marketing

Basecamp Is Barking Up the Long Tree with ‘The Distance’

Just about a year ago, Basecamp, a project management software company, launched a quirky little lovely monthly online magazine called The Distance. The Chicago-based company hired a journalist to produce one long-form illustrated story per month, profiling a company that has been in business 25 years or longer and has thrived the old-fashioned way: through hard work, and without outside funding or partners. The site would not feature Basecamp customers or prospects. Nor would it feature technology businesses. And it would initially rely on in-depth, long-form storytelling (and, you know, ridiculously good writing!) rather than video and audio. It has editors polish and hone the pieces, so the story feels fine like feature writing — not rough-hewn like blogging often can. Today, the site still doesn’t prominently feature any Basecamp lead-generation tactics or corporate messaging or calls to action or obvious Basecamp marketing within the monthly profiles—save for a whisper […]

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JetBlue: When a Marketing Slogan Is More Than Marketing Slogan

Most commercial air travel experiences are exercises in endurance, not anticipation: “I suppose vacation will be fun, but I really can’t wait to spend 6 hours bouncing around in a cramped tin tube getting there!” said no one ever. I would feel this way even if I didn’t hate to fly with a passion, which I do. There’s simply too much out of a passenger’s control to make flying most commercial carriers anything to celebrate: Tightly packed with strangers who may (or may not) be a pleasure to sit close to; mechanical delays; weather issues… It was the latter that caused my flight from Chicago’s O’Hare to Boston to be delayed by two hours on a recent Friday night. Severe thunderstorms in the originating city had delayed our JetBlue plane, so it was late getting to O’Hare, which meant that it wasn’t where I expected it to be when I

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Beta Before Alpha

My friend Rachel emailed me an article the other day from Yankelovich, a market research company. The article, produced just after Mother’s Day, heralded the arrival of “Beta Moms” and their “newfound acceptance that being a ‘just good enough for my family’ mother… speaks to a more forgiving, laid-back approach to parenting.” Unlike “Alpha Moms” (or, as they are sometimes called, “Extreme Moms”—those “ultra-organized overachievers who approach parenting with the same intensity and quest for perfection that they take with them into the boardroom or the gym, treating parenthood as if it were an Olympic competition”), Beta Moms (or “Slacker Moms”) are more relaxed. They are less anxious, less prone to perfection, and less perturbed in general. And they don’t feel guilty about being that way. The article mentions two book releases as bellwethers of the Beta Mom Age: Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box and Let Them

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Competitive Parenting As Child’s Play

If April is the cruelest month, March has to be the strangest. At least, this March: What a strange few weeks it’s been. Silda Spitzer stands by Eliot; Gilligan’s Mary Ann is a stoner. Then, last night, as I was watching my daughter thumb through a new catalog from a local toy store, I noticed small icons at the bottom of each product description. It turns out that they are “ExpressCodes,” or ratings that indicate “how the product can assist in reaching your child’s developmental milestones.” Yeah, seriously: A basketball, for example, is called out for propelling a kid toward the milestone of Eye/Hand Coordination (“hands manipulating objects, things fitting together, coordination”) and Gross Motor (“physical play, running, throwing, jumping”). A set of plastic dinosaurs promote Eye/Hand along with Fine Motor (“grasping, manipulating, writing, drawing”), Socialization (“cooperative play, making friends, sharing”), and Creative Expression (“imaginative play, artistic ability”).

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A Virgin in Hollister

Being a parent for the better part of two decades, I’ve gotten used to accepting the fact that my kids are attracted to things that I don’t like. When my son Evan was about four, he was shopping with me in a second-hand children’s shop. Rummaging in the forgotten bits at the bottom of one of those boxes of toys that shopkeepers sometimes keep in the corner to keep kids occupied, he eventually unearthed a shopworn plastic figurine of Hulk Hogan. It wasn’t for sale, but we bought it anyway, and the minuscule Hogan, which innocent Evan sweetly named Kimby, instigated a love of larger-than-life heroes, rangers and comic book characters that has stayed with him in various expressions, even now, as he enters the downside of his teen years. In other words, no matter how much I advocated early on for Pooh Bear, he had his own ideas. The

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