Sometimes a PR Guy gets tired of the rigamarole. You know this schtick: as part of the new product/company launch, the client is expected to kowtow to the analyst community; to approach with hat in hand, saying, in effect, "Would you please bless my company/product/service, that I may prosper?"
Most of our clients in the tech sector are B2B, enterprise software, etc. In these cases, the schtick is usually warranted. Many IT execs still check in with Gartner, Forrester, et al., before making a big purchase. But more and more of our clients, such as Shimano the huge bicycling components maker, and some wireless start-ups, etc., simply don't need any analyst input whatsoever.
One prospect we've been talking to is targeting the power-sellers on E-Bay. Most of our competitors on this business suggest he run the gamut of analyst firms. That's our usual inclination, but moreso out of habit than well-plotted strategy.
Luckily, this time around we were quick on our feet and cried out, "No! Wait! Stop the insanity! There's not a single E-Bay zealot out there who's waiting for an analysts' Word From On-High. We can safely skip the analyst circuit (and, yes, this means your retainer can be lower)!"
The truth is, even in the enterprise/B2B realm of IT sales, it's been our experience that the client community has less and less faith in the analysts. The analyst tour is now increasingly seen as a chore, rather than an opportunity to derive valuable feedback and approbation.
Maybe it's because there are fewer and fewer reputable analyst groups? Less competition can make folks sloppy and/or lazy and/or arrogant.
Maybe it's because the dominance of one particular analyst group (I won't name names, but, umm, their initials are GG) has led to the spawning of numerous highly-specialized boutique analyst firms? This fragmentation of the market lessens the impact of any one group, and, the tight specialization means that the niche analysts' biases are quickly calcified and well-known. I can't count how many times I've recently heard, "That guy knows the (fill-in the blank) industry but he's a champion/enemy of (fill-in name of industry Goliath) so it would be a waste to visit him..."
My point, as always, is to do what makes sense for the client. Don't automatically assume that to get from Point A to Point Z that you need to check-in with the analysts at Points B, K, P, and R.
Remember my mantra, "Reputation Drives Revenue"? That's just another way of saying "It's about Sales, stoopid."
Work backwards from the client's own sales prospect: who is this person, and what influences their purchase decisions? Do the media representatives who impact these purchasing decisions rely on the analysts? If not, why should we waste our time or the clients' time/money, eh?
A Friend Is...
This post is not about PR, but, it's a damn funny story.
I was in Boston this weekend with my wife. The kids were home in CA, with their grandmother. At 6am PST, we get a frantic call: our 200lb. English Mastiff, "Owen," has fallen down the steep grade in our backyard, and may have broken his leg! Our son (12) is pretty shaken and confused about how to handle this situation, but our daughter (10) is frantic: apparently she thinks that dogs that are as big as horses get put-down like horses, when their legs break. "I DON'T WANT HIM TO DIEEEEEEEEEEE" she howls.
So I'm pressing hands to my temples. I am 3,000 miles away!
Now what?
I call a friend down the street. He is gracious about his 6am wake-up call and hustles his entire clan into the car, on the Big Mastiff Rescue Mission.
Now, Owen loves this family; they watch him for us on occassion - so when he sees the whole squad peering down the embankment at him, he miraculously lifts himself up and limps up the hill to say hello. And 30 minutes later, after a lot of huffing and puffing, my friend has managed to hoist the big boy onto the patio. Then he takes him to the vet...
Owen is shaken up. He's upset. And he HATES the vet. Our last vet quit on us, because he got sick of wrestling with a 200lb. trembling baby. Owen's all hunched up, whimpering, as he waits in the lobby with my friend. My friend tries to calm the dog; scratches his tush.
And then he is instantly coated by a thunderous spray of liquified excrement!!!
Yes... My 200lb. dog took an enormous shit all over my friend.
The entire vet office - the vet himself, the nurses and staff, and all the patients EMPTIED OUT of the building - THAT'S how bad it smelled.
After Owen (finally) checked out okay, he and my buddy hop into the minivan - which my friend just posted for sale that same week! They are both still covered in diarrhea.
Owen is brought back home. My friend hoses off, and hoses Owen off. The misadventure is almost over.
And then Owen lets loose another bowel-ripper - all over my friend. Again. In front of my horrified kids.
And thanks to the miracle of cell phone technology, I was getting the play-by-plays every 15 minutes. The emotions ranged from desperation to laughter to horror to relief to terrified disbelief. The "terrified disbelief" really kicked in when I thought to myself, "How in the hell do you repay a favor like THIS one???"
Man o' man. That's a friend. Even after his 6am wake-up call, the back-breaking exertion, the shit-coating, the vet bills, the car detailing and discarded clothing, the guy refused all compensation.
"Just take me out to dinner one night," he says. "...And make sure they serve alcohol."
I was in Boston this weekend with my wife. The kids were home in CA, with their grandmother. At 6am PST, we get a frantic call: our 200lb. English Mastiff, "Owen," has fallen down the steep grade in our backyard, and may have broken his leg! Our son (12) is pretty shaken and confused about how to handle this situation, but our daughter (10) is frantic: apparently she thinks that dogs that are as big as horses get put-down like horses, when their legs break. "I DON'T WANT HIM TO DIEEEEEEEEEEE" she howls.
So I'm pressing hands to my temples. I am 3,000 miles away!
Now what?
I call a friend down the street. He is gracious about his 6am wake-up call and hustles his entire clan into the car, on the Big Mastiff Rescue Mission.
Now, Owen loves this family; they watch him for us on occassion - so when he sees the whole squad peering down the embankment at him, he miraculously lifts himself up and limps up the hill to say hello. And 30 minutes later, after a lot of huffing and puffing, my friend has managed to hoist the big boy onto the patio. Then he takes him to the vet...
Owen is shaken up. He's upset. And he HATES the vet. Our last vet quit on us, because he got sick of wrestling with a 200lb. trembling baby. Owen's all hunched up, whimpering, as he waits in the lobby with my friend. My friend tries to calm the dog; scratches his tush.
And then he is instantly coated by a thunderous spray of liquified excrement!!!
Yes... My 200lb. dog took an enormous shit all over my friend.
The entire vet office - the vet himself, the nurses and staff, and all the patients EMPTIED OUT of the building - THAT'S how bad it smelled.
After Owen (finally) checked out okay, he and my buddy hop into the minivan - which my friend just posted for sale that same week! They are both still covered in diarrhea.
Owen is brought back home. My friend hoses off, and hoses Owen off. The misadventure is almost over.
And then Owen lets loose another bowel-ripper - all over my friend. Again. In front of my horrified kids.
And thanks to the miracle of cell phone technology, I was getting the play-by-plays every 15 minutes. The emotions ranged from desperation to laughter to horror to relief to terrified disbelief. The "terrified disbelief" really kicked in when I thought to myself, "How in the hell do you repay a favor like THIS one???"
Man o' man. That's a friend. Even after his 6am wake-up call, the back-breaking exertion, the shit-coating, the vet bills, the car detailing and discarded clothing, the guy refused all compensation.
"Just take me out to dinner one night," he says. "...And make sure they serve alcohol."
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