Shoes of Prey

I do not shop at Shoes of Prey, nor do I anticipate doing so in the near future. They offer custom-made (and custom-designed!) shoes starting at about $250, which is out of my place range right now and will likely always be perceived, personally, as a little steep.

I do, however, like their business model. I like their idea. I like their story. And I like playing around on their website.

The first time I got on it, though, I had two thoughts. One was big and one was probably more of a personal annoyance.

FIRST:
The flash media and development involved in the "design" process seemed mediocre. It reminded me of a Barbie Fashion Designer CD ROM I had in middle school - or, worse, Paint (complete with the "paint bucket" icon for filling in a shape.) It goes without saying that it's probably not good that a customer is being reminded of software targeted at children. From over a decade ago.

The animated "shoe" displayed throughout the design process looked far more "illustrated" than "photographed," which made visualization (even for those with excellent visualization skills, such as myself) a little tricky. (Will the snakeskin really look like that? Chances are, it's not going to lay flat along the body of shoe - like the two-dimensional representation pictured here - but rather wrap around it; hug its contours.) It left a lot of responsibility on the customer in terms of understanding textures and textiles.

Beyond the visualization issue, I simply felt uncomfortable shelling over $250 or more for shoes when the site couldn't invest in showing me what I was paying for. It's just awkward. I'm not skilled enough as a shoe designer to work confidently in animation, so prefer seeing actual textures and 3-dimensional representation.

Luckily, Shoes of Prey has recently addressed this issue and now pictures a more realistic-looking shoe. (The fact that they shared my sentiment on this gave me some fuel to do this post.)

SECOND:
The home page is a bit disjointed. I get it - they want to showcase the fabrics (check), feature a celebrity (why? I don't know, but check), all while maintaining a "cool" vibe through use of color and font (check.) Perhaps they feared their user would stumble upon the home page and be so fascinated with it, they would forget to design shoes. Or perhaps they are still working out where the link to "design your shoes!" should be. Or maybe they just want to emphasize that they are, in fact, in the business of designing shoes. Or couldn't decide what to do with all the space on their homepage. I don't know. But they inexplicably feature "design your shoes now!" links in not one, not two, but three places - all above the fold. It seems incredibly excessive to me. And perhaps even a bit distrusting of their user. Look, guys, we're not going to forget why we came to this page. We'll design some shoes. We promise.

All in all, though, I love the company and think they're doing a fantastic job. Keep up the good work, guys!

The Power of J Crew

I am infatuated with J Crew. I know I share this sentiment with almost every other American girl. 

I also know, however, that my preoccupation with the brand is not rooted in the clothes themselves, but in the branding. 

In high school, I proclaimed that if I had to wear only one brand for the rest of my life, it would have to be J Crew. (Ten years later, I still feel this decision would be easily endured.) I also informed my closest friends and family that if (meaning "when") the time came that I had the resources to buy a store, I would choose J Crew. In stating this, I was not saying I wanted to run J Crew, the company. I was asserting that I wanted to live in a store. I wanted it to define my every waking moment - to absolutely create my lifestyle. 

And that right there is the brilliance of J Crew. So many women love J Crew. And it's because of one thing, really: while they have fantastic clothes (and they do, let's be honest), we love the brand itself. When I think of my adoration of the store, it's not because I think of a particular garment or even a favorite outfit. Instead, I think of color combinations, patterns, textures. I think of a wrinkled blue dress shirt tucked (halfway!) into coral-dyed shorts. I think of messy french braid and tortoise shell glasses. Even certain lighting, or colors, or a particular mismatch of high-quality items can send me into a frenzy. J Crew's brand "seeps" into these elements, even when I see them elsewhere. 

What I think of, to be precise, is a lifestyle. 

It's what we all think of. 

And that is what J Crew sells. Not clothing, but a lifestyle. 

Of course, this is what all major retailers strive for. But J Crew, without question, has mastered it. 

I read the catalogues just to feel that I belong there, between the pages. I walk through the store and envision it as my life. 

For me, it's not about owning a particular garment or even buying anything at all. I could have every article in the store and probably still want to walk through it. 

Such is the power of J Crew and its branding.

Something significant to bear in mind... Should one ever be in the pursuit of developing one's own clothing brand. 

Linkedin Premium

Linkedin has a "premium" component. By paying $20-100 per month, depending on the level of access you need and the type of user you are (individual or business), you see the full list of who's viewed your profile, inMail messages, more extensive search results, and premium filters (like "salary" in jobs.)

Linkedin has sent me two emails in the last month with the subject line: Try Linkedin Premium Free for 1 Month


At first, I deleted the email. I delete almost every email Linkedin sends me, including the updates from all my groups, which inexplicably seem to pop up more than once a week. But after reflecting on it, I figured, "hey, I'm job hunting right now. It might behoove me to see who's checking out my profile. And who's paying what for jobs posted online." So I follow the embedded link, which takes me to a "subscription" page, complete with a reminder of the "1 free month!" offer. And a request for my credit card information.

So I get it - I sign up for a year, and you give me a month, right? Or maybe buy two, get one free? I was so turned off by this move, I didn't stick around to read the details. I would imagine, given you're still sending this email out, that many others had the same reaction.

Here's what I think the issue is:

1. People as a whole are not entirely familiar with the concept of paying for website access. Unless we have memberships to the sort of sites we don't show our girlfriends or the "rest" of the articles on WSJ.com, this isn't something that people, as a whole, commonly pay for. As such, there may be some apprehension about knowing whether or not the cost:benefit leans in our favor. (I think we would also want to know whether Other People are doing it, too. We're like that.)

2. It's a luxury, not a necessity. And a rather expensive one at that. Right as some of us are cutting back on cable and salon trips, you're asking us for $50 a month just to show us information that may or may not even interest us? This isn't an apartment lease, in which case one month free can be the deciding factor between your complex and the identical one across the street. This is a guy on the street handing you a CD and then asking for ten bucks after you take it. 

The solution is simple: you give that month away, just like you said. Didn't you guys on the marketing team test drive your first 3-series when you bought them? Don't you guys try on clothes before you buy them? Do you not love the Costco samples just like the rest of us?! You want us to buy something we've never tried? Let us see if we like it first. If it's as good as you think and you've priced it correctly, we'll stay hooked just like you'd hoped. 

Tiffany's ice cream marketing

While walking by Tiffany's recently, their window marketing material caught my eye. They were displaying pieces of their jewelry alongside a rainbow assortment of (artificial) pastel-toned ice cream cones.

I thought this was a brilliant play on the fact that Tiffany's, as a brand, is "every little girl's dream." Tiffany's is the first luxury jewelry brand many women learn about as children and, as such, is often the standard they retain into adulthood - particularly for the most important piece of jewelry in most women's collections: the engagement ring. The symbol of the wedding - which, in and of itself, is often rooted in childhood fantasies. (The wedding being the one day a self-respecting woman over the age of 8 is permitted to announce that she is "a princess.") 

Wedding fantasies are established in childhood, and many wedding-day elements, even though they materialize at least a decade later, draw from pleasures of childhood. Because the connotations of "The Tiffany Ring" are so closely aligned with the wedding of our girlhood dreams, it only makes sense that it, too, would play up the pleasures of our youth - that being, in this case, pink ice cream cones. 

Subway's falafel sandwich

Some Subway locations have introduced a falafel sandwich. The pilot stores seem sparse - of the half dozen in my area, only one is currently offering them.

I think the falafel sandwich has the potential to become a valuable product in the Subway offering. It seems, however, that Subway may not have invested the necessary attention in its roll-out.

Firstly, it seems that the staff may not have had sufficient training on the new product. 
On a recent trip to a Subway carrying it, I overheard a customer behind me in line ask what a falafel was. The Subway employee answered, simply: "it's like the veggie patty."

From a (semi-)vegetarian's standpoint, the falafel seems like a worthy substitution for the veggie patty, which I suspect was never received well. (It's not specified on the menu, I myself have only ordered it once, and I have never overheard anybody else request it.) If the falafel is indeed being positioned as a substitution, however, it wont succeed if it is explained as being similar to a product customers didnt embrace.

That aside, this explanation risks isolating meat eaters - many non-vegetarians enjoy falafel and would respond well to being introduced to it, assuming it's not presented as a "veggie patty!" (I don't even think vegetarians necessarily find the term "veggie patty" to be appetizing. I know I don't.)  

Lastly, falafel is chickpea/fava. Employees should know this and be able to articulate it.

Second, the marketing seems askew
Many people know what they're going to order at Subway before they even walk in the door. They've certainly figured it out by the time they place their order which, during busy hours, is a few steps before they see the ingredients available and several more before they read all the signage. Some of us, though, approach the ordering process with an open mind, and are often interested in trying new things.

The first time I tried Subway's falafel, it was the trip after I realized they were offering it. This is because Subway positioned the "falafel" marketing material at the end of the line, above the cash register. At this point in the process, customers have already committed to their meal and paid for it. Even people who are eager to try the falafel sandwich - like me - are forced to wait until next time. What if "next time" is next month?

That aside, I haven't seen any commercials for falafel. Maybe Subway is waiting to see how it's received before they roll out marketing on television, but I was surprised that the customer behind me in line had to tell me, by asking what falafel was, that the option existed. (She saw the signage before I did.) We all know how much their footlong costs, and by now many of us realize that Subway has fresh avocado. So why is the falafel a secret?

In short, I love the falafel. I did finally get back to try it - and I was so eager to do so, I went out of my way (passing up two closer Subways) to make it happen. My verdict on the actual product is positive: I would eagerly accept it as a cheaper version of a falafel available elsewhere (which is Subway's positioning in its other sandwiches) and would likely order it every few times I ate at one of their locations. It's a lot better-tasting than the veggie patty, but offers more substance than veggies alone. So, from my standpoint, it's a good product.

The only problem, ironically, is Subway's final commitment to the roll-out process: telling the customer about it.

Fleur de Lis flower shop

There is a flower shop down the street from me.
I had walked by it probably a dozen times before I realized it was there.
The only reason I did is because they had sprinkled rose petals all over the sidewalk outside.
(I had thought to myself, at the time, "that'd be so cute outside of a flower shop.")
Turns out, it was outside of a flower shop.
When I brought it up to my partner, he said, "I didn't realize there was a flower shop there."

So I know I'm not the only one.

And frankly, it's no wonder: it's an incredibly dark facade and, though the shop has huge windows, they are just slightly above eye level and often too dark to see through. Even when the lighting inside is brighter than the exterior, permitting a glimpse inside, you don't initially see flowers. The storeowner has them tucked away from view, leaving it up to the passerby to draw conclusions on her own.

I went inside the flower shop one day.

To do so, one must climb up half a dozen steps to open a door that's been painted black - an elegant touch, really, were it not for its effect on making the whole storefront seem a bit more gloomy than was likely intended. It doesn't help that the door is unnecessarily heavy and a bit stuck in the frame. So far, they've got an inconspicuous storefront and a door that's too heavy in too gloomy a color. Not a charming start.

Once inside, I saw that the flower shop's floorplan has two adjacent rooms, with most of the merchandise arranged near the walls, leaving the floor in the first room open and a bit awkward to be in. The merchandise, incidentally, is predominantly potted plants (some with flowers) and, inexplicably, jewelry. And cards. Perhaps even bags. Certainly more non-floral items than actual flowers. Very awkward.

The second room, adjacent and open to the first, houses the cooler and a large table where three employers were constructing arrangements. "Hello!" They greeted me. "Welcome!" With a smile, too - a pleasant contrast to the rest of the store. And the florals, finally apparent back here, seemed to be of impeccable quality.

But by this point, I felt so disoriented, I felt it necessary to ask: "do you actually sell flowers on a walk-in basis?"
Which, to be clear, isn't the sort of question you want asked when you're in that very business.
"Yes," came the answer. And, they added, I can order ahead if I want something special. Judging by the sparseness of the flower cooler, I concluded that that's how they must prefer to conduct transactions.

I wandered around a bit, which, given the awkwardness of the floorplan, manifested itself in simply turning around in a circle once or twice.

I then felt compelled to enlighten them:
"So, I live just down the street, and it took me weeks to realize there was even a flower shop here."
One of the employees laughed, and offhandedly answered, "yea, we've heard that before."
Which, given her casual tone and all, seemed like a weird way to respond.
I mean, shouldn't it concern a small owner if potential customers are unaware of its existence?
"Oh, I bet," I added. "The storefront is a bit... disguised."
"Yea, we think it's the glass. It's tinted or something. We need to look into it."
"Oh." I agreed, pretending to eye the glass. It looked dark even from the inside.

I stood there another moment, wanting to say something. Something like - "the glass is just the tip of the iceberg, ladies. Nearly everything in here is a catastrophe... apart from the flowers, thankfully, though you don't have any to sell to me. That's a problem. I like to buy flowers spontaneously. I think other people do, too. I don't want to have to call up a shop two days in advance when I just want something nice on the way home."

Incidentally, I thought: get rid of all the cards and purses and jewelry and kitch. Nobody coming in here to buy flowers is going to buy a consolation handbag instead. We're not going to say, "oh, you don't carry flowers? That's okay, costume earrings will do." No, we're going to feel confused at best. More than likely, we're going to feel disappointed. Our consumer feelings are hurt. I personally feel uncomfortable, because suddenly your potentially elegant store seems like a pyramid-scheme party at a friend's house.

Now all of this is, of course, assuming we found the store at all. Here's the thing: your windows are too dark. But you've also lined them with, what is that - plants? Wrought iron furniture? A purple tote bag? No good. Were it not for the flower petals, I would've written you off as housewares.

The final frontier is the name. If it's not apparent in your storefront, your core business should be stated in your name. We all know that "fleur" means flower, but "fleur de lis" doesn't.

Fix just a few of these things and I think you'll have winning walk-up business.
Unless, of course, you're killing it with call orders.
But if that were the case, you probably wouldn't be trying to lure me in with flower petals. 

On shopstyle.com

Dear shopstyle.com,

Why can't I search by heel height? Please add this.

On hospitality for dogs

Dear hotels,

Thank you for allowing my dog to stay with me. It increases the odds of me staying with you and, because I see my dog as an extension of myself, your inclusion of him makes me feel more welcome, too.

But now it's time for step two, which goes like this: please, please include a bowl for water. While you have established a standard of setting out glasses for me, I feel that you overlook the fact that my dog will be thirsty during our stay with you, too - even if it's only for 24 hours. And, because I am not yet in the practice of traveling with his dog bowl, it would really delight me if you offered one.

So far, I have on at least one occasion resorted to using the ice bucket for water during a 3-night stay. I think we can agree that it's in the best interests of your future guests - and you - to just give us a bowl for water.

Kimpton is on board. The rest should follow their lead.

Thank you.

Panera

Things Panera did well:
- Free bagels and coffee for "bike to work day" participants
- Donating all leftover bakery products at the end of each day
- Susan G Komen "pink ribbon" bagel during the fall
- the "low-carb bagel" and "low-carb bread" attempt (which failed, but was worth a try)
- People like to hang out

Things they didn't:

1. When everyone started wanting whole wheat, Panera dragged their heels. As far as I know, they still don't offer a true whole wheat bread, instead offering a "whole grain" that's still made with unbleached enriched wheat flour. I know that unbleached enriched wheat is an industry standard, and that most consumers either don't care or don't know about the difference, but for a place founded on baking artisan bread, couldn't this be regarded as a sort of "perfect storm" opportunity to be an industry front-runner in change? I think so.

2. Panera markets itself to moms with young kids - they position themselves near Starbucks and Coldwater Creek - and yet it took them years to offer any kids menus, or even sell half sandwiches. And for a place that charges $6 or $7 per sandwich, this became an issue for parents. When I worked there, I would get moms all the time, with the double stroller and another kid toddling alongside, sighing with exasperation at finding out that, no thanks, we simply don't want to help you out. "Of course," we consoled them, you can buy one big sandwich and split it between them" ... and good luck, since they all have a different favorite and we're going to charge you for the "adult quality" just so they can pick it apart and drop it on the floor as they pout.

3. Their salads all include chicken as the "default" menu item - and charge accordingly. Of course they're willing to remove the chicken and make your salad without it - but they won't alter the price to reflect it, so you're forced to pay the "chicken" price. True vegetarian options include soup and PB&J. Word on the street is that some vegetarians have appetites - and most have tastes beyond toddlers.

4. It took them years to respond to the demand for hot breakfast items. The first thing they rolled out? Souffles - not sandwiches - with more pastry than substance. Calorie count ranged from 480 to 570, which isn't necessarily healthy. (Starbucks perpetually sells out of their spinach feta wrap - a breakfast item made with veggies, eggs whites, and whole wheat - that comes in at just under 300 calories.)

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When I walk into Panera (a place I worked for three years from high school to college and, incidentally, a place that became like a second home to me), I no longer feel that cozy feeling. When I study the menu, I feel like Panera is treating me and the rest of its customers like we're idiots - like we don't know the difference between whole wheat and whole grain; like we'll never read the nutritional information on the website; like we'll never figure out that the cinnamon crunch bagel has almost 500 calories. The truth is, many people won't. But here's the thing, Panera: some will. And those few rarely have an issue telling others what the deal is.

Panera has developed an image of being "wholesome" and "healthy" (and many consumers, thankfully for them, are willing to blindly agree) and yet they fail to deliver healthy food. Just for example, every single one of Panera's panini's have more calories - and fat - than a Big Mac. (The "Steak and White Cheddar" has almost twice as many.) On what level do you think serving food that high in calories is acceptable? It's irresponsible and frankly, because it's misleading to a consumer who believes he's eating something "healthy," it's immoral.

Panera has done an amazing job of trying to foster a "neighborhood" environment. Many people visit the bakery-cafe as regulars, and they've been really successful in being involved in the community in meaningful ways.

But, Panera, the truth is: your core business isn't "lounge," nor is it "non-profit." It's "bakery-cafe," and if you fail to deliver on that core service, your customers are going to go elsewhere. Icing only delights us if there's still cake underneath and, for me, there no longer is.