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There’s a restaurant/cafe in Clarksville, NY called Jake Moon.
 Jake Moon It doesn’t look like much.
The drive takes you into the hills area of upstate NY, with great expanses of farm land - and people call grocery runs, “going into town.”
The parking lot is a gravel pit. It’s usually littered with old pick-ups and the occasional odd piece of furniture. There’s a shed sticking out somewhere in the background.
Old siding and creaky wood boards lure you to (or deter you from) the front door. There’s very little signage or lights, besides the dim lamp in the foyer, and a single sheet of paper posted against the window, proclaiming their H.o.O.
The inside is simple and rustic, with hardwood benches and chairs. An eclectic collection of pictures and knick knacks decorate the walls, but everything is very clean.
The food is amazing.
Everything made fresh and to order, with locally produced vegetables - even the maple syrup. The bread is baked in-house, along with the marmalades and jams. (The stuffed French toast is the best French toast I’ve ever had.)
Half the reason I enjoy this restaurant so much (and enjoy telling others) is because of the contradiction between the outside décor and the quality of food once you sit down.
What makes contradiction so attractive?
It captures our attention. Our minds tell us it should be “X,” due to our social conditioning, our upbringing, our prejudices and biases. But everything our senses tell us: what we see, hear, smell, feel, point out it’s actually “Z.”
If I go to a nice restaurant, where the reputation of the food and décor is stellar, but the service is awful, that’s going to stick out in my mind the most.
Contradictions capture our attention (negatively or positively) in ways nothing else can.
What’s a more powerful message? “Oh, that’s fantastic!” when that’s your expectation?
Or “Oh, that’s fantastic!” when you expect it to be anything but?
With everyone and their baby’s momma with a Twitter, Facebook, and blog, personal branding has never played such an important role in standing out from the faceless masses. I understand that. I appreciate it.
But when we get caught up in personal branding, we lose sight of our execution.
“How should I brand myself?”
“What is my MO? (modus operandi - method of operation)”
“What is my USP? (unique selling proposition)”
“Who am I in this prism of like-minded bloggers trying to get ahead in an increasingly fast-paced world? Who should I be?”
How about being… yourself?
If you aren’t yourself - what’s the alternative?
The alternative is spending copious amount of time developing strategies and tactics to convince everyone in your world you’re an expert on subject X.
Which seems so much more complicated than shutting the hell up and focusing on being that expert.
The thing about experts is that usually they’re busy furthering their research or helping others, instead of tooting their own horns.
That’s their personal brand.
I believe most people would agree that reality television sucks. Then why do we continue to see shitty reality television premise after shitty reality television premise?
Because even though from the artistic perspective it sucks (the part inside of all of that makes us care about a story, a painting, a song…) as a business model, reality television makes a whole lot of sense.
Here are some reasons why:
It gives people what they want, not what they need.
People need to be informed. People need to know how the world’s events are affecting their lives. Knowing these things, by watching BBC or CNN or surfing the web for relevant articles adds value to your life.
Flavor of Love and Rock of Love won’t add value to anyone’s life. In fact, it’s a leech of brain cells, time, and dignity for everyone involved. It doesn’t provide anyone with anything they need.
But it provides them with what they want: pure, unadulterated entertainment.
It’s low cost.
Putting together a television series costs serious money: besides fronting the money the production (a common cost for any television show) you pay your quality actors, your writers, producers, directors, etc.
In a reality series, you’ve thrown out the actors. You don’t have to hire from the greatest talent pool of writers - someone with a decent idea and a degree from Phoenix University Online will suffice. And how much direction is needed to create that all important element: conflict?
“Uh, tell us what you think about that skanky bitch, Rachael, and why you think she’s a whore, okay? If you remember to plug the T-Mobile Sidekick while you’re at it, that’d be wonderful, too.”
It can be replicated. Until infinity.
Are you really worried divorce will end your favorite TLC guilty-pleasure, Jon and Kate Plus Eight?
Don’t be - TLC’s got quite the contingency plan on its hands.
What is The Bachelorette doesn’t find true love in her reality television show about finding true love?
Well, she’s always got a second shot. On The Bachelorette 13.
To be frank, the Real World just doesn’t seem so real anymore after the 22nd season, you know?
I could continue, ad nauseum, but I’m losing brain cells fast.
Will these shows stand the test of time, like true efforts at art? Probably (hopefully?) not.
At a certain level, though, we have to appreciate the art form (and it is an art form) of creating a business model out of what was once considered art.
Brand image is no long who you say you are.
Brand image is what you do.
Manipulating brand image is about control.
And what can you actually control these days?
Can you control those thousands of external factors, thousands of people telling others about your brand?
Can you control what they write or say, or whom they write or say it to?
For every positive experience, they tell one person. For every negative, they tell five.
Really, how do you intend on controlling your brand image?
Here are two ideas:
- You control the ratio of people who have positive experiences and the number of people who have negative experiences. For every one negative experience, you’ll need at least five positive to balance that ratio. Keep the good experiences coming.
- Make it easy for them to communicate how pleased they are with your brand. Offer them the tools to tell others.
Number two is actually a double-edged sword - if people aren’t pleased, they’ll people, too.
Better make sure you’re doing the right things.
When did it become okay to welch? When was a man (or woman) no longer held to their word or their handshake? When did a promise become an empty bond?
I remember reading a Doyle Brunson story - one of the world’s most famous poker players and gamblers. He considered the word of a gambler to be one of the most revered.
“But how can you trust a gambler?” people asked him.
He said more often than not, gamblers were the people he trusted the most - (and I’m paraphrasing here):
“I knew gamblers who’d trek snowstorms to pay a debt. If the debt was due at 12 noon, they’d do everything in their power to be there by 11:59 a.m. These men lived by a certain code.”
Part of the problem is our dependence on technology, and the limitations behind that technology. E-mail, text messaging, video chatting - it allows us to keep in contact with hundreds of more people, and in turn, makes many of those interactions less meaningful. There’s less emotional investment in every interaction.
How easy is it to flake via e-mail?
We all do it. Because “easy to keep in touch” means “easy to ignore.”
What happens if we cut the shit?
If we followed up when we said we would.
If we call when we say we’ll call, and be where we’re supposed to be.
Or when someone tells us “stay in touch,” and we honestly, but not at all maliciously reply, “I probably won’t. So if I don’t see you, I wish you the best.”
How would it change the promises we made?
 my two bitches
The top photo is my brother, Alex and his girlfriend, Kaitlin.
The middle photo is my brother, Jon and his girlfriend, Amy.
The bottom photo is of me and my two bitches.
An Asian-cuisine restaurant recently sent out a mailing.
 mailing The envelope is the coupon, as indicated by the stamp.
 coupon is the envelope Inside the envelope is their menu.
 the menu Why not design the coupon into the menu? Then include a place for postage, stamp permit, address etc. on the menu?
It’d save the paper, save the cost, and save the labor (stamping envelopes, stuffing envelopes, etc.)
A saleswoman from a certain culinary magazine stopped into the restaurant the other day.
What did she do right?
She came in, with her photographer, and started taking pictures right away. She didn’t provide us with the opportunity to say “no.”
She spoke from the side position, instead of head-on (which is a more confrontational approach.)
When she spoke, she assumed the sale was already made.
She looked to speak to the decision-maker at all times.
Why didn’t she close?
We didn’t want what she was selling.
Can you close a sale when someone doesn’t want to buy? Sure- it happens all the time: your purchase is swayed by the attractive seller, you try to impress the opposite sex, trying to keep up with the Jones, etc. Marketers and salespeople count on it.
But is selling to people who don’t want your service or product a successful practice in the long-term?
Is it something you want a reputation of doing?
I find myself angry with my work more often than usual. I get angry with the direction I’ve led my life these last couple of months, which leads to anger towards the people around me.
When it gets to this point, I read the following below (sent over by Annie) which brings me back to an even keel:
From Elizabeth Gilbert, Thoughts on Writing
“One day, when I was agonizing over how utterly bad my writing felt, I realized: “That’s actually not my problem.” The point I realized was this - I never promised the universe that I would write brilliantly; I only promised the universe that I would write. So I put my head down and sweated through it, as per my vows.
I have a friend who’s an Italian filmmaker of great artistic sensibility. After years of struggling to get his films made, he sent an anguished letter to his hero, the brilliant (and perhaps half-insane) German filmmaker Werner Herzog. My friend complained about how difficult it is these days to be an independent filmmaker, how hard it is to find government arts grants, how the audiences have all been ruined by Hollywood and how the world has lost its taste…etc, etc. Herzog wrote back a personal letter to my friend that essentially ran along these lines: “Quit your complaining. It’s not the world’s fault that you wanted to be an artist. It’s not the world’s job to enjoy the films you make, and it’s certainly not the world’s obligation to pay for your dreams. Nobody wants to hear it. Steal a camera if you have to, but stop whining and get back to work.” I repeat those words back to myself whenever I start to feel resentful, entitled, competitive or unappreciated with regard to my writing: “It’s not the world’s fault that you want to be an artist…now get back to work.” Always, at the end of the day, the important thing is only and always that: Get back to work. This is a path for the courageous and the faithful. You must find another reason to work, other than the desire for success or recognition. It must come from another place.”
I didn’t get the Fulbright. Am I disappointed? Yes, but disappointment requires time, and thus, a luxury I can hardly afford. Thus, we move to Plan B.
Art suggested a possible Plan B: apply for graduate study at a Chinese university through a fast-track at Rutgers. I’d pay for my travel, but everything else is covered: room, board, tuition, even a monthly living stipend.
The program would last about five years, and I’d come away fluent in Chinese, with a Master’s (probably an MBA,) and I’d be poised to take advantage of the job opportunities in China. Maybe most importantly, I’d be sheltered for the next five years; protected from the unemployment and recession plaguing the States right now.
I shared this opportunity with family members, and they said it sounded like a no-brainer.
Which it was.
I couldn’t go through with it.
Going to an expenses-paid graduate school is the safe bet, but when was “safe” ever good enough?
What about writing? What about the fact I want to be a young-adult fiction writer, or at least carve my niche in the publishing world?
What about the desire to travel anywhere in the world, whenever I wanted?
What about the fact I was never inclined to re-enter the world of academia?
What about all the things I want to do that doesn’t require Chinese fluency, hiding away for five years, or a degree that says I am a “master” of a particular subject?
Now isn’t the time for safe choices. It’s time to take risks, and make mistakes, while I’m in position to learn from them.
In five, 10 years from now, I might look back at this decision. Maybe I’ll be disappointed in my choice.
But disappointment is a luxury I can hardly afford.
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