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Those of us who are eager to introduce friends to critical thinking could learn a thing or two from black licorice.
Licorice is a confection that some people like and sane people detest. As a charter member of the detest group, I can assure you that not even the most skilled licorice monger with the smoothest, most convincing sales pitch in the history of humankind, beast-kind and quite possibly plant-kind could get me to relent.
My reaction to licorice is not altogether unlike the reaction of many people to skepticism.
I won’t insult your intelligence with an argument from analogy. I concede substantial differences between skepticism and licorice. Not least is that skepticism is, by definition, a wholly rational approach, whereas any line of thought that ends by endorsing licorice for human consumption manifests irrationality at its finest. But perhaps you’ll indulge me while I illustrate from analogy. If we can find a way for a skilled licorice monger to crack a nut like me, perhaps we’ll happen upon an insight or two for sharing skepticism with people who would otherwise dig in their heels at its very mention.
When it comes to selling licorice to the likes of me, here are two possible approaches, both straight from Marketing 101:
Approach 1 -- When zigging fails, try zagging. No morsel of black licorice with the ill fortune to set foot in my mouth ever had the honor of being swallowed. It ended up on the ground or in the trash. From this we might conclude that any talk of my giving licorice one more taste in hopes that this time I’ll like it -- a typical zig -- will surely fail.
Yet this is not to say that there are not viable zags at your disposal. If you can prove to me that my clients like the loathsome stuff, I may hold them in lower esteem but keep licorice on-hand to offer them. I might also buy a considerable supply were you to show me how to use it in a “lumpy” direct mail program. (Not so far-fetched. I’m considering it as we speak.)
In neither zag would you be trying to force the unpalatable down my throat or pulling any sort of subterfuge. Rather, you would be taking the time to learn what matters to me (warning: requires listening and empathy), and then look for ways that licorice might answer the call. Clever, and not in some sneaky, underhanded, zero-sum way. Rather, it is clever in an insightful, above-board, non-zero-sum way.
Now, suppose you’re doing your best to present the virtues of skepticism to someone whose ears slam shut at the mention of “critical thinking.” A little listening might reveal an opportunity for an above-board, non-zero-sum zag. Perhaps you can offer freedom from guilt to a parent fretting over not piping Mozart into the nursery. (Doubly important, since all rational people prefer Rachmaninoff.) You might offer financial relief to someone shelling out for worthless herbal concoctions. Or reassure someone who fears that Mormon Tabernacle Choir recordings contain subliminal polygamy messages. Each of these promotes critical thinking -- without, if you wish, so much as uttering the term -- in a way that is relevant, helpful and suited to the individual.
Approach 2 -- Move on to someone else. Suppose that my distaste for licorice runs so deep that, client preferences and lumpy mail notwithstanding, your chances of winning me over are about as good as getting Randi to hand Uri Geller the million bucks with a note of apology.
Keep after me if you wish. But the wiser, more productive course may be to (a) politely back off, remain my friend and leave me favorably inclined toward someday hearing you out on some other topic; and (b) use the time and effort you’d have spent futilely badgering me to find and make your case to the more licorice-receptive.
I admit to a bit of dichotomizing. Receptiveness rarely falls on either side of a line, but along a continuum, and knowing when to cut bait is a judgment call, not a science. For all you know, under my resolute exterior lurks someone on the brink of licorice acceptance. You are within your rights to play those odds. But the nearer you find yourself to the end of the continuum marked “Ain’t Never Gonna Happen,” the more you might consider the eminently pragmatic solution of plying skepticism elsewhere. Unless, of course, you enjoy frustrating and being frustrated. Some people, I suspect, do.
Let me be clear about what I am not saying. I am not presuming to dictate whom you should regale nor how you should go about regaling. This is an article about what tends to work from a marketing perspective. What you do or don’t do is wholly up to you.
Nor am I am urging a de facto abandonment of efforts to unstop tightly-packed ears. Confronting unsympathetic audiences can be needful and, when handled skillfully, yield positive results. This is occasionally true in a one-on-one setting (the focus of this article), and very often true at the public forum level, as the success of the JREF attests.
Having been clear about what I’m not saying, let me now be equally clear about what I am saying.
Namely, that Kent was a bloody fool.
Kent was a never-give-up door-to-door salesman. If you were hapless enough to invite him in, there was no getting rid of him until he had delivered every syllable of his never-varied monolog and shown you every page of his catalog. He once bragged about finishing his spiel undeterred even though his elderly “prospect,” unable to get him to leave, had removed her hearing aids, sunk back in her recliner, and clenched her eyes shut.
Kent expected to be admired for his perseverance. I’m afraid the honor of admiring him was his alone. While Kent racked up self-satisfying tales of “laying it on the line,” his fellow salespeople -- who took the trouble to detect needs and avoided wheel-spinning -- racked up sales.
Steve Cuno (who, you may have gathered, doesn’t particularly care for licorice) is a three-time TAM speaker, founder of the RESPONSE Agency in Salt Lake City and the author of the book "Prove It Before You Promote It: How to Take the Guesswork Out of Marketing". Contact him at steve@responseagency.com.
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