A good friend of mine, who runs one of the oldest retailers in Britain, told me that he’s “learned to swallow his pride” during the last 12 months. We were comparing notes and tales of struggle and observing the things we’re now doing compared to a year ago. I commented on how much I’m using the tube these days and that it’s my Oyster card which comes out of my wallet more than any other; indeed when last week I ordered a black cab on account for the first time in ages, I couldn’t remember the number. He countered with the fact his only holiday this year and next year as well come to that, will be paid for with air miles accumulated during the glorious past. We’ve both curtailed our entertaining, purchased nothing of significant value, most certainly no item you would consider frivolous and generally have gotten used to wearing the haircloth shirt. And for a brief moment we two grumpy old men seemed quite content to be wallowing in melancholy and regret. Fortunately just for a brief moment.
On the way home (District line if you were wondering) I thought of how I’d known my old friend for almost twenty years, about the same amount of time I’ve run my own business, and the many good times we’ve had: the holidays around the world, weekends away and numerous dinner parties and family celebrations. And then I noted how similarly I’d enjoyed so much during this period from my business: the successful campaigns, client wins, profits and growth plus the many different people I’ve been fortunate to work with. Indeed I realised that if I’d been offered a deal when I set up the company of two years of real hardship, two indifferent and sixteen marvellous ones I’d have leapt at it and would do the same if you offered me the these odds for the next two decades. I also reflected on the times I’d enjoyed the most and concluded that surprisingly they weren’t the ones where we necessarily had the largest profits. The very best were those where we had significant growth and in particular the times when we reinvented ourselves and launched new services. And that’s exactly what we’re doing now, which is why, despite the occasional and very brief moments of self-doubt and despondency, I’m actually feeling increasingly upbeat about life and business in particular.
For the last few months I’ve been back on the frontline, managing client relationships and prospecting for new business leaving the loftier issues of long term strategy and the exit plan for another day. What I’ve realised is firstly how much I enjoy the cut and thrust and secondly how different things look from the trenches compared to the headquarters. Whilst I don’t believe I’ve ever divorced myself completely from sales; the real business of business, my re-emersion through necessity has caused the profound realisation that the landscape is very different to a decade ago, even a year ago. But perhaps most significantly of all is the discovery that there is very much a market still out there – you just have to make sure you’re selling the right stuff which can be defined as the essentials rather than the desirables. In simple terms, many of last year's best sellers are no longer required, no matter how you dress them up or the price tag you put on them. Instead of flogging what has unfortunately, very quickly, become a dead horse you really do need to find out what your target audience essentially needs at this moment . This might cause you to have to completely redesign your offer, but so be it. Of course they might not necessarily volunteer their fundamental requirements which is why I urge you to really take the time to meet with your customers and truly identify for yourself exactly what they need.
I think many people are actually enjoying this period of austerity, discovering that the simple pleasures are just that and often are more satisfying than the expensive tastes acquired in the good times which all too often left an empty feeling. No doubt these will return in time however, as we get fed up with the everyday and start to desire some of the currently unacceptable frivolous excesses – at least that’s what I told myself as I tried to avoid the hair-clothed covered armpits of my fellow passengers all crammed in on the last train home.
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