Surfing the web yesterday, I stumbled on an article (actually a whole sea of articles . . . it’s big news) saying that Obesity is a social virus. Basically, if you’re friends get fat, you’ll probably get fat too. And if you get fat. . . well, your friends are doomed to having to buy stretchy pants at Target.
Strangely enough I see a similar phenomenon in the small and medium-sized business communities I bounce around. Hang out with folks who are successful and you’ll become more successful. Hang out with folks who pour all their energy into utterly ineffective brand building ads and wonder why customers aren’t pounding down their door and . . . well, you get the idea.
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Hey folks,
Welcome to big 30th issue of the Hard Working Words Newsletter . .
. and the first to be written from my swank new Capitol Hill condo.
If you read carefully I’m sure the sheer “I’m a homeowner”
pretentiousness and hardwood floor feel will seep right through
your eyes and into your brain.
Shorter issue today. Of course I said that about the last issue and
it was a whopper. So we’ll see what happens.
In today’s big issue you’ll learn:
* What the heck was under that scarf?
* How to use “secrets” to turn your prospects into salivating
consumerist zombies! (wait, is that a good thing?)
And much more.
Or a little more.
Definitely more.
It’s best if you imagine the title to today’s article in a big,
jagged B-horror movie font.
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The Secret Of The Scarf
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It was a red scarf. Red and wool. The girl had it pulled tight
around her neck and folded over in the front like an over-sized,
warm and toasty neck tie.
This was in London in 1998. I was a skinny, long-haired,
trench-coat-wearing quasi-goth bouncing my way around town, seeing
way too much theatre and interning for Norma Heyman: the tough old
“bird” who had produced “Dangerous Liaisons.”
And I was obsessed.
Obsessed with *The Scarf.*
The girl was in three of my classes. She wasn’t particularly pretty
or interesting. Most days she just sort of sat with a soft glaze on
her eyes, occasionally perking up to say something about “Peter Pan
and the dominant patriarchy” or to mumble about the staggering
amount we *weren’t* learning in our media studies class.
And day after day, week after week for all the 6 months we were
there, she wore *the scarf.*
In a sweltering theater, at a cozy restaurant, on a class trip to
Scotland . . . heck, I’m pretty sure she even wore it to bed.
Always tied up tight and solid around her neck, forming an
impenetrable seal between whatever secret horror adorned her throat
and the world outside.
Every time I saw her, my mind went into a fit. “What was under
there?,” my brain would scream. “What horrible, horrible thing was
she hiding?”
Was it a jagged scar from a childhood game of lawn darts gone
horribly wrong?
The tiny, useless remnants of an ill-fated parasitic twin?
An elaborate tattoo expertly memorializing a dying love?
What? What? What?
Weeks went by. Then months. The thick wool of winter was replaced
with a lacy (but no less opaque) pink chiffon number.
The lighter material discounted several of my more . . .err. .
.bulbous medical theories, but I was no closer to discovering the
secret. I was no closer to the truth.
I went a little mad there in London.
I lay awake at night devising elaborate scarf removing plans. I
ignored my school. I prattled endlessly to my poor friend Tara,
ruining at least one viewing of “Les Mis” and leading her to
threaten me with a heavy Greek statue.
Finally, with just a week left before we all piled back onto the
plane for “the colonies” I’d had enough. I shuffled up to her after
class one day, forced on some fake charm and just asked:
“So . . .uh. . heh . . heh. . . what’s with the . . . what’s with
the scarf? I mean . . . . do you have like a . . . . ha . . . like
a goiter under there or something? Haha. Ha. Ha?”
She just sort of stared at me. And then, slowly, her fingers
crawled up to her neck and traced a line along the top of the
material. She pulled lightly at the knot. The scarf unfolded and
bunched down into her hand revealing . . . . nothing.
Just a neck. Just a throat. Nothing secret or special or horrifying
at all.
With a weirded-out half smile she looked up at me and said “I just
like scarves.”
======================
OK, Haddad, That Was Creepy. But What’s The Point?
======================
Just this.
Like me with my scarf-wearing “friend,” humans are absolutely
obsessed with secrets. We’re hard wired to want special knowledge,
to be in on the joke and to be part of that rarified elite who
*really* knows what’s going on.
And if we’re denied access to that special knowledge . . . if we’re
told that we aren’t good enough, special enough or worthy?
Well, we go just a little mad, salivate like hungry lions and will
do just about *anything* to get back on the inside.
=====================
Which is Why Secrets . . . Or Even Just The Idea Of Secrets Are
Some Of The Most Powerful Weapons In Your Marketing Arsenal
=====================
So here’s your assignment:
No matter what industry you’re in, it down and start writing out
ways you can *tease* your prospects with “secrets” that will have
an impact on their business or their life.
And offer to give them those “secrets” in exchange for an email
address, a phone call or some other way of getting in touch.
For an example of how I used this technique for a client, check out
http://www.creditinsiderclub.com
That’s it folks.
Check out more at:
http://www.haddadink.com
http://www.haddadink.com/blog
=======================================
About This Newsletter and Your Subscription
=======================================
©2007 Haddad Ink. Copywriting Services. All Rights Reserved.
If you like this article
=======================
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And give me a shout out asking folks to subscribe by emailing
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Please notify me when my article is used online and off line.
===================================================
Haddad Ink., 1463 E. Republican St. #28A, Seattle, WA 98112
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