As a proud homeowner and DIY landscaper, I pride myself in having a good-looking yard. I fertilize with compost, I meticulously mow and edge, and I’ve spent the last seven years watering my backyard by hand. My yard is big and green and fun for my kids to play on and that’s the way I like it.

Now, despite my best efforts, there are plenty of weeds in my yard—each of them unwelcome. And even though they annoy me with their very presence, almost all of them are at least tolerable. Ridding my yard of every single weed seems like an infinitely futile endeavor, so as long as they’re doing their thing on the downlow, they get a pass. After all, once my yard is freshly mowed, it’s actually hard to tell the weeds and grass apart.

But there’s a resistance in my yard. A mustard stain on the otherwise crisp, white shirt of spring. I speak of course of the dreaded dandelion. Instead of laying low like a patch of crab grass, or blending in like a clump of clovers, the dandelion loudly flaunts its bright yellow flowers then has the audacity to taunt me with their arsenal of spawns in a deceivingly playful little puff of white. Have I sternly warned my kids never to pick a dandelion and blow the puff ball in the yard—a seemingly fun and innocent rite of passage for children in springtime? Dear reader, I have. But before you call me crazy, did you know that a single puff can be packed with over 150 seeds, or that one “innocent” dandelion plant can produce over 2,000 seeds in its lifetime?!? Terrifying. Letting dandelions be only leads to, you guessed it, more dandelions.

This nonstop battle got me thinking about the digital weeds that invade my inbox on a daily basis. Last week, for example, I bought a shirt for my nephew’s sixth birthday party. The party theme is camo / Star Wars, naturally, so after a few seconds on the web, I had purchased a camo Star Wars shirt to wear to the party from a novelty t-shirt retailer I remember from the 90’s that is surprisingly still a place that sells things. The next day, I got a marketing email about said retailer’s latest FLASH SALE. This was my first, and hopefully, last purchase from them so I did not appreciate seeing it in my inbox. It is a digital weed, no doubt, but which kind of digital weed will it grow into? Is it passive like the clover, laying low in my inbox, only popping up once in a while and largely avoiding my contempt? Or is it arrogantly aggressive like the dandelion? Proudly proclaiming its unwelcomed presence, hitting my inbox daily to the point that I am compelled to take action and seek out an “unsubscribe” option.

We’ve previously worked with companies who demonstrated very dandelion-esque views on email marketing before we showed up. Essentially, their philosophy seemed to be that sending out emails was cheap and easy, so why not do it? Every. Single. Day. Just blow those seed puffs into the wind and see what happens. I don’t want to read an email from my best friend every single day, let alone from some random store I bought a camo Star Wars shirt from. The truth is that most customers aren’t interested in being checked in on 365 days a year, most brands do not have something vitally important to send to their mailing lists every single day, and customers have a finite amount of patience and brand affinity that can be easily eroded.

Aggressive tactics like these have stigmatized email marketing in particular, but the digital weed dispersion doesn’t stop there. Mobile app notifications and digital advertising can also be spawned by one single interaction. And if those various marketing channels don’t talk to each other very much, it can actually end up feeling a little like being stalked.

Don’t get me wrong—digital marketing is not all bad. I definitely have received marketing emails that I’ve appreciated and even acted on. And the secret to their success was being timely, relevant, and having a very non-dandelion (i.e. subtle) presence in my inbox. If you want your company to be received in the same way, consider the following tips:

• Scale back the sheer volume of emails you send—at the very least to those customers who clearly haven’t been responding to them.
• Treat customers like you would a good friend—someone you likely wouldn’t email daily, or even weekly.
• Be strategic about your cadence. Thoughtful reminders around holidays or rare and notable sales can be helpful if they aren’t crowded by fifteen other emails you’ve sent that month.
• Personalize whenever possible, and this goes far beyond making sure the recipient’s name is in the copy (I could give you a deeper dive on personalization, but my colleague, Chuck, has already done the heavy lifting).

​So, all you marketers take notice. Every one of your customers has a digital lawn of sorts and believe me when I say that they all hate the dandelions of their inbox. Even though you may see your brand, product, or message as a beautiful, yellow flower that you simply can’t share frequently enough, chances are it’s actually just another damn dandelion.

Let me set the scene: it is early June and I’m up late scouring the internet for the absolute cheapest koozie deal in existence. While my family sleeps peacefully, I manically jump from Chrome tab to Chrome tab, dancing the delicate dance of a thrifty koozie shopper who still has very strict and probably unrealistic print quality standards. One deal comes in tantalizingly low—too low, hey, what’s going on here?—and as I read the fine print the nebulous yet dreaded “setup fee” strikes, bringing the grand total to basically what all the other cheapest sites have shown me. Surely, some desperate print shop will beat the best price I have been able to find after hours of searching. Right? Right?!?

As both physical and emotion exhaustion prevail, I tap out for the night. In my weakened state, I decide to slink back to an old koozie printer flame that has burned me before. Yes, that koozie printer flame. Glutton for punishment? Maybe. But it’s been three years, I rationalize. Surely they’ve gotten their act together by now. Every company deserves three separate chances before you write them off for real this time. After all, the third time’s the charm! I feel dirty as I hit submit.

Much like the dumb luck of a drunk texter who forgets to hit send, I happened to select the “pay after I see my proof” option. The koozie gods were gracious that night. When my proof finally arrives via email, emblazoned across the top in an annoyingly bright yellow box are seven ominous words:

**When printed, your artwork may stretch vertically**

They have to say that, I think to myself as sweat begins to bead around my temples. It’s going to be fine, I barter. Think of all the savings! Right, the savings! Think of all those dollars I am saving by literally getting a sick-to-my-stomach feeling about buying 50 koozies for a wiffle ball party in my backyard. Why, I could buy an entire case of beer with those savings as long as I don’t mind throwing in an additional few dollars from my own wallet!

Wait. The savings don’t cover a case of beer? Hold on. I’ve been stressing an unhealthily level about finding the best price for koozies and my prize is 19/24ths of a case of beer? This is stupid—why am I doing this to myself?

Empowered by my new-found sense of self-worth and the realization that this koozie company sucks, I politely (not that politely) reply to said koozie company with a big fat thanks, but no thanks. I then imagine a scenario where they’re pleading for my business. “What did us in???” they grovel. I stand stoically on a mountain and proclaim: “You literally reserved your right to mess up the artwork and that is a lame thing to do to your customers!” Keep in mind I am looking really fit on this mountain and my hair is blowing gracefully in the wind. “Noooo!” they yell as they fall off the mountain and out of my life, this time forever. I snap back to reality and eagerly await their actual desperate plea for my business to ping my inbox. It never comes.

I end up going to Etsy, find a small business that prints koozies, essentially pay 19/24ths of a case of beer more, and get exactly what I wanted with the express guarantee that my artwork will NOT stretch vertically when printed. They also arrive two weeks before the party so that stress is also alleviated. Additional dollars, yes, but zero stress, zero shame, and zero sweaty temples. Most importantly, I feel like I have come out ahead.

What I learned from this experience is consumers have to take a little responsibility for themselves. I’m sure we’ve all had our own unique koozie-hunting experiences where we get caught up in finding the best price—like price is the only factor of importance. Replace “koozies” with airplane tickets, or oil changes, or lawn services, or a number of other things and it probably seems quite relatable to experiences you’ve had.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. After ordering the koozies from the Etsy shop, I left an honest review about my experience. The owner sent me a private message within ten minutes thanking me profusely for both my business and my review, saying the latter was “the nicest thing [they] have experienced” in their customer reviews. Why am I telling you this? Well for one, to make me sound like a great guy, but for two, to show you that you can get in on this action for yourself. Having companies value you as a customer is attainable if you make the decision to patronize the right businesses. As counterintuitive as it may seem, you just have to break the shackles of price every once in a while. It honestly made me feel good buying from this small business and my good experience subsequently made them feel good. It really is a win-win.

So the next time you find yourself with price-driven anxiety, stop, take a deep breath, and really think about what is most important in your life right now. Is it $17? Or is it peace of mind and a quality experience? Either way, you’re going to get what you pay for.

I’ve always enjoyed driving my truck. It feels sturdy, I’m sitting up high, and it has a nice ride. But ever since I had kids, I found myself driving it less and less. We only have one set of car seats and those are in our SUV—the designated kid car. If I wanted to drive the truck, I’d have to lug the bulky car seats out of the SUV and install them in the truck each time—something I loathed. So for the most part, my truck just sat in my driveway.

Recently, my twins made the transition to booster seats, which are much cheaper and easier to install. We bought a pair for the truck and I’ve been driving it regularly for the past few months. But something was off. Driving the truck with the kids was seriously stressing me out. I actually became apprehensive driving them in it—especially in bad weather—and I wasn’t sure why.

Then one sunny day, I happened to notice my windshield wiper blades were falling apart. The rubber strip had started to peel off and they looked pretty ragged. I headed over to the auto parts store, bought a pair of mid-grade wiper blades for $40, and installed them when I got home. I thought nothing of it.

And then it rained. I had my kids in my truck and the same uneasiness set in. I flipped on the wipers and with one swoosh, a crystal-clear view was restored. It was magical. No awkward screeching sounds, no smeared grime, no distorted water lines. Just pure, unadulterated windshield. It was glorious. I felt the stress and apprehension wash away with the rain. These new wiper blades ruled!

It was at that moment that I realized that my old, crappy windshield wiper blades were the sole reason I was having a bad experience in my truck. I felt like I was a guy driving around without his glasses. I was constantly squinting, shifting my head around the blurriness—a total stress fest. Something as simple and inexpensive as windshield wiper blades was causing me to legitimately not like driving my truck, which I used to totally love. I find it remarkable that something that makes up less than 1% of the value of the truck could have such an impact on my experience.

This is not a unique situation. Something very, very tiny can have a disproportionately huge impact on a customer’s experience. Here’s another perfect example—my most comfortable, best-fitting sweater has the most uncomfortable, scratchy tag. I literally had to take it off, pry out each individual seam with an X-acto knife, and triumphantly spike the tag in the trash in the middle of writing this post. This is not hyperbole—this literally just happened.

But it’s not just me. I asked a few colleagues to tell me about a favorite brand and if there are seemingly minor flaws that have negatively affected their experience. Lauren will actively avoid going into her favorite department store because they have overly “helpful” sales associates that stalk her and constantly offer unsolicited assistance as she shops. She said, “Honesty, I can’t go in there anymore. I have to shop with them online.” Jess loves his smartphone (and the brand), but can’t stand the voice assistant. “The phone is great, but the AI voice assistant annoys me to the point where I don’t even want to use it,” he told me. Liam just wants to slink into anonymity and relax when flying his favorite airline, but since he has an elite status, the protocol is for the flight attendants to continuously reference him as Mr. Hanham. “They always pronounce my name wrong and I just want to order my tea and get on with my day,” he laments. These little slights might not make or break a sale, or even a repeat purchase down the line. At least, not at first. But over time these nagging issues can fester, turning a brand advocate into a passive customer—or even worse—a full-blown detractor.

The moral of the story is that you should, in fact, consider sweating the small stuff. What seems like a molehill to you, could very well be a mountain to your customers. And often times, it takes the unique perspective of a customer to even identify these issues in the first place. After all, as the title of chapter 11 of our book, Geek Nerd Suit so bluntly states: “You Are Not Your Customer.” Have you ever stopped to figure out what the “crappy windshield wiper blades” are for your business? Maybe it’s time you should.

I am a simple man with simple tastes. I don’t need a lot of variety in my life. In fact, I thrive on consistency and routine. Those that know me know I eat the same thing for lunch every day, and those that know me well know exactly what I eat for lunch every day. It’s pretty simple the way I see it—if I like something, I stick with it—and it’s been that way for as long as I can remember.

But before I get to my lunch each day, part of my morning routine includes eating a granola bar at 10am. Based on the previous paragraph, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to find out that I’ve been eating the same kind of granola bar for the past three years. That is, until last Monday.

The day was typical enough at first. We go to dinner and then grocery shopping as a family on Mondays. My wife and I split up, each taking a 4-year-old, and divide and conquer our grocery list. Part of my path brings me to the granola bar section, but last Monday something was different. Something had changed.

As I reached for my tried and true brand and flavor of granola bars, I was met with a dreaded “New and Improved” starburst in the corner. To a consistency king such as myself, it might as well have said “Different and worse.” Reluctantly, I plopped two boxes into my cart and gruffly went about my shopping.

When Tuesday morning rolled around, I was genuinely nervous to taste the granola bar. As sad as that sentence is to write, it’s true. As I unwrapped the bar, the shape of it immediately angered me—again, completely ridiculous that the shape of granola bar could anger me—but truthful, nonetheless. The granola bar was denser, thinner, and stickier than before. One of the things I loved about the old formula was how it was thick, crunchy and not overly sweet. As I came to find out, “new and improved” meant, thinner, chewier, and sweeter—the antithesis of what I had come to love.

Using my frustration as fuel, I turned to social media for rectification. My opinion needed to be heard. Why would they change such an awesome formula? Why would they change anything? Why were they trying to hurt me?

I visited the company’s Facebook page, took a deep breath, and tried to keep it civil:

HI. I have been eating your granola bars daily for at least three years and I noticed you changed your [REDACTED] granola bar. I loved the old formula and if you are taking any feedback on the “new and improved” bars, they are much, much worse. To the point where I will have to stop buying them. They are thinner, chewier, and sweeter and none of those are improvements. These are simply regressions towards what the rest of the market is doing. This granola bar used to be different. Now it tastes like an over-priced [REDACTED] granola bar. Were your customers calling for this change? You changed what I loved about them. I genuinely hope you revert back to your old formula. It was so much better and distinguishing. Thanks.

Less than 24 hours later, I got a reply:

Thank you for your honest feedback, Jimmy. We’re so sorry to learn of your disappointment with our new recipe of [REDACTED] Granola Bars. We wanted to give our fans more of what they love about chewy granola bars, and a softer, chewier bite was requested. In order to deliver, we changed up the recipe with a shorter, cleaner list of ingredients. Based on these changes, many of the nutrient values changed as well. Be assured the weight of the bars is the same, but the size is smaller as ingredients are denser. For example, we replaced some of the large puffed soy crisps with more dense ingredients like rolled oats and nuts. Your comments are important to us and will certainly be shared with the foodies in the kitchen. Thank you for being a loyal fan and taking the time to reach out, as we truly value your opinion.

Despite my overall frustration about the situation, this was a good response at first read. But as I started to dissect and re-read some lines, it started to make me angry again. This granola bar was never chewy before—it was perfect just the way it was. This was them saying “People who like chewy granola bars like their granola bars chewy, so we made our granola bars chewy so that people who like chewy granola bars will like them.” I wasn’t done being angry on the internet.

I then sought out some reviews of the product to validate my claim. Luckily, these particular granola bars were sold on Amazon and had exceptional reviews. With my newfound customer research and a little anecdotal evidence of my own, I responded:

Thanks for your thoughtful response. I really do appreciate it. I am genuinely interested in where you got your customer feedback from, as I work with a company that is involved in this sort of thing. The only info I can find in terms of customer feedback is the 4.1 out of 5 stars these specific granola bars are getting on Amazon based on the reviews of 1,351 people. That, and the grocery store I buy them from could barely keep them on the shelves (I would buy them 2 or 3 boxes at a time if they were in stock). Seems like you had a pretty well liked product that people were buying already.

It was at this point that the granola bar company’s social media person decided to stop responding to me, and honestly, that was probably a good call. I was bringing data to a speculative guess fight and that can only lead to carnage.

But as I sit here writing this blog, I can’t help but feel vindicated. I happened to hop onto the granola bar company’s website for some background info and lo and behold they have a new rating system for their “new and improved” granola bars. Early returns are not looking good. The new bars are rated at a 1.5 out of 5 stars and have 22 comments, each of them negative. I hate to revel in the failure of others, but reading these comments brought me a genuine and intense joy. Is that bad? That’s probably bad.

So is there anything to be learned here? How about listening to your customers before you make a change to a beloved product. I’d be willing to bet that I am in this particular granola bar company’s top segment. I was a loyal customer, a brand advocate, and someone who bought the product consistently, exclusively, and frequently. I am the perfect customer to listen to. Now I can only hope that the groundswell of negative feedback the company is getting will force their hand to revert back to something that people loved, and from what I could tell, was consistently flying off the shelves.

If the “we want chewy” crowd really does exist, why not make a chewy version and sell them side by side with the original? Now the customer can decide which option tastes better, and based on sales, you can make a commitment to one or the other. Or, if both happen to keep flying off the shelves, you’ve now doubled your market! But alas, that is not the case.

In conclusion, while I’d love to post each and every negative review I read on the granola bar company’s website, I will restrain myself to just one. I think “Cynthia” put it best when she said:

I can never figure out why companies with great products revamp them into something awful.

Neither can I, “Cynthia.” Neither can I.

A lifelong friend of mine teaches a Principles of Information Technology class at a local high school and asked me to talk with his students about my real-world working experience. While I’m no IT professional, I jumped at the chance, as I’ve always loved talking with kids and young adults about my experiences and their futures.

I can still vividly remember what it was like to be in high school, making that slow transition into adulthood, and stepping inside the building only amplified those emotions. I have awesome parents who always gave me great advice, but I never had that third party adult resource that talked to me about my future without a “my-child-is-the-best” undertone. As I walked through the halls it became my goal to be that resource for the class.

Once I entered the classroom, I quickly realized these high school students had no filter. It was awesome. After I gave a semi-formal presentation, I spent nearly half an hour answering everything from “how much money do you make?” to “where do you see yourself in ten years?” We even had an open discussion on the ethics behind acquiring and utilizing customer data. I tried my best to engage the entire class, incentivizing them by offering them my business card (big deal) if they asked a question. After it was all said and done, more than half the class walked out with a card. No small feat considering I was working with a group of teenagers at 8:30 in the morning.

As much as I may or may not have helped them, talking with students has always energized me. I’ve spoken at least a half dozen times with small groups of college students who would visit my previous place of business on school-sponsored trips. Out of each group, I’d usually hook one or two and they’d send me thank you emails or connect on LinkedIn. Simply talking with the group made it a worthwhile experience for me, but seeing the seldom few make a smart networking move was an added bonus.

But those were college students. I shouldn’t expect the same thing from these high school students I visited, right? Much to my surprise, two of them actually had the maturity and foresight to send me a “thank you” email the same day I met with them.

Now that I think about it, I should probably be the one thanking the students. They were attentive, engaged, left me feeling invigorated, and above all, didn’t greet me like this. So, thank you Mr. Hodges’ Principles of Information Technology class. I had a great time.

For the second year in a row now, I have hosted a little live music event in my backyard. My youngest brother is a budding singer/songwriter and I have twice convinced him to play a live show for my friends, family, and me. It’s a pretty casual affair, but I try to dress it up a bit with a makeshift stage on my back patio, stage lighting, and of course custom-designed koozies for all of the cold drinks on hand.

When it came to fulfilling this year’s koozie order, I decided to go with the same company that produced them the year prior. They were cheap, shipped for free, and the company easily replicated my design. They earned my trust so I figured, why not?

About two weeks before the party I received my shipment of koozies. Much to my dismay, the company had distorted my logo design. My perfect circle logo was now squished into an oblong oval. I’ll admit it may not have been the most egregious error, but an error nonetheless. As a designer, I wanted my original design the way I designed it.
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I immediately went to their website and discovered that their protocol for complaints was to submit an online form. I was a little weary of the fact that my plea for rectification was being received through something as nebulous as a web form, but I filled it out as they instructed. I stated the fact that I had designed a circular logo, the koozies I had received were obviously distorted from my original design and the design proof I approved, and I would like my original design replicated as intended in a free replacement order. As I hit “submit,” I envisioned my feeble complaint settling gently to the bottom of a sea of unchecked grievances. “At least I tried,” I thought.

Much to my surprise, I actually received a response—in less than 24 hours! “Melissa” politely replied as follows:

I am very sorry that the product you received was not what you were expecting. I have requested a replacement package to be sent to you. Again, I am very sorry for the inconvenience this has caused you.

Alright, “Melissa!” That’s what I’m talking about! She took responsibility for the company’s mistake and indicated that I was going to receive a replacement order in time for my event. She and her company dodged a bullet considering I ordered these so far in advance of my party that a replacement order was logistically possible, but who cares. She handled this exactly how this unsatisfied customer wanted.

Case closed, article over, right? Unfortunately, no.

Two days before my party, the replacement koozies arrived. As soon as I opened the box, a star-crossed sense of relief washed over me. The logo design was, in fact, proportional and as I intended. So what was the problem? I picked up a koozie to relish in my circular design, but immediately noticed the koozie felt weird. It was light and spongy. Something wasn’t right. I picked up one of the koozies from my previous order—the distorted ones—to compare.

Oh man, they messed it up! AGAIN!

Instead of printing my design on the nicer (and more expensive) neoprene material that I originally ordered, they printed the replacements on the flimsier (and less expensive) foam material. A subtle difference, but not what I ordered.

I quickly checked the invoice email for the replacements. Maybe they had stealthily switched the replacement koozie material from neoprene to foam to sneak it past me. Upon finding the invoice they were not so devious. They had indicated the replacements should have been neoprene, just like the original order. This was just another garden-variety mistake.
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The party was in two days so replacements were not an option. All that was left was to blow off steam on their online complaint form. I detailed their latest blunder, indicated I was handcuffed because there was no time for replacements, theorized that they may have intentionally printed the replacements on the cheaper material to cut cost and hope I didn’t notice (not my finest moment), and openly questioned how this latest error was going to be mitigated.

This time, “Melissa” responded within 15 minutes.

I am very sorry that they printed on the wrong product for your replacement order. We did request it on the neoprene. Can you use the replacement package? If you can, I can offer you a 30% discount on the order. Please let me know how you would like to proceed. Again, I am very sorry for the inconvenience this has caused you.

With the party so close, I ended up accepting defeat. I took the 30% discount and settled for the close-but-not-quite-right koozies I now had in excess. Partygoers did not gasp at the distorted design, nor cringe at the touch of the cheap foam as I had feared, but I was certainly less proud to give them out than I wanted to be.

​The lesson here is that customer service can go a long way in helping mitigate the occasional miscue, but it can’t salvage a consistently bad customer experience. I’ve given it some serious thought and judging by my increased spirits after receiving the first replacement communication from “Melissa,” I probably would have kept using that company if the replacements had come in as I intended. They lost my trust after the second mistake, and unfortunately for them, they won’t have an opportunity to win me back.