Thursday, 19 January 2023



Do you know that feeling? You discover a perfect little restaurant tucked away somewhere, then before you know it, it’s featured in some fashionable magazine or the latest influencer swans into it. Your little secret is secret no more.

I feel the same about my working arrangements as a freelancer, especially now that the sharks are out for that recent acronym, WFH. The good, not so good, great and think-they’re-great of the Davos set are proclaiming that “remote working has not worked.” That was Larry Fink of Black Rock, apparently.

Meanwhile, at the other end (?) of the political spectrum, certain journalists are having a bash at “the pyjama classes” and “the laptop elites.” I have some sympathy with this view, having seen efforts from ad agencies in 2020 featuring every WFH cliche going: the pyjamas and jogging pants, the dog/cat/kids invading the Zoom conference with its silly, jokey background. Meanwhile, there weren’t any people featured in these Covid vignettes who were out there doing a job, keeping the world running. And yes, it make me wonder about the value of what I do here ...

But there’s a difference. I have been self-employed for twenty years now and I started without a laptop, just a cheap Aldi computer,  a Freenet email address and a trusty Nokia mobile phone. Within 18 months, I was lucky indeed: we bought a house and the top floor became my office. From the start, I was disciplined, although it was against my nature - but I had to be, starting out in business with a toddler in tow.

Having an office space (which happens to be in my home) does make the difference. There is a door, which I can shut. A whole weekend can go by without me going upstairs to the top floor. Sometimes I am up there evenings, or for a few hours on Sunday afternoon, working, but that’s usually my choice. The clue is in the term “self-employed."

This isn’t meant to be a whinge about being lumped in with everyone else who was forced into WFH in 2020, although it does sometimes feel to me like my experience with gin & tonic - something I’ve always enjoyed, which became terribly fashionable but is now on the wane again. All  I want is to make a simple distinction: I’m working from an office - which happens to be at home.


Friday, 13 January 2023

My most helpful brand of 2022


With all the trend reports and round-ups of 2022 I’ve been reading, I gave pause for thought. What has been my favourite brand of the last year? I was tempted to go for something that had done brilliant brand communications, but realised pretty quickly that I’d probably only seen those communications by reading Campaign and the rest of the trade press.

Rather, it’s a brand that entered my life just over a year ago, and one that, in the words of the “meaningful brands” questionnaire, I’d be genuinely upset if it disappeared. 

It’s DeepL. In November 2021, I was searching around for a decent online translator that would do a better job than my memories of Bing, or Google or Facebook. I’m still not sure whether DeepL found me or whether I found DeepL, but does that matter?

It’s a quiet, unassuming, unobtrusive brand - in fact, I’m not sure whether it officially thinks of itself of a brand or not. But it has a logo and a look, so I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt. What is certainly true is that I have developed an extreme loyalty to DeepL over the last few months and it has become ingrained in my working life, particularly when I’m working with predominantly German clients, as has been the case recently.

DeepL is just one of many AI-based brands that I’ll be getting used to using in my work. The next one could be ChatGPT - but that’s a story for another day. 

Tuesday, 3 January 2023

RETROWURST: Tchibo January 2005


What tickles me about some of the Retrowurst articles that I unearth is the sheer sense of glee I evidently had in writing them. Take the following article, written in January 2005, when I was clearly in thrall to Tchibo, if not completely enchanted by the brand. “Starbucks meets Innovations!” - not my words, but that obviously captured my imagination regarding this strangely German institution. No wonder, perhaps - Tchibo at this stage was Germany’s third largest “internet retailer” (how quaint) after Amazon and Ebay. Why, I even believed that Tchibo were aiming at offering mass market trips to the moon.


To start the new year, I thought I’d write a piece on a familiar face on German high streets for 50 years, which has recently also found its feet in the UK (if you’ll excuse the mixed metaphor); Tchibo.


In a retail climate which seems beset by losses, redundancies or desperate attempts at ‘pile it high, sell it cheap and scream about it’, Tchibo is one of the few retailers that are actually doing reasonably well here, along with Aldi and Ikea. This does seem to have something to do with having a good concept and sticking to it but Tchibo’s concept does really seem quite weird at first glance. I saw it described as ‘Starbucks meets Innovations’ on a UK website and I think it really is an example of a concept that has evolved through mutation and adaptation to be successful. That is, it is a concept that would have been strangled at birth had anyone had the audacity to come up with such an idea in the post-war 1949 German version of a brainstorming.


Tchibo is currently a concern with 10,000 employees and 54,000 purchase outlets in Germany. As a retailer, it has 99% awareness in Germany. Tchibo sells not only coffee but also household goods, flowers, mobile phone services, insurance and holidays. You can buy goods and services from Tchibo via their shops, from store-in-store in the supermarket or bakery, via the magazine or mail order or over the internet. Their ambition is to offer the first mass market trips to the moon.


However, none of this happened overnight and one can quite understand the initial wariness of the Dutch, Brits or Poles when confronted with the full-blown Tchibo concept 2005. Tchibo had very a simple and one-dimensional concept at its birth- the company was established by Max Herz and Carl Tchilling-Hiryan in 1949 as a mail-order coffee company. The name Tchibo actually comes from a mix of the name Tchilling with the word for ‘bean’ in German, Bohnen.


The first Tchibo shop opened in Germany in 1955; what was unusual was that people could actually try the coffee before buying. Moving this to its next logical step, Tchibo set up mini-stores in bakeshops in 1963, where people could eat a roll or cake and enjoy a cup of coffee at the same time, not forgetting to buy a pack to take home with them. In the next decade, in 1972, the third ‘prong’ of Tchibo’s concept was introduced; the launch of weekly-changing consumer goods under the TCM brand name. The first goods offered were not a million miles away from coffee, being mainly kitchenware. However, Tchibo gradually branched out into other areas such as home textiles and fashions. By 1996 the mail-order arm was established and Tchibo made its first offers in the holidays and tourism category. In 1997 Tchibo went online and is now Germany’s third largest Internet retailer behind Ebay and Amazon. The late 90s and early 2000s saw Tchibo continuing its international expansion with the first shop opening in the UK in 2000.


Perhaps the biggest clue to Tchibo’s success is to look at its customers. With a consistent promise of change, ‘Jede Woche eine neue Welt’ or ‘A new experience every week’, Tchibo taps into and reconciles one of the biggest paradoxes in our lives- the need for stability and consistency and the need for change and newness. The result of this strategy means that many customers simply become Tchibo junkies. Tchibo is like a drug, complete with withdrawal symptoms if one ‘misses’ what’s on this week. According to the market research company Icon, 42% of Tchibo’s customers are ‘Tchibo lovers’ or the extreme loyal. Even Ikea with its cult following and over 30 years in Germany can only boast 23% of its customers being ‘Ikea lovers’, according to Icon. On a consumer forum recently, a 23-year-old woman and self-confessed Tchibo-junkie admitted to being so impressed with an ‘Italian eating’ week at Tchibo that she immediately wanted to buy the full range of products on offer. Finding this a bit embarrassing, she bought half of the items at one Tchibo shop in the morning and the remaining half in another branch that afternoon!


What factors have made Tchibo so successful, apart from the consistent inconsistency (!) of its product range? First and foremost, Tchibo is part of German history which imbues the brand with trustworthiness, loyalty and a feeling that ‘you can’t go wrong’. This history is reinforced by the logo and colour scheme of a steaming coffee bean in gold and dark blue which acts as a positive emotional anchor, literally sending a warming glow straight to many (23m households) German’s hearts. For many Germans, Tchibo’s advertising campaign from the 60s and 70s, featuring the same actor throughout on a quest for quality coffee on behalf of the people remains fresh in their minds.


Tchibo also has a role in making life easy for people. Arranging the consumer goods by themes rather than categories and offering only one choice per item (or, in the case of clothing, only one colour and a limited range of sizes) takes much of the time and uncertainty out of shopping. One assumes that Tchibo has done the work and research to select the best asparagus steamer; if camel is not my colour then I need look no further at the cashmere sweater on offer- take it or leave it; everything is simple. Another element to take it or leave it is ‘take it now’ as it is almost guaranteed not to be there next time I look; with the weekly turnover of offers and a new theme each week, Tchibo thrives on impulse purchase. Tchibo also has a pretty good knack of choosing themes and items that hit the tastes of the early majority. Tchibo send their scouts to ‘where it’s at’ - Tokyo for electronics, Milan for fashions or Canada for skiwear to check the pulse of the market. They are generally very good at gauging what’s about to be hot for the middle-market; some classic successes in Germany are the asparagus steamer, which appears every two years and one-offs like the ‘Jan-Ulrich bike’; a specialist bicycle for only €399 which led to mass-hysteria in the Tchibo stores. Of course there are flops too; in Autumn 2003, Tchibo tried to sell 1000 special-edition Fiat Stilos but this went down like a cup of cold coffee. A flop on a similar scale was a planned ‘Concert Event of the year- The three Divas’, featuring Whitney Houston, Natalie Cole and Dionne Warwick. Instead of the 200000 planned, the audience was a mere 45000.


The factor that perhaps best encapsulates Tchibo’s success is another paradox. Despite their size (and it is well-known that they now hold a majority stake in Beiersdorf and have their eyes set on ownership, although this is played down in public), Tchibo still gives the German public the impression of a small, local concern. This impression is partly derived from the ubiquity on the one hand but small size on the other of their outlets and from the limited at any point in time but rapidly changing product range. Tchibo are well-aware that others are hot on their heels with their own version of some of these success elements; Aldi for one have started ‘theming’ their weekly offers, be it ‘riding’ or ‘back to school’ and Aldi products are even more reasonably priced than Tchibo, although there is never a cup of coffee thrown in!


Eighteen years later, Tchibo still operate on the “simultaneous need for consistency and novelty” principle, but in my eyes they need to dial up the “novelty” part of that. Too many others have latched onto the same formula. While I guess they haven’t actually drowned in the great digital transformation wave, I do feel Tchibo is stagnating, stuck in the doldrums, which is apparent from the sales figures which have declined since the glory days of the early 2000s. 

Every week, with reliable tedium, there’s a “new” world of loungewear, or yogawear, or mindfulness wear, all in drab shades of dirty rose, dull green and faded apricot. Even the promise of a loungesuit with cashmere for €208.95 isn’t tempting. 

Come on, Tchibo - where are those dreams of the moon? Or are you just past it.

Tuesday, 27 December 2022

We weren’t so bad


As yet another year draws to a close, I have to admit that I’ve been having some angsty, existential pangs in a “and what have you done?” sort of mode. Not in a full-on George Bailey-James Stewart manner, but irritating twinges, nonetheless.

What am I still doing in this business, at my age?

Couldn’t I have put my education and talents to better use?

Why am I just a touch ashamed to admit, these days, that my working life has been spent in advertising?

Thirty years ago, in London, every taxi driver knew the name Saatchi & Saatchi. Respondents in group discussions regularly joked about enjoying the ads more than the programmes. Our agency hired Alexandra Palace for the Christmas party - and I nonchalently flew off to LA the next day on three hours’ sleep for client product experience with British Airways.

It’s fashionable to regard advertising as a rather sorry, grubby little business these days. The glamour has passed its sell-by date and attempts are made to elevate it from the snake-oil salesman via association with super-scientific data-driven rigour or a holier-than-thou world-saving loftiness. The rot set in already in the 1990s when Kevin Roberts proclaimed Saatchis to be an “Ideas Company” rather than an advertising agency. 

But now and again, I read an article which warms the cockles of my old ad woman’s heart. And I’ll end my blog posts for this year with this marvellous article by Tom Roach . Although the main theme is the much-hyped imminent death of advertising, the underlying message is that maybe those working in the business could be a touch prouder of what they do. 

How the advertising industry uses the power of human imagination for commercial impact should be something we’re all in awe of.

As a measure of that commercial impact, Tom quotes a Deloitte study which estimates that every $1 spent on ads generates $6 in broader economic impact. Not bad for a grubby little industry - one of the few true proven levers of growth.

The role we play in driving the economy, and therefore society, forward is something we should be proud of. We often highlight advertising’s societal impact when talking about social purpose, but advertising’s economic impact alone should be a sufficient source of pride.

Well, maybe if you put it like that ... I may hang on in here for a while yet!

Wednesday, 14 December 2022

From Accenture to Zukunftsinstitut


Here we go again - it’s that time of year, when all the futurologists and trend forecasters and other shades of seers and sages get those reports out on what we might expect for 2023. There used to be a manageable handful of these, but now every agency worth its salt and pepper wants to have a go. Thankfully, these days, there are bright and helpful people who curate these things, or at least bundle them altogether on one convenient link. This collection, for example, is put together by a group of six strategists, plus various collaborators across Europe and Asia. They started their good work during Covid and have compiled the trend reports since 2020.

I hope I’ll get a chance when things calm down a bit to look at some of the better of these reports. But at the moment, it makes me weary just opening the thing up. There are 76 prediction-type reports and then, on top, 25 round-ups of the last year. Where to start? It’s at this point that I start to see the attractions of AI to plough through this lot and pull out the mega-ultra-über-meta trends.

Was it easier in days of yore? Well, maybe, as trend-forecasting was confined to the printed page - reports you’d pay for, articles in the better journals - and books. Queen of it all was Faith Popcorn (still popping around), and I’ve got here the 16 trends outlined in Clicking in 1996 - twenty-six years ago, before GenZ were born. ’Scuse the shaky technology:

Look at the first three. You’d be forgiven for thinking this was published yesterday, or at least some time once we’d got the worst of the pandemic behind us. Oooh. Virtual Reality! What’s that, then? Sounds new-fangled. Not that Metaverse business, is it? Where you can go on a Fantasy Clash of Clans Adventure from the comfort of your own Cocoon? What century is this, anyway?

And so it goes. Yes, it’s got a middle-class US bias, but ... “stressed-out”, “affordable luxuries”, “spiritual roots”, “personal statements”, “caring and sharing”, “warmly embraces the freedom of being an individual”, “busy, high-tech lives”, “simpler way of living”, “better quality of life”, “angry consumer - pressure, protest and politics”, “icon toppling”, “endangered planet, social conscience, ethics, passion and compassion” ...

One reason that Ms Popcorn’s predictions stand the test of time is that there is precious little mention of specific technology. The focus is not on what we’ll be doing, or how, but on the “why?” - the human motivations behind all this. 

Amid the change- and doommongers' obsession with the disruptive, VUCA, every-changing world, the panics, urgency and desperation, the conviction that things will never be the same again, it’s quite reassuring to pick up a paperback from the last century and realise that the summary of those 76 reports was languishing on your bookshelf all along. 


Thursday, 1 December 2022

The new pester power

 In the old days of (ugh) Marketing to Kids, Pester Power was a well-known phenomenon: batallions of angry and sulky kids beating their hapless parents into submission to buy the latest Barbie, Lego spin-off set from some super-hero universe, crisp and soft drink flavours, sweets, sweets and more sweets - and, of course, mobile phones and all to do with gaming tech. 

But I noticed a subtle change in the nature of Pester Power, some twelve years ago, at the Christmas Market, where children were encouraged to write their Christmas wishes on a star, to be displayed on a wall. My son was still old-school at this point, with his wish for “Everything from Lego Star Wars”, but this rather greedy wish was over-shadowed by a mass of junior do-gooders, who wished for everything from World Peace to their granny getting out of hospital in time to spend a family Christmas together.

In the latest edition of Globescan’s Healthy & Sustainable Living Report (2022) we can see just how far things have developed. Pester Power has taken a moralistic and activistic turn: "our children are driving a sense of urgency about the climate” proclaims the writer of the report, somewhat pompously.  In the study amongst 30,000 respondents across 31 markets, 63% of those with children under 18 at home agree their children are worried about climate change and the environment.

I assume that the 23% who say their children are neither worried nor not worried have children under the age of 3 or so?

Source: GlobeScan

Of course, this is nothing new. When I was at school, back in the 70s, we were forever doing projects on pollution and the environment, for biology, geography or simply for assembly. I remember having a go at my mum for her fur coat and probably got into a tangled argument with my dad about nuclear weapons.

But it’s an important finding, and it must be difficult for parents, particularly those who are really strapped for cash. It’s one thing to say no to the latest Nintendo game, or Barbie’s pink plastic dream castle, but quite another to say sorry, family, can’t afford that good-for-the-environment detergent: it’s just too expensive and won’t get the mud and grass stains out of your football kit.

But without snuffing out children’s commendable environmental ardour, young people would be well-advised to have a look at their own desire:action gap. I know a young man who merrily voted for the Green Party while leaving his poor parents to sort out the three bursting black bags of completely mixed trash in his dump of a bedroom.

Sunday, 27 November 2022

Sharing and caring


A couple of weeks ago, St Martin’s Day was celebrated in Germany. I’ve always thought that the traditions surrounding this Saint’s day were rather more charming and heart-warming than the gaudy, ghoulish and horribly commercialised Halloween. 

St Martin was a Roman soldier most famous for an act of sharing and generosity. It is said that he came across a beggarman dressed in rags in the depths of winter. Martin took his red cloak, cut it in half with his sword and gave half to the poor man to keep him warm. This act is celebrated by children in processions with (often home-made) lanterns, songs and a reenactment of the noble act. This may all take place round a bonfire and a real horse may appear if you live in a rural area. 

St Martin’s Day is all tied up with the end of harvest and the beginning of the “winter revelling season” - with roast goose and the first wine of the season. 

I was new to all this when I came to Germany, and learned about the customs when my son was at Kindergarten - many hours were spent making lanterns (more hours on the part of the parents than the children, usually). The story of St Martin is a universal one, which teaches children the value of sharing.

Sharing” is one of those words whose meaning has shifted quite dramatically in the last twenty years. Going back to St Martin, the verb used regarding the cloak is teilen - which bears the sense of “parting”. St Martin divides his cloak into two parts, and he has to part with one of them to provide the beggarman with warmth. He makes a sacrifice -  sharing involves giving something to someone else that you don’t get back. This is sometimes a hard lesson to learn - I remember when my brother was in hospital as a child. All sweets that were brought in by parents were put in a communal tin, then divided out equally so every child got a fair share. My brother wasn’t happy at some other child getting his favourite sweets!

Sharing, when it comes to non-material things, has always had connotations of “having something in common”. But the word seems to be shifting from a meaning that’s about apportion, giving and generosity to one that’s about passing on, informing, making public. In this digital world, the sharer keeps whatever it is - photos, stories -unlike St Martin and his cloak.

“Sharing” sounds kind and generous - but is it really? Sometimes sharing feels like passing on a burden, or covering your backside.

I wonder, sometimes, when someone wants to “share some thoughts with me” whether they might be better keeping them to themself.