The Art Of Client Service, Revised And Updated Edition Part 4

No matter how well versed you are in the client's business, your client brings a critical point of view to the process. Most of my clients have forgotten more than I ever knew about their companies and their brands, and that's not because I wasn't immersed in their business. It's just that my clients bring years of experience to the table, experience working inside their companies, experience I could never begin to fully comprehend, let alone duplicate.

I've always understood the benefit of taking advantage of that. At the outset of a new relations.h.i.+p or a new a.s.signment, I tell my clients, "The agency is going to work incredibly hard on this, but we're going to ask you to work hard with us. We need you to be actively involved. We can't do great work for you unless you help us." Then I ask the clients to outline what they expect from the agency and how they would like to work.

Having this kind of client input helps avoid false starts. Early involvement also gives the client a sense of owners.h.i.+p of the work. This is incredibly important when it comes time for the client to champion the work to the company's employees and management.

So don't hesitate to get your client involved early and often. The work will be better for it, as will the process of creating it.

CHAPTER 19.

Respect What It Takes to Do Great Creative My colleagues and I used to love to present to one particular client.

He was a very senior, very veteran, very smart guy. Whenever we would present, he would listen with great concentration. He would rarely interrupt; instead, he would let us go through all the concepts and options we had prepared for his review.

When we were done, he would stand up to address us. We presented to him many times, but his initial response would always go something like this: "First, I want to thank all of you for your hard work. It's clear from the presentation that you put a tremendous amount of thought and effort into the a.s.signment, and I appreciate that. And there are some terrific ads on the table. Now let's go through each of the concepts one by one so I can give you feedback."

Sometimes the input was minor; most of the time it was significant and as a result we had to reconcept. No one ever complained; creative people loved this client and would do anything for him. We did work for this client that was the best the agency could do.

What was this client's secret? It was simple. No matter what we presented, no matter how great, how good, or how average it was, this client invariably expressed respect for the work and the people who made it. That was a great lesson for me.

In my early days as an account person, I usually ran roughshod over creative people and their work. Writers and art directors would show me concepts and I'd immediately say what was wrong with them. It didn't matter that I might be right; I was serving up the input wrong, and creative people simply tuned me out.

I didn't understand that my job was to improve improve the work, not the work, not approve approve it. If I had made that one small adjustment in language and att.i.tude, it would have made a big difference in the way I looked at creative work. it. If I had made that one small adjustment in language and att.i.tude, it would have made a big difference in the way I looked at creative work.

I also didn't respect what it takes to do great creative. What it takes is enormous emotional commitment. When writers or art directors show their work, they are sharing a piece of themselves. They have sweated those ideas to life, and they know they are only as good as their last idea. If you don't respect that-and in the beginning I didn't, but I learned-you have no hope of helping to make the work better.

While it takes emotional commitment to make creative work, it takes emotional detachment to make it better. Creative people don't always have the emotional detachment to evaluate and improve their work. Some times they mistake good work for great work. On occasion, they might even mistake bad work for great work.

Who can blame them, given what it takes to produce work in the first place? That's where smart, sensitive account people can, with great judgment and diplomacy, make a big contribution. They can provide the necessary emotional detachment to make the work better, or to prevent bad work from seeing the light of day.

You can't go about this the way I used to, by launching in with a salvo of criticism. There's a better way to provide feedback.

For example, if you're looking at a range of ideas and some are killers, some have potential, and some need to be killed, start with the killer ideas. Acknowledge them, praise them, and explain what you love about them and why.

Then with the ideas that have potential, start with what's right about each of them. Praise what's working. Then talk about what's not working and why. Suggest how these ideas can be made better.

Tackle the ideas that deserve early death last. Even here, with ideas you think are marginal at best, there probably is something you like about each of them. Find that one thing and acknowledge it before explaining why you think the ideas should be abandoned in favor of the stronger ones. If there are lots of good and even great ideas on the table, this should be relatively painless, unless there is sharp disagreement between you and the creative team. If that's the case, keep an open mind as to why the creative people like an idea that you don't. Perhaps you can be persuaded. Perhaps you can persuade them. You're going to need to reach an agreement, because when you visit the client, you want to present a unified front.

Keep your personal preferences out of the discussion. You are not there to render judgment on whether or not periwinkle is the right color. However, if you know the client hates periwinkle, or if periwinkle is the compet.i.tor's brand color, by all means speak up.

Here's an example of what I mean. I remember being in a preproduction meeting where we were going over the casting for a photo shoot. We were looking at head-shots of kids. Everyone liked this adorable redheaded boy. That's when I spoke up. "The client doesn't like redheaded children; they remind her of clowns and she thinks clowns are scary."

Everybody looked at me as if I were crazy. I explained that this had come up before, on another a.s.signment for this client, when I was working with a different creative team. "You can go in with the redheaded kid," I said, "but I'd have a back-up if I were you. And don't be surprised if the client gets annoyed about your recommendation."

There were lots of cute kids to choose from. We went with another kid. It wasn't worth fighting over hair color.

In reviewing the creative work, your job is to ensure the work is on strategy, to bring a client perspective to the discussion, to measure the work against what is going on in the category, to help determine if the work pa.s.ses the "So what?" test, and to ensure that no mandatory has been missed (like no redheaded kids).

Above all, your job is to push for great, if what you're seeing is merely good.

Making presentations . . .

CHAPTER 20.

Client Presentations Are as Important as New Business Presentations Agencies treat new business presentations with the intensity and urgency of opening night at the theater.

Everyone knows what's at stake. There is careful consideration given to casting the presenters. There is heavy investment in staging and props. Every word of the script is thought through. The pitch team rehea.r.s.es. Then it rehea.r.s.es some more.

But with existing clients, everyone at the agency is so busy making the work that they often neglect the presenting part. With clients demanding faster and faster turn around, and with agency staffs sliced to the bone due to financial pressures, the problem has grown acute. Almost every account person I know can tell stories of flying out the door to make a client meeting while jamming work completed just minutes before into a presentation case. Rehearsal, such as it is, takes place in the 15-minute cab ride to the client's office.

Yet client presentations are at least as important as new business presentations, if not more so. The stakes are just as high, if not higher. The only thing worse than losing a new business pitch is losing a client. If you don't pay attention to client presentations, if you take them for granted, that is the risk.

Client presentations, like new business presentations, are about theater. A bad presentation, like bad theater, often leads to a bad ending, with the client unhappy and the agency scrambling to regroup. A good presentation usually leads to a happy ending, with the client satisfied and the work approved.

A good presentation is no accident. It requires proper casting, with an eye to who can best deliver the material. It requires thoughtful preparation, with particular attention paid to antic.i.p.ating client concerns and how best to address them. Above all, it requires sufficient time to rehea.r.s.e, to ensure everyone understands his or her role and how to play it.

Agencies that understand the importance of rehearsing for new business presentations often forget that rehearsing for client presentations is equally important.

Part of the problem is that many agency people hate rehearsing and will do everything to avoid it, no matter how much time there is in the schedule. They find rehearsing awkward, embarra.s.sing, or even a little intimidating. They have a point. It can be harder to stand up in front of colleagues than clients. But doing so can make a huge difference in your team's presentation and professionalism.

Rehearsal helps you discover holes in your argument. It helps you antic.i.p.ate the questions and concerns the client might raise. It polishes your delivery. It allows you to work out the hand-offs among the team members. It gives everyone in the group an opportunity to help strengthen each member's part. It can build your confidence. For all these reasons, you should remind your colleagues that, no matter how pressed for time all of you are, no matter how tight the schedule, rehearsal might make the difference between success and failure. Then you should take owners.h.i.+p of the rehearsal process.

Set the rehearsal time, drag people into the conference room, get them to agree on their roles, get everyone to agree on the agency recommendation (if what you're presenting is creative work), and then make them stand up and present their parts. The more time you spend, the better you will be. Even if the run-through is lightning fast, it's better than no rehearsal time.

Still, I'm a realist. I know there will be times when rehearsal just won't happen. You and your colleagues will race out of the agency to get to the client on time, then wing it once you're there. That's why the next chapter chapter, No Understudies on Presentation Day, is so important.

CHAPTER 21.

No Understudies on Presentation Day It was an incredibly painful moment. My agency team and I were presenting a new campaign to the client. One of the team members, a young copywriter, was standing at the head of a long conference table, in front of a sea of expectant faces, including our main client's boss, the company's senior vice president of marketing. It was a big day, a big room, and a big group of clients.

The presentation started well enough. I had done the set-up for the writer, taking the audience through a restatement of the a.s.signment and a quick recap of the creative brief. I turned to the copywriter. He could barely speak. A look of fear came over his face. It quickly became apparent that everything he wanted to say had fled from his head. "Uh, ah, why don't I just go right to the work?" he said, and with that he pulled out the presentation boards.

We had three concepts to show. He raced through each one in about a minute. He couldn't wait to sit down. It was painful to watch him. I wanted to rescue him, but any intervention on my part would only have added to his humiliation.

The clients were sympathetic; his distress was visible. Their response was muted, their questions restrained. But they didn't buy a single idea we presented. We promised to come back in three days with new work.

After the meeting broke up, my primary client contact asked, "What happened up there?" pointing to the front of the room. "I really don't know," I responded, "I'm sorry; I thought we were prepared. It's clear we weren't." I a.s.sured my client that for the next presentation, the creative director would be there and would take the lead. The client's only response was, "I'd better go see my boss; I might as well take my beating now."

We embarra.s.sed ourselves. We embarra.s.sed our client in front of her boss. We undermined our grip on the account. The biggest damage was to the copywriter, who was shaken by his meltdown. "I don't know what happened to me," he said. "I just lost it. It's never happened before."

It wasn't the writer's fault. It was mine. The writer clearly was overmatched by the challenge of making a big presentation to an important client in an intimidating environment. I should have insisted that his boss make the presentation. I had thought this would be a good opportunity for the writer, an occasion he would rise to. I was so wrong. It's a lesson I've never forgotten.

It's important to give junior people a chance to present. How else will they learn? But those learning opportunities need to be confined to internal internal agency presentations- the young copywriter to the creative director, the young account executive to the group account director-until that star of the future has earned a role in the present, and is proven ready to perform in front of the client. agency presentations- the young copywriter to the creative director, the young account executive to the group account director-until that star of the future has earned a role in the present, and is proven ready to perform in front of the client.

Until that time, presenting to the client should be left to those most effective at it, and that usually means the more senior people in the shop (any senior person who is a weak presenter needs to address that weakness). There is too much riding on the presentation to do otherwise.

You are not only presenting work, you are representing the agency. Every presentation offers an opportunity to validate the client's confidence in the agency, or conversely, to undermine it.

So there should be no understudies on presentation day. That's when the veterans, the stars, should perform.

That's what the client has a right to expect. That is what the client is paying for. That is what will keep the business right where it is, at your agency.

CHAPTER 22.

No Scenery Chewers, No Dead Bodies Shortly after the head of marketing joined my client, she called a review. My colleagues and I presented to the new marketing chief a couple of weeks later.

I led a five-person pitch team, but you would have thought I was a team of one. I gave most of our presentation and answered most of the client questions. I thought it went pretty well.

Later, after we lost the account, I learned that the client felt we didn't have the depth of senior talent she needed. No wonder; I barely allowed my colleagues to speak. I didn't give them room to demonstrate how smart they were. Instead, I was too busy trying to show how smart I was.

Advertising is about collaboration. So is the presentation of advertising. It is not a one-person show; it's an ensemble performance. There should be no scenery chewers who have all the lines, and who completely dominate the stage.

By the same token, there should be no dead bodies. Everyone present from the agency should have a role. If a person doesn't have a role, he or she shouldn't be in the room. You don't want the clients asking themselves, "Why is that person here? What value is that person adding? Why am I paying for that person?"

CHAPTER 23.

Be Prepared to Throw Away the Script We were supposed to have an hour to present. My colleagues and I figured we could calibrate our presentation for 45 minutes, to leave time for questions and discussion. When the clients were late, we a.s.sumed they would extend our time to compensate. They didn't. Instead, they said, "You've got 20 minutes."

We thought we were well prepared, but we hadn't prepared for that. Caught off-guard, we didn't know how to edit ourselves on the fly, and as a result, came off poorly.

Just because you've prepared to present a certain way doesn't mean you'll get to do it exactly the way you intended. Clients have their own agendas, and you have to be ready to bend yours to theirs.

After you lay out your roadmap for the presentation, but before you launch in, ask the client, "Are you comfortable with the plan? Anything we've missed?" If the client wants the presentation to go in a different order, or even a different direction, from what you planned, you should be ready to adjust.

What's the point of insisting on your agenda, only to have your words land on a tuned-out audience? If you've rehea.r.s.ed, if you've antic.i.p.ated what the client might ask, you'll be in a good position to be flexible, fast on your feet, and ready to ad-lib.

CHAPTER 24.

The More Informal You Want to Be, the More Rehea.r.s.ed You Need to Be If you're presenting with PowerPoint (or some other presentation software), if you're relying on charts or boards, if you're reading from notes, presenting is relatively easy. You have a safety net.

However, if you're talking talking with your audience, rather than with your audience, rather than presenting presenting to it-without computer slides, without boards or notes-you are working without a net. It's harder and riskier, but it's often more effective. In some cases, it's necessary. to it-without computer slides, without boards or notes-you are working without a net. It's harder and riskier, but it's often more effective. In some cases, it's necessary.

For example, if you are doing a set-up to a creative presentation, PowerPoint slides don't work, and relying on notes is less than ideal. A creative set-up usually takes only a few minutes, but those few minutes of conversation set the tone for what's to follow. Of course, what what you choose to say is most important, but you choose to say is most important, but how how you say it is a close second. The ability to talk the set-up with a combination of confidence and informality tends to work best. you say it is a close second. The ability to talk the set-up with a combination of confidence and informality tends to work best.

If you're going to present without slides, boards, or notes, you need to really rehea.r.s.e so that you are confident enough to appear relaxed and informal. It is a rare person who can wing it and do well. Most seemingly casual presenters invest in practice time. So if you want or need to work without a net, make sure you take time to prepare.

CHAPTER 25.

Know Your Opening Cold Early in my career I flew with my boss, the agency CEO, and two other colleagues to Detroit to make a major presentation to some marketing people at one of the big three auto companies. I had a major role in the presentation, and to say I was nervous would understate my knee-knocking anxiety.

We arrived a half hour early and were shown into a conference room. As we were setting up for the presentation, my boss erupted. "What's this?" He pointed to one of my slides. I don't remember what the problem was, but I clearly remember the look on his face. He was one unhappy guy.

If this happened today, I could have simply changed the offending slide on my computer, but this happened back in the prenotebook computer age, when overhead projectors ruled the earth. There was no way to change the overhead transparency. My boss was really upset, and he was upsetting me.

"Look," I said, "we've got to present in a couple of minutes, and this isn't helping. There's nothing I can do about the problem. We're both going to have to live with it." With that, I excused myself and went to look for the men's room.

I tried to compose myself. If I was nervous before, now I was downright panicky. But I didn't give in to it. Instead, I got mad, and vowed that I wasn't going to let my boss's comments throw me off my game.

In the men's room, I went over my opening again. I had really rehea.r.s.ed for this presentation, and I had paid particular attention to my opening remarks. It was still all there, lodged safely in my brain. I took a deep breath, and went back to the conference room to meet the clients. When it was my turn to present, I got up and delivered my slides with confidence. The problem my boss was so freaked out about didn't even surface as an issue.

I got through my presentation mainly because I knew my opening cold.

If you're going to falter, it is likely to happen in your opening, and a screw-up in the opening is likely to compound itself. You feel bad about the mistake, it throws you off, and you make another mistake. Before you know it, you're tripping all over yourself.

That's why you need to know your opening the way you know the first words of the Gettysburg Address. After you nail your opening, you'll relax. When you relax, the rest of your presentation will flow. You will enjoy yourself. It will show, and the presentation will be a success.