Intended Impact for Profit

I’ve made prior references to Intended Impact and Theory of Change in my blog postings, and as I build my consulting practice and skills I am finding that these concepts are more important—and resonant—than ever. Let me start by saying, again, that everything I’ve done professionally points to some intuitive understanding of these ideas. However, my being able to articulate them and help others discover their meaning I owe in large part to my colleagues at The Bridgespan Group and especially to a Bridgespan-authored article to which I refer over and over again, “Zeroing In On Impact.”

Bridgespan applies the ideas of Intended Impact (loosely, the change we wish to see in the world) and Theory of Change (our contribution to the change, the aspects or activities for which we hold ourselves accountable) to the nonprofit sector, which is difficult and challenging work. But the building blocks for accomplishing this work tend to be available; mission-driven work is values-based, and with or without support (and spirited debate) people who are engaged in mission-driven work are generally able to articulate where they want to go and how they want to get there. In fact, one of the most rewarding things about being a strategist-marketer is that I have the great pleasure of helping nonprofits see their II/ToC work applied to the ways in which they communicate.

(Let me be clear here: that’s not the end of the story. Structuring the financial, operational and other ways in which they get there is a highly complex and demanding process. It’s just not today’s topic.)

But I work in both the nonprofit and for-profit sectors, and I’m interested in how these ideas hold up in the business world too. Here’s what I have found: Intended Impact tends to be especially near to the hearts of entrepreneurs, who are inspired by something or someone to bring an idea to life. In addition, certain fields and practices inspire evangelism and create communities of practice; I am thinking, for example, of the Open Source movement which has a clear intended impact.

The reality is that most of us have not been in on the ground floor of the businesses in which we work, and more than a few of us have not been driven to what we do but rather find our way into our work by happenstance. Thus I find that my business colleagues typically have a more difficult time describing an intended impact. Given the very distinction made in describing the sectors—nonprofit and for-profit—it’s no wonder that we have an easier time describing not what we want to see as a result of their labors, but what we want to get: Profit. Shareholder value. Market share. Recognition. 

This makes perfect sense, because these are the values on which businesses are measured. Which is not bad, after all … it just feels incomplete. Doesn’t it?

For the answer, I turn time and time again to Lotus Development Corporation, now IBM Collaboration Software, where I worked as a consultant and employee for a decade. Lotus had a vision (Intended Impact) around enabling new and better ways of working, supporting communication and collaboration across organizational and geographic boundaries. Its activities (Theory of Change) involved creating and delivering software and services that made it possible for that vision to be realized. And during the best of times, it did so very profitably.

Lotus had a culture, somewhat legendary, that was progressive and outward-facing. I among others have theorized many times, and a couple of times in this blog, that one of the reasons the company was able to recruit excellent people (ahem), and that they remain a cohesive group with an active alumni network to this day, is that the vision was so compelling and that the ways in which users of the products brought it to life were so inspiring.

It’s easy to see in this example that an expression of social good brought significant benefit. But sometimes, maybe often, it’s harder to get there. How do we express the social good of food products with no nutritional content; of legal but habit-inducing substances; of exploitive gaming and publishing?

As a marketer I struggle with this question. Years ago a friend and colleague needed to relocate to New York for personal reasons, and was offered a good job in an advertising agency. Her first assignment was to a tobacco account. She was caught in a conflict between her values and her livelihood, but ultimately was pragmatic. She had to make a living and this was, at least for the moment, what was available to her. She resolved to do the best that she could, and ultimately hoped to be transferred to a business with which she would feel more comfortable.

I think we must be realistic and pragmatic as my friend was. We may not like it every day of the week—or in fact, we may like it very much—but certain products and services with no readily apparent redeeming value are in fact forms of entertainment. Junk food clearly is the center of many congenial gatherings, as is alcohol.

And, sometimes these products, harmful as they may be, are helpful to minority populations whose challenges we don’t consider. The risks of nicotine use are well documented and well known, but I learned from the National Alliance on Mental Illness that in addition to being a social norm among people with mental illnesses, smoking has at least the short-term effect of enhancing concentration and cognition. (Nevertheless, NAMI and other organizations work very hard to encourage people with addictions to give them up.)

Meaning that this topic is more complex than I thought it was when I began to write this blog entry … but what isn’t? In summary, intended impact and theory of change can be as relevant to the corporate world as they are to the nonprofit sector. More than that, these reflections suggest that having and communicating an explicit intended impact may have very beneficial effects. 

The answers may sometimes be more elusive, and may challenge us and our values, but they are there.

Is Marketing Everything?

“Does Marketing now have final say over everything that happens here?”
(Program director)

“Well, we both know that Marketing is everything.”(Executive-level marketing professional)

No, not part of the same conversation—interestingly enough!

The program director was irritated because the marketing team had taken issue with the proposed positioning of her event. The marketing professional was describing a sense that his marketing background was what made him a strong strategy consultant.

Both were talking to me, at different times and in entirely different contexts.

In the first case, it wasn’t so much that anyone thought that Marketing (capital M, meaning the department) had the final say on every topic. Rather, Marketing felt in this specific instance that the program team had created an event description that revealed more about their own intent (“learn more about us and enroll in our program”) than it did about what the participants would have wanted out of the day (“a family-friendly, fun, free community event”). Marketing felt that the program team had made a common and correctable oversight. In their zeal to get the job done, the program team hadn’t considered that they were communicating their desires—and that in allowing this message to override the customers’ desires they might even discourage participation. They hadn’t realized that in creating an experience of what the consumer wanted (fun, family-friendly, etc.) they were at least as likely to get what they wanted (enrollments).

Marketing wasn’t trying to take control. Rather, Marketing was attempting to improve the organization’s chances of succeeding on both counts.

Plenty of marketing has the (cynicism-provoking) reputation it deserves. There’s a lot of perfunctory work out there, created by well-meaning individuals but far too formulaic for my taste. On the other hand, there’s some really good work out there, too.

Setting aside the obvious, like distinguishing features from benefits, superb positioning, innovative branding, and effective media buying, the marketing executive I quoted above was describing something more strategic than what we usually think of as marketing; that is, the kind of marketing that years ago prompted one of my product manager colleagues to complain that our company's entire marketing department could go away (me excepted, of course) and nobody would notice.

So how can you know everything-marketing from not-everything marketing? Here’s a checklist.

1. Everything-marketing refuses to stay in the box. The marketer is interested in the business you’re in. He or she asks you a question or challenges an assumption that changes what and how you think (or thought) about your business, or your business challenge—and it’s relevant to the marketing challenge. And he/she can explain how it's relevant.

2. Everything-marketing represents the consumer. Good marketing is empathic. Good marketers inhabit the consumer mindset and project it onto their work. They channel the natural curiosity (and cynicism) of consumers. They do market research, formal or informal. They don't jump on bandwagons until they're ready. They aren’t afraid to ask the questions that take you aback, like, “Why is this exciting?” and “Who really cares?” They use the answers not to antagonize (which they often do) but to help you make better products and services—and to create more effective marketing.

3. Everything-marketing makes complete sense, but it’s not necessarily something that you could have articulated without seeing it. In the 1980s John Hancock Mutual Life Insurance Company (long since de-mutualized and now called John Hancock Financial Services) undertook a rigorous review of its advertising. Famous for a slogan they hadn't used in years (“Put your John Hancock on a John Hancock life insurance policy”) and firmly established as one of America’s best-known brands, Hancock was contemplating major market changes. The company wanted to be considered by consumers buying a wider range of financial services. Its executives understood that in order to compete effectively it had to stand out against the other behemoths of the era.

All of the major competitors had commonalities in their marketing. First, their messaging was about stability (for example, Prudential’s “Get a piece of the rock”). Consumers of financial services clearly wanted to associate with strong companies that would be around longer than they would. That’s the point, isn’t it? Makes sense, doesn’t it?

It does. Nobody in their right mind would deviate from that.

Bu at that time the financial service players also spoke mostly about themselves. This was where John Hancock decided to break out.

The original campaign, created by Hill Holliday, was called “Real Life, Real Answers.” It depicted people (actors, obviously) in scenarios that would likely strike a chord with potential consumers (e.g., new baby, home purchase, passing the $30k salary mark!). In every print campaign and toward the end of each TV spot, the ad suggested products and services that the subjects would be likely to buy—in sidebars. It was an entirely soft-sell, but it wasn't an explicitly hard sell. It allowed the consumer to see a lot of product categories at once. And the products looked like solutions to real-life needs.

This campaign, the first of its kind to be all about the consumer, literally changed the landscape of financial services marketing. Nobody had ever seen anything like it in financial services. But of course, as soon as we saw it (and I was on the team, on the client side) it made perfect sense.

I tried to find a clip of “Real Life, Real Answers” but couldn’t. Here’s what Hancock is doing these days, still in the same vein. Take a look at “Investment Strategies: Getting Back In,” part of the “You Are Not Alone” campaign.

http://www.johnhancock.com/about/ourbrand.html

Does every provider of goods and services have such a magical moment in its past, or future? Not likely. But each and every one deserves the foundation upon which such moments are built. And that’s what everything-marketing is about.

Copyright © 2013 Carol R. Trager. All rights reserved.