It Should Have Worked . . .
By Peter Nevland - Jun 02 , 2009
Women should have waited hours in line for their chance to win a free Hearts on Fire Diamond, $4,000 engagement ring; pearl bracelet; or one of the other 97 gift bags worth a total of over $10,000. Add to that the fact that my Woodbridge, Virginia, jewelry store clients had stuck to their guns and made the offer only for women, despite some of the newspaper people’s fears that someone might call discrimination and have them shut down.
Everything was ripe for promotional success. But only 60 out of 100 bags found the hands of excited women. Why didn’t it work as it should have?
I didn’t plan to write this story today. It was supposed to be about persistence and optimism, despite conflict, producing incredible results. I was going to prove my thesis to you with the overwhelming success of my jewelry store promotion. Instead, I’m talking about a less-than-hoped-for outcome.
What happened? It’s time to embrace the lesson that on-stage performances have taught me again and again—confidence and ability may attract attention, but vulnerability wins people’s hearts and changes lives.
For example—–A whole Olympic stadium rose to their feet, watched in awed silence and cheered when Derek Redmond, favored to win the 400 meters in the Barcelona Olympics, tore his hamstring, fell, and then got up to hobble around the track with his father running alongside him to help him finish the race. No one remembers who won the 400 meter race that day, but the internet overflows with videos and stories about the guy who couldn’t finish by himself. Visa turned it into a commercial with the deep bass voice of Morgan Freeman narrating. Derek is now a keynote speaker for people like IBM, Lloyds TSB, Kodak, Rothchilds and many other high-profile companies and organizations. None of that would have occurred without Derek crumbling in the middle of the race.
The first time I fell on my face in front of an audience was at the Austin Poetry Slam. My fingers tingled and my stomach rumbled in anticipation of the release of this new piece, “Holy,” I had written. It most certainly would identify me clearly as a Christian in front of a crowd that most of the time vented their hatred at anything having to do with churches or religion. Would they hate me? Would I fit into that box? I never got the chance to really find out.
Right as I transitioned into the most vulnerable part—I froze. I couldn’t remember the words. I didn’t know what to do. It may have only been 15 seconds, but it felt like 15 minutes that I stood there, helpless, unable to access the lines that came next. Finally, I remembered some part close to the end, finished, and left the stage in shame. Humiliation washed over me as I drove home alone. A couple people patted me on the back to let me know it was okay, but I didn’t care. Somehow I found the courage to return the next week to compete again.
The next year, I performed the same piece at the Austin Poetry Slam finals. I rocked it, couldn’t have performed it any more passionately or flawlessly. The judges still gave me the lowest score of the night. “You were robbed, man,” this guy told me. “I’m not even a Christian, but you were robbed on that score.” “Thanks,” I said, before walking outside to search for the quiet voice to tell me that a judge’s scorecard, an audience’s reaction, or my own mistakes didn’t define who I was.
A couple years later, I was at the slam again. A couple of great scores had put me in the final round, in second place with one more piece to perform. On a night when everyone seemed to showcase their best performances, their most exciting work, I needed something to raise the bar one rung higher. I decided to do the piece that had only brought me humiliation and secured me low scores before. The score didn’t matter. I had to give them what I really cared about.
My face beamed with excitement as I approached the stage, worries erased from my my mind. At the end of my performance the scorecards revealed the highest score of the night, almost all 10s. I had won. People thanked me for the words that helped to heal the hurt they’d experienced at the hands of Christians.
Recently, I stood in front of a public school crowd of junior high kids in England. I told them ahead of time that this next piece was inspired by the Bible, and then got them to do the wave and scream as I shouted, “I want noise. I want a song. I want it loud…” Toward the end of the poem, the words fled from my mind, just like that time many years ago. I didn’t freeze.
“Oh, and I just completely forgot the words,” I said, laughing. A brief second of awkward silence quickly turned to their laughter and delight as I tried to go back, repeating the last line I’d uttered before the lights went out. Nothing. After a few more attempts and me making a game and joke out of my inability to remember the lines, I finally said, “Okay, I’m just going to have to finish with a poem about poop.” The kids roared with glee.
Afterward the teachers asked me whether I had really forgotten or whether it was planned. They congratulated me on such a stirring performance that had gripped and inspired their students so completely. I showed them exactly where I’d messed up, how much I’d forgotten, and they replied that they couldn’t figure out how I could remember so many words in the first place. When I walked out of the building, every kid that saw me told me how incredible they thought I was… “Man, you’re so cool.” “You were awesome today!” I smiled at how my mistakes and lack of worry in the midst of them had helped me connect with a bunch of rowdy kids more effectively.
As a marketing consultant, I feel the pressure to be an expert digging its claws in my back. In reality, I rarely feel qualified and completely confident that everything I say will turn to gold. I know what’s worked in the past and how to align a company’s message in such a way that it will work, given enough time and exposure to people, but it doesn’t always… Wait a minute…. …exposure to more people! That’s it!! Our ad for the jewelry giveaway ran in the newspaper twice. It had no other form of media to help it. The women who came, came early. They all left excited and talking about Jewelry by Design. The people who got the message felt its impact. But apparently not as many people read the newspaper as the people at the newspaper think.
It was a good idea. It just needed better execution. Now I have the choice. Do I attempt to spin this into “an experiment that I used from the beginning to show them that they should eliminate newspaper advertising from their budget,” or do I let them know that I’m surprised and disappointed like they are, and then proceed with the next part of the marketing strategy I’ve laid out for them? I can freeze in the glare of seeming failure or admit my screwup and use it to find something more powerful to connect their customers to their message.
Trust is lost when you attempt to hide your flaws. Change only happens when you let them see your heart. Not everything you attempt will work as you planned. But it won’t work at all if you don’t take the risk.
