A Sexier Amazon

Check out the very sexy new look to Amazon.

I don't even know for sure what it looked like before.

What I do know is this: upon loading the homepage for the first time since Christmas shopping several months ago, I uttered a soft but solidly audible:

"oooohh."

and that, my friends, is what it's all about...

see it for yourself here.

See it as your customer does

There is tremendous value in striving to adopt your customer's perspective.

Take the example of my recent experience of closing time at a bar downtown...

The lights always come on a half hour before "closing time," which really means that they’re going to do just about everything in their capacity to clear the place in fifteen minutes. The problem, however, was that at the moment the lights went on, we had only just ordered our drinks fifteen minutes before.

It mattered little to the waiter who'd just served them to us, who came over and bellowed, "alright, guys, wrap it up! You guys need to get out! Wrap it up!"

I turned and looked squarely at him.

"You're speaking to us like this right now," I asserted, sternly, "because you're assuming that we're drunk." I paused.  "We're not. We're not bothering you, and we'd like to enjoy the drinks that we bought."

Still in his "closing time" mode, however, he pointed out, coldly: "Lights are on, folks."

"We know they are." I answered, undeterred. "But they weren't on when you sold us these drinks… And when you a buy a drink, with it comes the privilege of enjoying as quickly - or slowly - as you'd like. So I think you should let us have the next few minutes to do that."

He said nothing, and instead floated away. He then kept the other servers from interrupting us.
We cleared our seats, as promised, before the 2 am closing time.
As we walked out through the door he was holding open, he apologized to me.

“It’s okay,” I tendered. “You’re just doing your job.”

It’s not okay, however, that “doing your job” necessitates that you treat your customers this way.

When you're the server in this situation, you have a pretty simple position. For you, this is just another Saturday night. And all you're thinking about is stacking the chairs we're still occupying and sweeping the floors beneath them.

But what you don't realize is that for me - and I think my sentiment reflected that of my companions - this is the one night I’m in town, which is my hometown. And right now I'm spending it with some of my favorite people, whom I've haven't seen in six months. All I want to do right now is enjoy the rest of my beer - at the exact pace I'd like to enjoy it - and try to make these final minutes last as long as possible before we have to say goodbye for what is very likely going to be another six months.

We, as people, have multitudes to gain from embracing others’ perspectives.

And we, in business, have almost as much to gain from acknowledging those held by our customers.

The one thing you should never do to your customers

I'd like to think that most all businesses strive to make sure that things go as planned, and that unexpected mishaps are managed and mitigated. That being said, things are always bound to happen. And when they do, it's not the fact that they happened, but rather your response to them, that ultimately matters to the customer. And the one thing that always matters the most in your response: never, ever lie to them.

I was on a United flight recently, and we arrived early to our destination.
And that's great, I agree... right up until everyone on the flight realized: we had "arrived" only in the sense that we had landed.

And right about the time we all expected to head over to the gate, we realized that we were parking instead.

As we came to a stop, the pilot came on overhead with the following information:

"The flight departing from our gate is being de-iced. It should be about 15 minutes."

Okay. No big deal, right? The weather did seem to warrant de-icing and we were early, so this seemed like a reasonable statement. So we all sat patiently.

Ten minutes went by, and the pilot came on with a new message:

"The flight at our gate is just finishing up with the boarding process. Once they complete that, it'll take about another 15 minutes to de-ice."

Now hold the phone. How are they "just finishing up with the boarding process" and not yet started with the "15 minute de-icing business" if they started all this mess ten minutes ago!?

Suddenly folks started to get impatient. We began shifting, grumbling, talking to each other. Bear in mind: we were still early, and had still only been sitting for ten minutes.

So why the frustration?
Because nobody likes to be lied to!

There was abolutely no reason for this communication fall-out. Here's the thing: that plane was never de-icing when they told us it was. De-icing is not a subjective state. A plane either is or is not de-icing, and that plane wasn't. Plain and simple.

The message that is was should've never gotten to us.

So whether it was their pilot, our pilot, or somebody in the middle, United Airlines is seriously underestimating the severity of communication shortfalls like these. By allowing utterly untrue messages to be delivered to passengers, they're effectively saying: we don't care.

And if they think we don't notice we're being addressed as though we're not important enough to hear true statements, they're wrong.

It's one thing to simply "not know" when the gate would clear - and if that's the case, it's okay to say! I think most of us would rather hear someone admit that they "don't know" when the gate will be open rather than feed us information that someone, somewhere knows is bogus. It's generally preferable for an airline to deliver something undesirable but true than something only slightly better and absolute garbage.

Everyone - even the simplest individuals and probably even those responsible for this at United- knows what it feels like to be outright bullshitted.
 Furthermore, a good majority of us also understand: you don't lie to those whom you truly care about.

Lighting should say, "you're beautiful. Stay a while."

Sometimes, the restroom can make or break the customer experience.

This is particularly true in places where the customer's presence is dictated by a drawn-out desire to feel... well, good. I'm talking specifically about places like clubs, fine dining establishments, and high-end retail.

The way us women feel when we look at ourselves in the restroom mirror (and you know we will) will dictate the way we feel about ourselves when we walk back out. If we feel like we look great, we're going to feel more confident.

We feel more confident, we want to stay longer.

Restroom lighting matters more than most establishments realize. Flourescent lighting makes us look - and feel - unattractive. And who wants to bother trying on another pair of designer jeans or hanging around hoping that handsome chap at the end of the bar will come over when we suddenly feel... well, not good. 


I know that you think it's just a restroom or a fitting room... but to us, it's the space we're in right before we try to win our date's heart, the place we go to check our hair so that we walk into the bar like a rockstar, or the space we're in when we're trying to convince ourselves that we are, in fact, hot enough to pull off one size smaller.

I don't know many people - women or men - who leave the house hoping to feel lackluster. Help them in their endeavor by giving them the easy wins.

Taxi Fiasco

My taxi wasn’t waiting outside this morning. After five minutes, I called them. A woman answered, and responded to my concern by saying, matter-of-factly: “he’s outside right now.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Yes, ma’am. Our system shows he’s outside.”
“Well, I’m standing outside, and he’s not here.”
So she puts me on hold, and a few minutes later gets back on to tell me: “okay, he’s right around the corner. He’ll be there in a second.”

Now, I realize that that’s just a figure of speech. But when somebody is calling you with a concern specifically related to timeliness, you should really make an effort to recognize that and rebuild the quickly-deteriorating trust with a quote that makes them feel better about working with you, not worse.

So I responded, “can you please give me a more accurate estimate than a second?”
“Okay.” She snapped: “30 seconds.”

A response that just didn't sit right with me, given that the only one at fault here is still them.

So I hang up, and while I’m standing there – longer than 30 seconds, by the way – another taxi pulls up. So, yea, I got in. But I try to do my part, so I called Yellow Cab to let them know they could cancel my cab. I clarified that I was cancelling because it was ten minutes late.

Generally, when someone decides against doing business with you because you dropped the ball, and then actually does you the favor of educating you on this fact, you should respond with something a little more constructive than the response I got, which was, shockingly:

“Okay. Thanks.”

Taxi texts

I fly to Boston every Monday morning.
In order to get to the airport, I take a taxi every Monday morning.
Because I'm not at my peak performance at 4:30 am, I book the taxi the night before.
I call the taxi company to do this.
I am on hold for a few minutes each time.
This comes with the convenience of having the car waiting.

The last time I did this, however, I later got a text response.
It informed me that, should I choose to use their service again, I could simply text my request.

Oh, the beauty of it!
(I do love sending a good text...)

So I tried it out.
The night before.
Because that's when I'm at (more) peak performance.

And, as it turns out, their service is not set up for "night before" requests.
They tried to dispatch a taxi right then.
and I quickly had to follow up with a "cancel dispatch" text.
Because, for goodness sake, I didn't even have a bag packed!

So instead I called.
And I sat on hold.
So I could place my request for the next morning.

And the whole time I was on hold, all I could think was:

wouldn't it benefit both of us if that "text" feature simply included a "time" element?

On "protein bars"

Given the nutritional information, if protein bars on the market right now were named after what they really were, the majority woulld all be called "sugar bars" instead.

PowerBar:

Clif Bar:

The mystery of Marriott categories

According to Marriott's website, I qualify for a FREE NIGHT (!) at any Category 7 hotel...

Sounds neat enough, right?

It does, until you consider this: Marriott doesn't offer any additional information on what, exactly, "Category 7" means or which properties the label constitutes, let alone allow the user the immediately apparent capabiltiy to search by "Category" while booking or exploring the website, in order to use this Free Night. After looking for about a minute - which is already longer than it should require a user to use a reward - I finally used Google to get a (piecemeal) answer.

If you offer your customers a reward, you must also then:

a. educate them on what, exactly, the reward is

b. allow them to research how to use it

The value of prettiness

I hate getting my hair cut.

I had an appointment with my stylist today and, at some point during the multi-hour process, it dawned on me:

I would rather go to the dentist for two hours than be here.

In fact, if I could – and logistics made it a feasible alternative – I think I would rather get my wisdom teeth removed every six weeks than get my hair done.

I hate getting my hair cut.

The problem always begins as I’m sitting there, when all I have to do – for two hours – other than make small talk with my stylist or thumb through mindless magazines, is stare at myself in the mirror. Invariably, at some point while doing this, I begin to feel incredibly un-pretty.

Now, that’s not to say I feel that way in general. I feel pretty when I get ready for work on Monday or when I go out on Friday nights. I can even feel pretty in a ponytail running errands on Saturday morning.

But there’s something about the experience of the salon – wrapped up to your neck in what feels like a plastic garbage bag, shuffling around from the stylist’s chair to the sink, and then staring at yourself, with your wet hair pulled back, and scrutinizing the bags under your eyes – that makes you feel utterly un-pretty.

Now typically, being made to feel “un-pretty” in isn’t a big deal. Nobody expects to feel “pretty” while standing in line at the DMV, picking up after their dog, or visiting the gyno. When it comes to salon visits, though, “feeling pretty” is exactly what you’re ultimately paying several hundred dollars for.

So why should we be made to feel the opposite during the appointment?

And it can't just be me, because there are some critical "human" qualities missing at the salon...

When it comes the cut… I expect them to preserve some of my hair – after all, we agreed in the beginning that it was “very fine” – and it’s like nails on a chalkboard when they suddenly start “texturing” it, sliding their scissors along the strand of hair. (We definitely didnt agree to that! Who wants to pay for that sensation?) But I typically don't say anything, because again, by this point, I've come to terms with the fact that just about the entire process makes me uncomfortable. So I sit there in silence as the hair on my arms stands on end under the garbage bag.

And then the blow dryer – it’s always too hot or goes on for far too long. While my stylist is concentrating on his handiwork, I’m busy calculating the stress he’s causing my hair, utterly neurotic in my conviction that he’s frying what little is left of it after the “texturizing” move.

Lastly, the unveiling - Maybe I go in with my expectations set too high, but I always feel disappointed as the realization hits me: when it comes to my hair, this is probably as good as it gets… which is not much better than how I came in.

(My hair, no matter the investment I make, looks alarmingly similar to Justin Long’s character in The Break Up. Not pretty.)

But I always fiend a smile, because it’s not their fault my hair sucks, and coo over the color, to reassure them of this. The whole time feeling like I've been had - like I didn't get the "pretty" I was promised.

I pay them a ton of money for this process – much more, I always feel, than I should, given my hair. And as I’m bottling resentment and disappointment and impatience to escape this place as soon as possible, I smile and promise to come back in six weeks.

“Don’t wait so long this time!”
“I won’t!"
We both know I will.
Because why would I willingly put myself through this again any time soon?

And as bolting out the door, the thought always crosses my mind: it shouldn’t feel this way.

On Best Buy

Dear Best Buy,

I recently went into one of your locations looking for a particular DVD. I couldn't find it, so I looked around for an associate to help me. I had to walk halfway around the store to locate one, and when I found her, she was busying herself with the task of hovering over the "caution: wet floor" sign, attempting to balance it on one leg as she stared blankly past it at the floor.

I gently interrupted - somewhat fearing the consequences of startling her from her trance - and asked her to help me find the DVD. She complied, and off we went to accomplish the task.

I dug through a bargain bin while she searched the inventory online. She found the film. Unfortunately, it was only being carried in Blu-Ray format. And this is where things really got dicey:

"Oh," I sighed when she told me, "that won't work. We have a DVD player."
"Well," she piped optimistically, "you could just buy a Blu-Ray player."
I stared at her.
She went on. "Eventually," she said, "everything will be Blu-Ray."
And that's when I got angry.
"That's fine." I glared. "But right now everything isn't. Right now we have a DVD player. And right now I want to buy a DVD. I'm not going to spend ten times as much just to watch a film because you weren't selling it in our format."

(A format that - just so we're both clear - still exists. Yet somehow doesn't work for you. Right now.)

Best Buy, if you don't carry the $10 item I want, why would you expect me to buy the $100 item I don't?

When you have your 1997 Honda tuned up, do you want your mechanic to tell you that they don't have your replacement part in stock and instead try to sell you a hybrid?

Of course not! You want to know why?
It's dismissive ("you don't want that.") It's alienating ("don't you know?!") And it's rude.

Best Buy, you can carry all the techonology in the world, but you never learned to embrace your customer. This is why you're going out of business.

A Kimpton Christmas

We stayed at the Kimpton in Dallas on Christmas night this year. We were driving through, coming from one side of the family that morning and going on to another the next day, and were at the hotel for less than 12 hours.

Before we arrived, Kimpton reached out to us, expressing their desire to make our holiday special and asking if there was anything we could do. J in turn reached out to me for guidance, and I suggested "something simple, but Christmasy."

(I was secretly hoping for hot chocolate and cookies.)

When we got to our room and dropped our bags, there laid out for us was a spread of hot chocolate powder, hot water in a steel canister, mini marshmallows, candy cane bits, chocolate and butterscotch chips, and shortbread cookies - all displayed in cute dishes. And a handwritten note that said, in essence, "enjoy."

Wonderful! (I wish I'd thought to take a photo.)

I called them afterwards to thank them. That's how hospitality should go.

How Ritz Carlton lost me as a customer before I was one

Dear Ritz Carlton,

My significant other and I spent several nights on the club level at a Ritz Carlton resort in Mexico. It was my first experience with your brand, and will likely be the last.

While the grounds were technically beautifully-landscaped, the linens luxurious, the food delicious and generous, and the beach a gorgeous setting, you fell flat on one very important thing: recognizing me as a guest.

Over the course of several days, from the moment we checked in until the moment we walked out, I was greeted - and addressed - as "Mrs. (my boyfriend's last name.)"

Since we're not married and I, in fact, have a different last name – one that is very real and very much my identity - I find this appalling. I was sitting next to him the entire time your staff checked us in. You served us mimosas before we'd even gotten our room key, and yet you couldn't think to ask me one very simple question: "what is your name?" It’s an oversight that communicates an utter lack of consideration.

(Perhaps I'm wrong, but my understanding is that this sort of treatment is reserved for gracefully addressing all of the many "Mrs. (unfaithful married man)" that come through your hotel. Whether that's true or not, quite frankly, I didn't appreciate it. Having been in a relationship for several years now and the only possible female guest accompanying my significant other, I am as much of a valued guest as he is - not somebody whose identity he's hiding.)

If you think I'm exaggerating the magnitude of your mistake, let us not forget Rule #3 from Dale Carnegie's infamous "six ways to make people like you:"

"Remember that a person's name is, to that person, the sweetest and most important sound in any language."

When you don't use their name, you strip them of something very dear to them. You imply that their identity is inconsequential to you.

When, however, you insist on calling them a name that is not even theirs, you commit an even worse offense: you communicate that they are, in your mind, a mere shadow of somebody else's identity.

You are obviously familiar with this rule, given your emphasis on using guests' names to begin with. But you should know, Ritz Carlton, that your practice of limiting this treatment solely to those individuals who hand over their credit cards is repulsive. And you are catastrophically delusional if you think it is "good customer service." (Quite frankly, I'd rather your staff not have greeted me at all.)

On your website, you proudly boast being "the Gold Standard of Hospitality." Well, here's a reality check: your gold standard doesn't mean anything to the people who are made to feel they don't exist.

A guest with a name to remember,

KG

Hertz "Luxury" Cars

Hertz offers a "luxury" class. The car they often state, as an example, is the Lincoln Towncar.

Great.

First, let's all agree that: an individual who rents a luxury vehicle is very likely doing it not so much because they themselves like to ride in style (though I recognize this may be the case for some) as it is more the case of them striving to impress someone else - very likely a client. They are trying to make an impression.

Great.

Except here's the thing - if Hertz knew anything about anything about cars - the core of their business - they would understand that all cars - but especially luxury vehicles - make different impressions. It's not enough to make an impression in general as it is to make the right one. Auto companies spend a lot of money investing in that very impression that their vehicles make. And consumers are highly aware of what those brands are. They want to associate themselves with some. And they don't want to associate themselves with others. To say it's "luxury" isn't enough to win us over: it's not simply a price tag thing. To put it simply: not all luxury vehicles are created equal.

Reality check: there's a new class of luxury car driver. They're younger, more plugged into technology, and far too evolved to want to drive their grandpa's car to pick up their client.

I would sooner pick a client up in a Kia than a Towncar.
And "I" am your next big customer. So take note.

Sabra Travel Packs

Sabra Hummus - on your new travel packs: brilliant concept; misdirected execution. Hint- you're selling them at airports.... try eating one there.

Muscle Milk

Muscle Milk - love (love) the product. It's high in protein. It's low in sugar. That's a combination that is far more outrageously - infruriatingly - difficult to find in health foods than it sounds. The packaging, however, leaves something to be desired.

Here's the thing, guys: have you tried using the straw on your four-pack container? And I pose this question to all of you at Muscle Milk. I even ask it of the CEO; I challenge him or her to drink using the straw. I sense you'll find some problems, including but not limited to: the tapered end of the straw does not easily puncture the plastic wrapping, often leaving the angled tip bent and less useful for puncturing the drink carton. This aside, the concept of the straw doubling in length, while great, leaves a less-than-airtight joint in the middle, which, one you get to the bottom half of your drink, permits air intake and reduces the efficiency of the straw's (very simple) function. (And, as an aside: why do you only offer the 8 oz size in a four pack? And why is the 14 oz size only offered as single-serving?)

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.