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The REAL TRUTH About Social Media
Confessions of a Social Media CEO
Eric Harr
Copyright © 2011 Eric Harr
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.
The Publisher makes no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. Neither the publisher nor author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any commercial damages.
2011-09-15
Dedication
I know this sounds trite, but it’s true: I live for my family. Completely, madly, passionately. Alexandra, Vivienne and Turner: I have done my best to give you beautiful lives, with all the things money can buy—and all the things love can provide.
I have never been willing to mortgage our future—to work now so that we could live later. I pursued my career in a way that would keep me close to you. I have built companies and written books largely from the hammock under our beloved apple tree, so that I could hear new words, see first steps, touch wiggly teeth, smell handpicked bouquets, taste culinary creations and feel miniature hugs. I’ve always been there. I could never hold down a “real” job, because I could never bear to be away from you. That’s because I love you—and I like you. I mean, I really like being around you people! You’re sweet, supportive, adventurous, compassionate, kind, and just plain fun to be with! I love you with everything I am—and everything I will be.
I am honored to fight the world for you. You have honored me with a dream life.
Acknowledgements
Daddio. I’ve never known anyone to give himself so completely to his family, with no expectation of reciprocity. You taught by example, Dad. That’s why I am always by my family’s side. My children have present parents—and they have you to thank for that. You taught me that quality time is great but quantity time is important too. You taught me to “learn to love to love to learn”—something that will live on in me, Vivienne and Turner. Thank you for always believing in me and supporting me, from building go-carts to building companies. I love you, Papa.
David. You believed in a vision of digital magazines well before anyone did. (Now everyone does. That’s so you.) You flew me to that 2200-acre serrated sliver of paradise you call Wakaya; you made me your guest; and you made the dream a reality. After a string of high-profile successes, you trusted me with your last venture. After we paid that branding firm an unholy amount of money, you graciously named the magazine after Vivienne. You supported me in building the company—and you were generous and gracious when I departed. I cannot thank you enough for the experience of VIV Magazine, David. It is a magnum opus.
Nolan. You’d think I would use this very public opportunity to razz you. But this time, my friend, you’d be wrong. This time, in front of all these people, I’m going to celebrate you seriously and solemnly. If my wedding were next week, you would be my best man. I wish I had met you sooner in life, Nolan. You have brought love, integrity, honesty, passion, hard work, and hilarity to Resonate—and to my life. Resonate, and by extension this book, would never have existed without you. You are the backbone, the heart and the legs of our company. You’ve put up with a barrage of emails, a deluge of foibles, including my IPS: Incurable Pathological Socialhomeboditis; and more annoyances than I care to list here. Your friends and family are all so fortunate to have you in our lives. Angela is a lucky wife, and Ryan, Shane and Kenna are lucky kids. You make our lives better. You make our company better. And, you make our world better. I love you, brother.
Alexa. You may not know this, but you have been a force for good in my life for many years. You let me write for SHAPE long before I deserved it. You believed in my vision for VIV Magazine long before anyone else did. You jumped in to help with this book even though you didn’t have the time. You have been consistently kind and sweet to me, Alexa. For that, and for everything you’ve done on this book, I thank you.
Steve, Bruce, Tracy and Dan at Fastpencil. You have engineered no less than the future of publishing. As I explain in the manuscript, this has been a seamless and sublime book-writing process. You’ve removed the pain and inefficiencies of publishing while preserving the pleasure and impact of this business. You’ve put the power back in the author’s hands, and you let the audience decide. Thank you for what you’ve done for this book—and what you’ve done for publishing.
And you. Yes, you. I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to you for buying this book—and for contributing to it. What book on social media would be complete without crowdsourcing the community for input? I asked for your ideas because I trust your opinions. There’s a lot of you in here. Thank you.
Preface
My grandpa Varnum (real name) was the consummate old-school businessman. He had a bakery on Borbonus Avenue (real street) in Kankakee, Illinois (real city). It was bucolic and idyllic and wonderful.
The aroma of freshly baked goods would waft out to the street and produce fast-moving rivulets of drool in the mouths of passersby—but it wasn’t just the smell and taste of Grandpa’s wares that kept people coming back, it was the service. He would sell nary a lemon square or sticky bun without learning your full family history. He loved what he did, how he did it and who he did it for. Without fail, you would leave his bakery with a good taste in your mouth and a warm feeling in your heart. To this day, I remember how proud I was of him, how I wanted people to look at me the way they looked at him, and how I wanted to have a business like his—one that made people happy.
For twenty-five years, without paying a dime for advertising, Grandpa’s business thrived. He loved his customers and they loved him back. He gave them pleasing pastries and sweet service and they rewarded him with loving loyalty and a booming business.
Not that he would have wanted it, but if my grandpa had access to social media, he could have built an empire, because people would have used these new media tools to power his old-school business to great heights.
I miss my grandpa. I miss his bakery. And I miss the old-school way he did business.
I feel like most companies today have lost the art of old-school. Don’t you? As the Dalai Lama said: “… We have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems … more computers … but … less communication. We have become long on quantity, but short on quality … ”
These days, managers seem so grossly engrossed with carving out profits for the company that the customer becomes an afterthought. Customer service satisfaction rates are at all-time lows. People don’t trust businesses the way they once did. What ever happened to the baker’s dozen? Walk into any mainstream grocery store today and ask for a “baker’s dozen”—13 muffins for the price of 12—and they’ll look at you like you have lobsters crawling out of your ears.
As Guy Kawasaki says in his brilliant book Enchantment: The Art of Changing Hearts, Minds and Actions (Portfolio Hardcover, 2011), most brands just aren’t…enchanting. They believe social media can make them appear enchanting when in fact it makes them less so. It’s like putting lipstick on a pig. Social media merely amplifies who you are and what you do. It’s a megaphone from your heart to the world.
If you deliver old-school service to your customers—if you care, listen, and have humility, and if you put people first—you will reap rich rewards from social media. You will build a volunteer army of passion-driven, newly empowered marketers. The brands that are winning in social media do it old-school.
I love social media. I love how it empowers, enriches and emboldens us. I love how it gives us a voice—and a shot. I love how it elevates us to be true to the best we know.
I love how it fosters connections, forces transparency