Targeted Marketing I Like Best

You don't need a bazillion customers. In fact, you only need one.

A friend of mine asked me to help her with my favorite kind of marketing: writing her Match.com profile.

The requests have increased since I met my own husband on Match.com. We've been married nearly a year and a half now. I didn't have to move out of the school district, and he and I have never fought. We are living proof that Match.com works.

The first thing I enjoy about writing profiles is that, like writing someone's resume, you hold up a flattering mirror to your friend. Unlike resume writing, you can be more creative and the stakes are lower. (It's easier to live without a significant other than without a paycheck.)

My random thoughts on Match.com profiles:

1. Do your research for a good username. This is a tough one. They ask you to create a username up front, before your creative juices are flowing. Your username is like your brand, so make it sizzle. Try to find out first what other women in your area are doing. Otherwise you will end up with a very dull one like mine (first name + area code. Zzzzzz.)
2. Get at least one good picture before you start. Your picture is more important than your written content, in my opinion. Potential mates deserve to know what you look like. I recommend Sears Portrait Studio. They have enhancers they don't tell you about when you take your rosy-cheeked children in for portraits. They can diffuse the focus to obscure your crow's feet, and brighten your skin. I'm all in favor of truth in advertising, but definitely put your best foot forward. If you buy the CD you own the copyright.
3. People want to see your eyes. Forego the sunglasses in your primary photo. And even if the shot makes you look buff, don't use it if a shadow obscures your face.
4. If you have a great sense of humor, why not hold up today's newspaper in your photo so people can tell that the photo is current?
5. Be honest. I once met a 60-year-old woman who convinced herself she could pass for 40. (Not so much.)
6. When I was in real estate, they told us to tune to WIFM (What's in It For Me?) Sure, it's gratifying to write all about yourself, but then read what you write from the perspective of your potential mate. You want him or her to be able to picture him- or herself joining you in your activities and having a good time.
7. Use your spell checker. Please.
8. It works on Craigslist, but not on Match. When I was newly single, I had a set of heavy mirrors that I wanted to bolt to the studs in my apartment. So I tried using the headline "I need a studfinder." This was too risque for Match.com, which changed my headline to a tepid, "Hello, there." You can be funny on Match.com, but only up to PG-13.
9. Yes, you will meet weirdos. The latest friend I helped with her profile emailed me to say that men had contacted her with inappropriate suggestions. (Not lewd, fortunately, but looking for too much information, too soon.) This happened to me, too, at the worst time, when I was just putting feelers out there and was very unsure of my dating prospects. Some people play the numbers. They contact every new subscriber hoping that they will find one or two gullible or needy enough to accept faux intimacy. You only need one Match, but he or she must be the right one. Keep tweaking your profile and don't let the gamers get you down.
10. I have heard of people who use SEO. When you change your profile, it springs to the top of the searches. You can make teensy changes every day and see what happens. Some people even take their accounts offline for a time, to imply that they are dating someone, and then go back online. I haven't heard if that ultimately found those people their Princes or Princesses Charming, but it's worth a try.
11. Go for the six-month account. In my experience you do not find the right person within a month.

Hoodwinked

Reality can be ugly enough. The story in the Star Ledger about the man who shot his girlfriend and boiled her head made me want to read something light and fluffy.

So I went to the library looking for a diversion and found some chick lit, You Had Me at Goodbye, by Tracey Bateman.

The problem with browsing at the library is that the call numbers cover up the colophons. Had I been able to see the full spine I would have known that this was Christian literature disguised as ordinary chick lit.

I wanted to read about how a heroine improbably solves her problems with skinny lattes and stilettos.

I was hoodwinked.

Authority

A website I wrote copy for last summer is up at last. I'm proud to see that my words are hardly changed.

Because I wrote it as an subcontractor for an independent contractor, I must disavow my relationship to it in exchange for cashing the check.

That's one of the difficult things about writing: some of the best things I write are anonymous. I have no byline. I have no authority.

On the other hand, that's why I enjoy writing this blog. Here, you know who wrote it. So thanks for visiting.

1600 People Voted for Non-Candidate

My local elections distressed me: two people I know and like were running for the same position.

Fortunately for me, one of them solved my dilemma by dropping out of the race. It was too late for his name to be excised from the ballot. I knew that he was not running, but I was surprised to see no notification at the polls.

"Norman's not running," I chatted with a poll worker. She was aware of that. "Can't they at least cross off his name with a china marker?" (Our ballots are touch screens.) She suggested I call the county clerk. I didn't. I figured that if I knew that Norman had dropped out, most other people did, too.

After all, I am not a politico. I try to follow the issues, but people who really get them leave me in the dust. Still, I read in the Star-Ledger yesterday that more than 1600 people cast their votes for Norman.

Potential reasons that people may not have been aware that they were voting for a non-candidate
1) of course, Norman had no incentive to inform voters of his changed status after he dropped out
2) loyal voters may just have voted along party lines
2) voters may have been concentrating on the state and federal elections, and may have been figuring that local elections were not important enough to follow

If they don't keep up with local politics, they may just think that their candidate was defeated, instead of understanding that they wasted their ballot.

I bet Norman is kicking himself right now.

Customer Service at the Blood Drive

Just in time for Hallowe'en, my thoughts on blood drives:

I read a lot of business books. The authors that make me impatient are the ones who describe the perfect, seamless customer service experience they crave. They want hotels to remember that they like dark, not milk, chocolate mints on their pillows. Or local wine shops to keep a database of their customers who enjoy zinfandels, so they can send out a special mailing when they get a new shipment.

What narcissists, I think. Of course we would all appreciate special treatment. I wish the salespeople at Nordstrom would call me whenever they got shipments of comfortable size 12 shoes. In reality, even if they call me, I will still only buy shoes a few times a year. If my total spend on shoes per year is only a few hundred dollars, it is not worth the salesperson’s time to call me. It would be unrealistic and selfish of me to ask them to keep me at the top of their minds.

People who get that kind of personalized service should be prepared to pay well for it. Since I’m not so prepared, all I ask is that the lumpencustomer not be treated too badly.

In one area, though, I really think that customer service could be improved: blood drives. I have heard that blood is worth $200/unit by the time it gets to the hospital. So why can't we treat donors a little better? Here are my narcissistic demands for blood drives:

Take donors’ time seriously. I learned a long time ago that there is no use making an appointment for a blood drive. If you show up at your appointed hour, but there is a long line, you queue up with everyone else.

Similarly, don’t encourage women to donate blood every 56 days. Blood banks know that women have hematocrits lower than men’s, lower, on average, than the donation threshold. It obviously takes me longer than 56 days to rebuild my iron level to the threshold, because 50% of the time my blood is rejected for a low hematocrit. Donating every 56 days may be appropriate for men—the statistical donor is a college-educated man between 30 and 50—but for women it may not be appropriate. So tailor the donor appeals accordingly.

Here’s a radical idea: give me the finger-stick when I walk in the door. Let me flash my donor card and offer me the option to test my hematocrit before I do all the paperwork. If I fail the iron level again, at least I haven’t lost too much time.

(On the other hand, when I attended blood drives with babysitters, I didn’t care if I failed or not. Free babysitting when your kids are young is free babysitting. I could still eat the cookies, even if I couldn’t donate that day.)

If the donor says he or she has special blood, be prepared to act on that claim. The NY-NJ Blood Center randomly tested my blood once. They determined that I have special proteins in my blood, and that I am CMV-negative. This means that my blood can be transfused to newborns.

“Hey!” my husband said. “I have special blood, too! In Chicago my blood used to be packed into tiny bags to be given to babies.” Every time we go to a blood drive together now, he tells the intake workers that. Yet somehow his blood has not been tested on the East Coast. He’s disappointed that his blood is no longer “special.”

Now, just because I donate blood regularly does not mean I love pain. I’m old enough to remember when the phlebotomists shook the needles to get rid of the excess citric acid on the tips. Now, they just jab it in. Ow! That Country Time lemonade stuff really hurts! I know it’s supposed to prevent clots or something, but how much can my blood clot in the 15 minutes I’m allowed on the gurney? So shake it off, or don’t be dismayed when your donor numbers drop.

On the positive side, I am pleased to say that finally the Mayo Clinic has adopted my idea of telling donors how many calories they lose when they donate a unit of blood. Every nursing mother knows that she expends about 500 calories a day nursing Baby. Why, instead of giving a thin-lipped smile, couldn’t they have told us before now that each pint of blood is about 650 calories? That’s a hefty slice of cheesecake!

Speaking of sweets, when you go to a really good blood drive—usually these are organized by churches—the juice table features plenty of homemade cookies. Not much says, “We appreciate your donation today,” better than cookies lovingly baked in someone else’s kitchen.

And here’s to the stalwart Red Cross volunteer who made me sit with my knees squarely under the table. If I fainted, she wanted me to pass out into the plate of cookies so she wouldn’t have to pick me off the floor.

Happy Hallowe'en!

The Debate I Wish I'd See

I wish I'd see McCain and Obama in a cafeteria debating for middle scholars. They could explain how they believed that their intended policies would affect these children in 20 years. Including Sarah Palin's children, and Barack Obama's.

I wish I'd hear them explain how the federal government will repay its 2008 fiscal year deficit of $455 billion (up from $162 billion in fiscal year 2007). If the government does not intend to repay it, then Obama and McCain had better justify the red ink to their creditors.

More about debates.

Surveys in the Big Box

I have long thought that it would be cool to work for the Census department. For some reason I have been lucky enough to answer the long form once. I have also lived in an apartment with a special longitudinal census. For that census they asked me everything: how big were the cracks on my walls, how far did I live from public transportation, did my toilet flush most of the time?

The idea of collecting and aggregating so much information fascinates me.

That's why I was really looking forward to yesterday. In the past I have enjoyed conducting consumer research. You go to a retail outlet and promise a consumer some incentive if they will answer your questions. People like free gifts, and they like talking about themselves. I like listening.

In reality, yesterday was not amusing. I worked at a big box store. Even though I wore orthopedic shoes, the concrete was very hard on my feet; the shoppers were uncomfortable, too. The survey did not take 10 minutes the way the company promised. It was closer to 20. The company wanted pictures of shoppers, too, but at the end of the surveys I was too embarrassed to ask.

It was a concrete lesson in keeping surveys to the bare minimum. Sure, when you're sitting in the office and thinking about all the things you would like to know from consumers, it's easy to let your imagination run away with you. Don't let it.

I am sure of one thing: no one who took my survey yesterday will ever consent to take another one in the big box store.