upstairs to his office to talk.  And this is where the fun began.  He talked about the features of the car, Nissan’s reliability, and blah blah blah for about ten minutes and then… are you ready for it?   He took out a post it note, slyly wrote down a number, and coolly slid it across the table without a word.  I really did start laughing.  How old school was this guy?  Did he really think I was going to fall for the post-it slide?  Ha!  Needless to say, I took a peek at the number he wrote (which was approximately $200 less than the $22,990 sticker price on the car – thanks for the bargain buddy!) and again said “no thank you” and walked out.

            While I did leave empty handed that day, that experience directly preceded another – the experience where I actually did wind up with a car.  Because I now had an interest in the Nissan Rogue, I began to do my homework.  What I found (and what ultimately led to a successful purchase) can be explained as attempts at experiential marketing.

            Armed with a new interest in the Rogue, I began to pay attention to TV ads for the car.  The one airing at the time was definitely ACT marketing.  It had a catchy tune and featured the lines, “Hello bikes and backpacks, aloha surfboards and skis…”  The commercial then went on to demonstrate the ways the seat could fold down to “handle whatever life throws at it…”  The ad appealed to me because it was portraying the lifestyle I was attempting to capture with my new car – an active one.  Even the name, “Rogue,” conveyed what I was hoping for – unpredictability and abandon.  The TV ad can also be classified as SENSE marketing; it used vibrant music, was shot in bright sunlight, and featured beautiful beach and mountain scenes.  

            The following weekend, I walked a little further down 11^th Avenue and this time went into a Nissan dealership.  Car dealerships anywhere can be considered a case study in SENSE marketing – the lights are so bright that the chrome on the vehicles is almost blinding, each vehicle is polished to perfection, and everyone knows about “new car smell.”  I think they actually manufacture it and pump it in to dealerships.  What happened next though was very different from my first dealership experience – a young man in causal clothing came over asking if he could help.  We talked for a while about what I was looking for, he showed me some vehicles, and then I walked away.  There was no heavy sales pitch, no negotiating, and definitely no post-its sliding across desks. 

The importance of salespeople in customer relations was shouting loud and clear to me in this experience.  Even if I had liked the first car I saw, I probably would not have purchased from that smarmy post-it salesman.  I did however (after a few more trips back to the dealership) end up purchasing from this second non-aggressive salesman.  And low and behold, I actually ended up purchasing – with no prompting from the salesman - a new vehicle that was over my initial budget. 

During the many visits it took to complete the transaction, this young dealer and I became friendly.  I finally asked him why he hadn’t pressured me that first day.  He told me he could tell I wasn’t ready to buy, and he knew that if he proceeded with caution I’d be back.  He was right.  I also asked him what he thought of me, a single female, negotiating and purchasing a car without the assistance of a man.  He looked at me, puzzled, and asked why it should matter.  I think that’s another thing that made this particular salesman a good one – I felt respected throughout the process.  I never felt like he was trying to pull a fast one on me, and I never felt pressure to hand over money before I was ready.

            In the end, the experience turned out to be a positive one.  I wound up with a car I love at what I think was a great price (the act of negotiating is an entirely separate blog post!), and more importantly my experience with the Nissan brand and it’s representatives was impactful.  I have since referred others to that same dealership, and word-of-mouth is an important measure of experiential satisfaction.  

Here is a picture of what my lovely car looks like, I call her Sara (ha ha, get it?).