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.