row of cheese, perhaps swiss. “And what is this?” he asks. “That is cheese,” the
grocer responds. Cohen takes another few steps, “And this?”
He points to
another cheese variation. “That is cheese.” What makes the sketch funny is that,
despite the fact that there are no fewer than a hundred different kinds of cheese
on the shelves, they are all described the exact same way.
Different, Just Like Everyone Else
In 2012, a full two years before his business-Bible masterpiece
Essentialism
was
published, Greg McKeown wrote an article for the
Harvard Business Review
titled “If I Read One More Platitude-Filled Mission Statement, I’ll Scream.”
11
The article starts with a game of sorts, featuring
three companies and three
mission statements. The reader’s job is to match the company to the mission.
Seemed simple enough. The problem? The mission statements were essentially
indistinguishable, interchangeable clumps of words. “Profitable growth,”
“superior customer service,” “benefit our customers and shareholders,” “highest
ethical standards.” The qualities they thought would set them apart actually
made them indistinguishable.
I execute a similar experiment with groups that include many different
companies from one industry. “How many of you use your ‘commitment to
excellence’ as your differentiator?” The entire audience raises its hand. “How
many of you claim your ‘customer service’
as the thing that makes you
different?” The entire audience again raises its hand. “How many of you would
say your ‘passion’ is what makes you different than anyone else?”
You get the picture.
Fortunately, when this happens there is some laughter (albeit nervous) as we
collectively acknowledge our differentiators—the things that make us unlike
anyone else—are exactly the same. At least in the way we’re communicating
them now.
This struggle to differentiate isn’t just true in the cheese aisle and at industry
events, it’s a possible fate for any product, service, and company.
The best antidote? A founder story.
All Else Considered Equal: Story Wins
There’s a reason why, when I look for garments
to wear beneath my slimly
tailored shift dresses, I don’t buy whatever happens to be hanging on
Nordstrom’s shelves of solutions but always go straight for the Spanx. Why?
Because I’ve heard Sara Blakely’s story.
It’s the story of how she took a chance and started a company. About how
she hustled until she got a once-in-a-lifetime appointment with a buyer at a huge
department store. The story of when she sat down with this buyer, and when it
looked like the woman just didn’t get it, Blakely convinced the woman to come
to the bathroom with her to show her the product in action. Just like with Extra
gum, when I’m staring at a sea of hip slimmers and waist trimmers that all pretty
much promise to do the same thing, I’m going with the one whose story I love.
The same is true when I decide to splurge and get my hair blown out. No, not
cut, not colored. Just dried and styled. I could walk into any salon, including the
one I’ve been going to every six weeks for the past ten years, and get this service
done. But, instead, I go to Drybar. Why? Because I’ve heard the founder’s story.
Alli Webb has told her founder story in magazines
and online interviews, on
podcasts, and at women’s events. You name the platform or medium, and it’s
likely Alli has told her story there. I’ve heard it several times and sliced in
different ways, and I’m always happy to read or hear it again. The story of her
own curly hair and how that made her feel as a child (I always felt awkward as a
child, not because of my hair, but I could relate).
The part about overpriced
blowouts (I once overdrew my bank account because I bought shampoo at the
salon and didn’t realize it was $100 a bottle). The part about her driving all over
Los Angeles giving blowouts to her friends for cheap (I think about the number
of times I spent hours writing stories for my friends’ cover letters or wedding
vows or acceptance speeches). The part about her brother having faith in her,
encouraging her to pursue it (my husband encouraged
me to quit my job to
figure out how to do storytelling full time, whatever
that
meant). All the
struggle, all the risk, all the leaps of faith, and eventually all the success! I mean,
what more could you want?
The way my daughter smiles with wonder when Ariel turns into a human and
gets to marry Prince Eric is the exact adult equivalent I feel when I hear a well-
told founder story. Like, dreams
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