“2013 will be the year that big brands and advertisers can finally expect to start making money from social media sites,” is the hopeful prediction of a company, Millward Brown, an international advertising and marketing company specializing in “brand equity.”
They say there’s been a big psychological turnaround in how we use social media. “[S]hoppers are now not only open to being targeted through intelligent digital advertising, they expect it.”
Really? I suppose I do “expect” to get pitched 24/7 to buy stuff, by telemarketers on my phone, by ads on Facebook, and everywhere. I also “expect” to occasionally step in doggie doo-doo after some idiot doesn’t clean up after his/her mutt. But that doesn’t mean I like it!
And what does “open to being targeted” mean, anyway? Do we have a choice in the matter of how Facebook figures out what to advertise on our pages? Nobody asked me for permission to search through everything I do on the Internet and then decide what I’m in the mood to buy. I’m not “open” to (in Millward’s words) “new, richer advertising opportunities,” they’re being foisted on me by forces against my will. The word “open” therefore is bunk, although Millward did get it right with that word, “targeted,” as in seeing us Facebook users through the crosshairs on a rifle.
They have a newish term for the marriage of “retail” and “social media” and it’s called, appropriately enough, “retail social media.” Sounds like an oxymoron to me. Check out the colorful graphic on this site that purports to explain how “community hubs – conduits for people with similar interests to gather” – such as Facebook – can now be used as digital billboards. In the graphic, you see symbols for the following conceptual parts: Staff, HR, Marketing, Operations, Merchandising, Products, Events, Stores, Tactics, Analytics, Strategy, and Business Goals, with arrows showing how all these moving parts are interrelated. But nowhere in the graphic will you see the Facebook user—you and me, the human being at the center of the whole thing. That’s because, from a “retail social media” perspective, the human being has ceased to exist. Instead, there’s only a transactional purchaser with a credit card, a demographic, a, yes, customer whose exclusive function is to buy.
Mind you, I’m not against advertising on websites, per se. I understand that the people who work to give us a free Internet have to make a living. Zuckerberg isn’t doing this for charity. We’re free to ignore the ads if we want to, which is exactly what I do. I’m just increasingly concerned that advertising is going to move from something on the fringes of our social media to something dominant.
It’s sad for me, as a lover of social media, to see it getting hijacked in this way. I guess it was inevitable. But I wonder how the heart of social media—the free, communal spirit in which it has thrived up until now—will survive this assault by the forces of marketing, which are so antithetical to authenticity, transparency and sharing—the traditional pillars of the social use of the Internet. I said as much in my remarks a couple of weeks ago at U.C. Davis’s class on P.R. and Social Media for Small Wineries, although some people didn’t want to hear it.
You know how wine geeks talk about the “True” Sonoma Coast, as opposed to the formal AVA? I see social media the same way. There’s “true” social media in which individual, real people express themselves to other real people and engage in dialog. Then there’s “formal” social media, something that looks and behaves like “true” social media, but isn’t. Instead, it’s a Trojan horse designed to trick people. It’s probably asking too much for big corporations to be authentic (although they can pay people to make them appear to be authentic). But authenticity is what small family wineries do best. I hear over and over again from them that they don’t have the time to do social media, or they don’t know what to say. I tell them over and over again: You do have the time. Facebooking or tweeting only takes a few seconds. As for what to say, Say whatever is real at the time you’re saying it. “Hated to get out of bed this morning cuz it was freezing, but needed get out into the vineyard.” That’s real and authentic and interesting.
The Chablisians are hitting the road to market their region and its famous white wine. It is a very ancient winegrowing region; the Romans brought vines and viticulture there sometime early in the Common Era, according to Rosemary George, MW, in her fine book, The Wines of Chablis and the Grand Auxerrois.
That the Chardonnay grape became a virtual monopole in Chablis no doubt is due to Chablis having been incorporated, in 1477, into the duchy of Burgundy. Red wine may be made there, but then, it would not be entitled to any of the official AOCs: Petit Chablis, Chablis, Chablis Premier Cru or Chablis Grand Cru, but only the lowly Vin de Pays status.
My host yesterday, at a small luncheon at Boulevard, was the charming, young, voluble Jean-Francois Bordet, winemaker at Domaine Séguinot-Bordet (which his family has farmed for many centuries) and also president of the Chablis Wine Board. We tasted through 5 wines: Jean-Francois’s own Domaine Séguinot-Bordet 2010 Vielles Vignes (12.8% ABV, $16), La Chablisienne 2009 Premier Cru Côte de Léchet (13%, about $23), Domaine William Fevre 2009 Premier Cru Vaulorent (12.5%, $53), Domaine Christian Moreau 2008 Grand Cru Valmur (13%, $65) and Domaine Drouhin Vaudon 2008 Grand Cru Les Clos ($74; I did not get the alcohol). Each wine was immaculately paired with superb food, mainly sea food (crab, scallops, lobster), although Boulevard’s chef, Nancy Oaks, decided to make a steak tartare and oyster appetizer for Jean-Francois’s Vielles Vignes, and what a great match that was.
Several things were apparent: Chablis is great wine by any standard. It is reasonably priced, especially at the Grand Cru level; only a handful of domaines dare exceed $100. The wines are just what the anti-high alcohol lynch mob demands. And they are sublimely versatile with food. Of course, if you’re at a restaurant like Boulevard, you eat something classic with Chablis, such as the Maine lobster with risotto and mushrooms, which Chef Oaks paired with the two Grand Crus. But, as Jean-Francois observed, at home he will happily drink Chablis with anything including, he smiled, scrambled eggs for breakfast.
The wines themselves all possess the Chablisian traits of utter dryness, acidity and minerality. From Chablis through Premier Cru and Grand Cru one discovers, of course, increasing power and depth. In some respects, Jean-Francois’s unoaked Vielles Vignes stood out for me, so clean and vibrant and uplifting, and, at $16, an amazing deal. It was my first sip of wine of the day, so that may have accounted for much of its appeal, but I left some in the glass and, even two hours later after that splendid lunch, it retained and even increased its charms.
As if bracketing the five wines, my other favorite was the Les Clos Grand Cru. I called it “huge”, with “fantastic power,” “the biggest of the tasting,” but this is perhaps misleading, because those terms could be used for a California Chardonnay from, say, Williams Selyem, but no two Chardonnays could be more different. The Les Clos was huge in comparison with the preceding four wines, yet it also was sleek, elegant and streamlined, despite a year in oak (none of which, by the way, was new). The flavors vaguely suggested Asian pear and quince, with the wood bringing a spicy tone of butterscotch, but to over-dwell on any specific flavor is a mistake, because the wine comes across as a single entity, which is, after all, the essence of balance.
On the other hand, the third wine, the 2009 Premier Cru Vaulorent, was for me the least of all the wines. Jean-Francois explained that 2009 had been a very hot year in Chablis, and the wine right off the bat seemed heavy, lacking the vibrance of its colleagues. There also was something overtly mushroomy going on, which led me to believe it’s not going anywhere. We did have a discussion of the role of personal preference with these older wines, however, and it may be that my long experience with California fruitiness has prejudiced me against certain older white wines. Chacun a son gout, as usual.
Chablis was one of my go-to wines in the 1980s and I will always have a fondness for it, even if I don’t drink as much nowadays as I’d like. Nor do most Americans, it seems, and, as the U.S. is a very important market for domaines like Séguinot-Bordet, Jean-Francois and the Chablisians are criss-crossing the country, trying to persuade people to remember Chablis. My advice to them was to aim at the under-35 crowd, who seem so open to new drinking experiences, and communicate a very simple message: Chablis has been one of the most famous wines in the world for many centuries. There’s a reason why; no wine gets and remains famous for so long without possessing outstanding, unique qualities. They–these new wine drinkers–owe it to themselves to understand what makes Chablis so great. This is a pure, uncomplicated message, and it is made easier to digest by the fact that Chablis is Chardonnay, a variety everyone has heard of, not some grape type unknown to them.
There are hazards. Some people may have decided that Chardonnay is not for them. They will need to be convinced, and possibly, some of them cannot be. Their loss. Another hazard, which the Chablisians are intensely aware of, is the confusion in America over the use of the word “Chablis” on wines made largely from the Central Valley. This, as an issue, can be finessed, through a successful advertising campaign.
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It’s one of the most venerable of marketing and advertising schemes. Give the consumer an interesting character he can relate to in an advertisement, and half of the sales job is done.
That’s why David Ogilvy invented Commander Whitehead to sell Schweppes Tonic Water in the 1950s
and why, 60 years later, Dos Equis invented The Most Interesting Man in the World to sell their beer.
Put a face on a product, make the face fascinating, give the reader/viewer a little back story, and voila, you’ve brought that consumer a step closer toward purchasing your product.
Storytelling is well known in the wine world, especially among public relations and media experts. They’re always looking for a way to make their clients compelling. People like me, who are gatekeepers to the media, are the particular targets of PR types. They know that all winemakers and winery owners are fundamentally the same, so they have to figure out a way to make their client different. It’s not unusual for a pitch to be crafted this way:
“Steve, I know you know a lot of husband-and-wife teams who made their money in another industry, then moved to Napa Valley to live the dream of owning a winery. But Bill and Tammy [made-up names] really are different! He’s not just another rich guy, he loves puppies! And Tammy is an artist in her own right, having exhibited her crocheted images of moths in the St. Helena Library!”
What the PR folks, bless their souls, are trying to do is tell a story, or, more accurately, sell a story, in the hopes someone will buy it.
Now, we’re being told, in the pages of Direct Marketing Magazine, that 2012 is “the year of brand storytelling.” Go ahead, read the article. It’s short and actually very acute in its perception, and the writer–Scott Donaton–is balanced. He’s not one of these people arguing that social media is the alpha and omega of everything. He gets to the heart of the issue with two really interesting statements:
1. “content can’t be relegated to a side role. It must be integrated into everything [businesses] do,” including traditional advertising but also tweets, YouTubes and other “consumer experiences.”
2. However, “The more broadly content is defined the more danger there is that the word will be washed of all its meaning. If everything is content, how can you have a content strategy?”
In these two statements lies most of the back-and-forth that’s occurred on this blog over the years concerning the value and role of social media for wineries. Many of my colleague bloggers have tended to the position in #1: Wineries have to become more socially engaged by telling their stories and engaging consumers, or else they risk being irrelevant. My position has veered more towards #2. If everybody is Facebooking, tweeting, instagramming, etc., all the time, then it all tends to cancel everything out. Donaton, the writer, calls this conundrum “questions that need to be addressed,” which is fair enough. It means we have to continue to have the conversation, even if it sometimes leads nowhere. In the meantime, Donaton writes, “brand storytelling is an effective weapon [that can] establish rituals, showcase product benefits and generate excitement.”
Problem is, if everyone has a story (and everyone does), then distinguishing your particular story becomes less and less possible, to the vanishing point. You really have to start splitting hairs. If Bill loves puppies, then his competitor, Don, has to love crippled puppies rescued from disasters. If Tammy’s crochets are in the St. Helena Library, then Bill’s wife, Tina, has to have an installation piece in the Louvre. (Actually, that would be a pretty good story!)
There have been some good recent examples of storytelling. The Envolve guys leapfrogged on Ben Flajnik’s star turn on “The Bachelor” to tell their story. They got tons of publicity, all of it free, but it remains to be seen if that has legs. As Donaton suggests in his column, the consumer’s attention span gets shorter all the time. Andy Warhol’s 15 minutes of fame has turned into 15 seconds on a tweet.
Storytelling has its place, but whenever you hear someone talking it up, look for their agenda. Little wineries such as Failla or Saxum have great stories, but journalists didn’t get around to writing about them until they [the wineries] proved themselves by establishing quality. People tend to forget that quality must precede the story. You can tell a story about a mediocre winery and the winery will still be mediocre. Conversely, every story about a great winery is a great story.
Here’s an interesting report, from our very own University of California at Berkeley, as reported in the San Francisco Business Times: “[G]ood online reviews on Yelp do indeed bring in more customers.” Specifically, “a half star rating increase (1 to 5 scale) meant a 19 percent greater likelihood that a restaurant’s seats would fill up during peak hours.”
The researchers did not have an explanation for this phenomenon (which actually has some important limits, which I’ll get to in a minute), but I do. Now, I’m one of those people who likes and depends on restaurant reviews. We have a ton of restaurants here in the San Francisco-Oakland-Berkeley area, of all types, at all price levels, from just about every ethnicity in the world. So it can be confusing and intimidating to decide on a new place to eat. Under the circumstances, I’ll often turn to two sources for recommendations: Yelp, and the San Francisco Chronicle’s great restaurant reviewer, Michael Bauer. A bunch of great Yelp reviews is enough to persuade me to try someplace out, while a single Bauer “must eat there” does the same thing.
I think that’s the reason why Yelp reviews work: people, like me, believe in peer recommendations (such as Yelp’s) and also in expert reccos (such as Michael Bauer’s). Of course, just 1 or 2 glowing peer reccos for a particular place won’t work for me (or anyone else, I should think), because they could always be from the owner’s cousin and mother. And 1 or 2 glowing reviews won’t do it at all, if they’re negated by 6 or 7 “worst experience of my life,” “would never go back there,” “AVOID AT ALL COSTS!”
But one great Michael Bauer review will send me to the joint. I guess, to my way of thinking, there is an emerging parity between expert reviews, on the one hand, and peer reviews, on the other, but that parity only works if the peer reviews (such as Yelp’s) are overwhelmingly positive. So Michael Bauer isn’t going to have to look for a new job anytime soon. When it comes to food, people still depend on restaurant critics. (At least, in a foodie town like Ess Eff.)
I mentioned above that the U.C. Berkeley study had important limits:
(1) “For restaurants with Michelin stars, for example, the Yelp reviews were irrelevant.”
(2) “Restaurants that were rated in popular guidebooks or newspaper rankings got less of a Yelp bump. They ‘did not see a statistically significant effect from the Yelp rankings,’ the economists said.”
Let’s take (2) first. This just confirms my own reasoning: I’ll take Michael Bauer over Yelp 95% of the time. Even if there were positive Yelp reviews, one critical Bauer review canceled them out. Call me old-fashioned, but I still believe experience counts over simple enthusiasm (such as the type you see on Yelp and, for that matter, on “Check, Please!).
As for (1), my hunch is that the kind of people who review restaurants on Yelp probably don’t frequent Michelin restaurants. Why not? They’re too expensive; the people who eat at French Laundry, Coi and Benu are not likely to post their experiences on Yelp, and the people who are considering eating at French Laundry, Coi and Benu are not turning to Yelp for advice.
You just knew I was going to make a connection to wine reviewing, didn’t you? Well, I am, and here it is: Inexpensive wines are more likely to see spikes in sales from online social media sources, such as blogs and Twitter. Expensive wines are not, because the kind of people who can afford them don’t blog or tweet, and if someone has enough money to buy, say, Shafer Hillside Select ($230 for the just released 2008), they couldn’t care less what some blogger has to say.
However, that well-heeled person considering buying the Shafer does care what the Michael Bauer-equivalent of the wine critic has to say about it. I’m not saying who that equivalent is (wouldn’t be prudent, not opening that can of worms), but I’m reviewing the ‘08 Hillside Select tomorrow, and if I give it a good score, I wouldn’t be surprised if it has an impact on demand.
As social media migrates towards images and away from words, what are the implications for wineries?
We’ve all seen how the rise of photo sharing sites such as Instagram and Pinterest are the breakouts for 2012. I first noticed it earlier this year, when some of my young hip friends here in Oaktown, who really hadn’t been into social media very much (in fact, they took a disdainful attitude toward it, because everyone was doing it), fell hard and fast for photo sharing.
You always could put pictures up on Facebook and then of course YouTube’s been around for a while. But the visual aspect of Facebook seemed secondary to the written content, at least at first. People seemed to use it more for comments. But Facebook seems like it’s trending more toward images. Maybe it’s because, as time passes and Facebook users get more and more “friends,” it’s harder to keep up with a constantly shifting feed, so that we’re more likely, when scrolling through, to stop at an interesting photo than to actually read everybody’s posts (not to mention everyone else’s comments on the posts!).
And now we have Instagram and Pinterest. They seem to represent social media’s next frontier, which means, of course, that businesses (and the consultants who advise them) are eager to exploit the phenomenon. What does this shift toward the visual mean for companies, including wineries?
Well, if your company is selling something with visual appeal (designer fashions, handbags, wallpaper, hotels), it means you can advertise on a potentially huge scale for virtually no cost. That’s the point this article, from Fast Company, makes. “[A] picture really is worth a thousand words,” it says, pointing out that, “as humans became more pressed for time and content became more infinite…we are even skipping words altogether and moving towards more visual communication.”
I suppose that’s true, but we have to define the difference between humans casually interfacing through social media (including photo sharing sites), and the much more complex relationship between buyers and sellers. In the former, two people (who may or may not actually know each other) “share” an experience momentarily. For example, I may put up a cute photo of Gus. That’s usually bound to generate a bunch of “likes” and even a couple “Awww” comments. Nobody is going to take more than 5 seconds on a picture of Gus, though; they’re onto the next thing, and they don’t expect me to reply to their “like” or their comment. That’s the casual side of photo sharing.
But the buyer-seller relationship is vastly different. The seller isn’t simply putting something online casually, on the spur of the moment, because he thinks it’s interesting or cute or noteworthy. The seller is advertising, and his motive is to interest the buyer to reply, either by making a purchase at that time, or by remembering the brand, in the hope that the buyer will make a purchase at a later date.
In this, images can be powerful. If I’m looking for shoes, a hotel to stay at for my vacation, locally made bluejeans–anything at all that has a visual aspect to it–a picture really is worth 1,000 words. In fact I wouldn’t dream of making a hotel reservation without first checking pictures of the rooms, the restaurant, the beach. If they don’t have good pictures, they’re not getting my business.
Wineries, on the other hand, are not selling things with a visual component. Yes, the appearance of the bottle and label are important, and wineries are well advised to pay attention to them (most, in fact, do). But I don’t believe consumers are going to buy a bottle of wine based on the bottle’s appearance. So if we’re now “skipping words altogether,” then how can a winery possibly communicate its message? Consumers want information that can’t be provided in a photo: the cost, some knowledge of the wine’s back-story, its ownership, where the grapes are from, what kinds of foods does it go with, what does it taste like? In this, wine is data-driven, not image-driven. Consumers need information beyond what a photo, no matter how beautiful, can provide.
What they need, in order to close the deal, is assurance.
- that particular wine will improve their lives
- that particular wine will please and delight them and the people with whom they share it
- that particular wine has been approved by trustworthy people who have already had it and loved it
Without these forms of assurance, consumers are far less likely to buy things, especially something discretionary like a bottle of wine.
The end result is that, while it can’t hurt for wineries to jump on the photo sharing train, I don’t think this new shift to the visual is any more of a game changer for wineries than blogs, Twitter or Facebook have been. If the objective is sharing that leads to viral marketing, we have to face the fact that social media so far has been a disappointment for the wine industry. While there have been exceptions (Rodney Strong’s Rockaway project, A Really Goode Job), they’ve been transient in their effects. The wine industry has yet to find the killer app for social media. Let the search continue. And, please don’t call me a social media hater just because I point out the obvious!
Brian cut to the heart of the issue with this statement: “A long-standing stalwart for Napa wineries have [sic] been baby boomers, and now we’re trying to jump on the Millennial bandwagon. It’s not easy.”
He can say that again. To be frank, there are many top Napa wineries (and a few elsewhere) who have done a lousy job marketing themselves to the future, which starts now. For most of them, the story is the same: they made it bigtime in the 70s, 80s or 90s, found themselves on allocation and in high demand, and thought that things would always be that way.
How wrong they were. Things are never “always that way.” Nothing stays the same; all, as Heraclitus observed, is flux, especially in a fashion market like the wine industry where, to quote Heidi Klum, “One day you’re in, and the next day you’re out.” And given the Great Recession, it couldn’t be more wrong-headed to assume that these expensive wines would just “sell themselves” the way they always did.
Whether this is an example of poor marketing, hubris or both, it’s hard to tell. Probably both. Pahlmeyer hit it big after their 1991 Chardonnay played a starring role in Disclosure, the 1994 blockbuster movie with Michael Douglas and Demi Moore. I’m not saying Pahlmeyer wasn’t making wines worthy of their fame; they were. But so were a lot of other people, at that time and now. That doesn’t mean they’ll still be around in 20 years.
I think these wineries made and still are making the fundamental mistake of looking at Bordeaux and figuring that, Hey, Chateau “X” has been around for 250 years and they’re doing just fine, so why can’t we do the same? The reason why not is simple: When Chateau “X” got famous and captured its audience (probably in Britain, the Low Countries and Scandinavia, as well as in France), there was no competition. Nobody else was making the kinds of wines Bordeaux was, and that’s what everyone was drinking.
Well, lots of countries are making Cabernet Sauvignon now, as well as a hundred other varieties. Hilliard hit the nail on the head when he said, “Millennials are the future for us, and we need to figure opportunities to penetrate that.” The question is, How? Hilliard played his cards close to his vest. “There are a number ways addressing Millennials [but] we can’t divulge information this point.” I can’t imagine why not. There are no proprietary secrets on getting through to Millennials or anyone else. Everybody knows, in principle, what to do. Hilliard mentioned “the blogosphere” as one path–not exactly breaking news–without elaborating. Jayson mentioned his daughter who is now communications director; she is “moving up through ranks and appeals to the newer generation.” Fine, but exactly how does that ensure that Millennials will buy Pahlmeyer wine?
Not to pick on Pahlmeyer; at least, Jayson and Hilliard are asking the right questions. Unfortunately, I don’t see a lot of “cult” Napa wineries even asking the right questions! They believe they’re on generational missions, but they just might find that this current Millennial generation (not to mention the one that comes after it) doesn’t give a hoot about their wines.