Being unavailable
The trouble with our we-know-where-you-live-and-what-you-just-searched-for digital advertising world is that there’s an assumption we are available.
Knowing when people are supposedly ready to act encourages you to cut to the chase and miss a few steps in the conversion process along the way.
No shame in cheating. Who isn’t tempted by a shortcut?
But even if you know when someone is ready to purchase or change, I’ve always thought it’s best to believe they aren’t. That way you work harder to make sure they are, and do.
Desire drives action. You create desire with scarcity; by being unavailable. We all want something we can’t have.
No-one plays the game better than Chris.
When he lets the dogs out it’s wise to stand back.
Years ago we were working on a project and Chris had taken the bull by the horns. I had wondered out loud how great it would be if we could get meetings with the heads of our largest corporates at some stage, which was all the encouragement Chris needed.
Often, he needed far less.
It was wishful thinking on my part really, you don’t get meetings with people who can say ‘yes’ easily or quickly. There are also gatekeepers to go through, usually PA’s or EA’s, and you go round them at your peril.
‘Right’ said Chris and hung up the phone. But not for long. Within a few hours he was back on the talking stick, and the meetings were on the books. The first was set for less than a week away.
‘How did you get the meeting so quickly?’ I asked, knowing what diaries can be like. Chris relayed the conversation with the P.A.
‘I said we needed a meeting to update progress on the project, and we’d be available next Friday.’
The PA asked if her boss would know what the project was about.
‘Know what it’s about?’ Chris replied, with just the right amount of incredulity. ‘They’re in it.’
This must’ve done the trick.
‘You might be in luck,’ the PA offered. ’We could possibly give you an hour at 11 on Friday.’
Getting a meeting is an art. Chris is a master.
‘An hour?’ said Chris ‘Oh God no, we don’t have that long. We could do 30 minutes tops.
Boom!
Like anything that you really want, it never hurts to pretend you don’t.
Or to be ever so slightly unavailable.
Another trick Chris didn’t hesitate to use was the power of suggestion.
If the meeting was in Wellington, for example, especially with an official, Chris would casually mention that he’d ‘just come from the house’ and had important news to share. Once, in hushed tones, and to up the ante, he mentioned having ‘just been on the 9th floor.’
Nothing more needed saying. It was much more subtle than dropping a name and was usually met with much reverential nodding from those who knew the code.
Had anyone bothered to push him on this, Chris would’ve happily explained that the house he’d come from was his brother’s place in Petone, and the 9th floor was where he was staying at the James Cook.
The power of suggestion is all about what is left unsaid. Otherwise it would be called the power of the blindingly obvious.
Chris always told the truth. Sometimes he just didn’t tell all of it.
Friday duly rolled around and as we waited in reception for our 11 o’clock Chris leaned in and whispered, ‘Just play along.’
Huh?
As it turned out, part of the reason we were able to secure the meeting at such short notice was that Chris had told the PA that I would’ve just ‘flown in’ that morning. This was also true, except that we’d both flown in for the meeting.
It’s hard to play along if you don’t know the rules of the game you’re meant to be playing, so any questions about how was I feeling after the long flight were quickly dispatched through to the keeper.
It was a good meeting, although we did run a little over.
By about 30 minutes if I were to hazard a guess.