The trouble with brand values
I've never been a big fan of brand values, feeling that, in the vast majority of cases, they fail the Opposite Test. (Look dispassionately at what you've just written. Ask yourself would anyone, in any circumstances, ever state or claim the opposite? If the answer is no, then what you've said is a waste of space. Do all those companies describing themselves as innovative, committed or open-minded imagine that, among their competitors, there are businesses which would fearlessly claim to be imitative, half-arsed or blinkered?)
But a more specific grievance is the way that when people compile lists of brand values (a minimum of four, a maximum of six), they recklessly combine abstract nouns and adjectives - as for example:
"Our brand values are teamwork, flexible, trust and entrepreneurial."
Make up your mind. Are your values the qualities you want your brand to be seen to possess, or words that describe your brand? They really can't be both.
Jesus saves! Christians hang on for a draw . . .
Enjoyable piece in the Guardian a couple of days ago featuring photos of the billboard slogans that appear outside many churches and chapels in the American Deep South (and, increasingly, also in this country). A few of the more striking lines included:
TO BE ALMOST SAVED IS TO BE TOTALLY LOST
YOU'RE ON HEAVEN'S MOST WANTED LIST
WALMART ISN'T THE ONLY SAVING PLACE IN TOWN
YOU MAY PARTY IN HELL BUT YOU WILL BE THE BARBEQUE
DON'T GIVE UP! MOSES WAS ONCE A BASKET CASE!
IF GOD HAD A REFRIGERATOR, YOUR PICTURE WOULD BE ON IT
I wonder how effective these communications are? I suppose that, realistically, they are not aimed at persuading pagans like me to pop in and pray. Their main purpose, I'd say, is clearly to prevent back-sliding, and to boost Sunday attendance figures by pulling in a few lapsed users, as we say in the business. And perhaps, if that is the goal, the better ones may do a decent job.
Incidentally, for me, the last line quoted above is by some distance the best. As it happens, I find the idea of a personal god, who watches over me and helps me achieve worldly success if I pray hard enough, bizarre and distasteful. But, if the intended reader is a believer who knows he hasn't been a good boy lately, I think the image of god as a loving parent, saddened perhaps by his offspring's misdemeanours but ready to forgive, is a powerful one.
Minding our mannerisms
All writers have mannerisms; little verbal tricks and tics that may seem engaging when we first encounter them, but tend to grow wearisome with over-familiarity.
I'm no exception. One of mine is a tendency to over-use brackets (I swear I'm trying to cut down). Another is littering my writing with phrases like "as you've read", or "as we mentioned earlier".
I know it must be annoying. I'm aware, too, that the obvious response to "as we mentioned earlier", is "then why tell me again?". So it's definitely a bad habit, and I need to keep an eye on it. But, at the same time, I think there is a sense in which it's a "good bad habit" for a persuasive writer to have.
Let me explain. When I write - and in conversation too, actually - I have a dread of boring the other person. I hate the idea that I'm telling them something that they already know, or that has no interest or relevance for them. So when I write "as you know" or "as we mentioned earlier", I'm trying to pre-empt this terrible possibility - and, in doing so, I'm acknowledging the reader's presence and showing recognition of the fact that her agenda may not be the same as mine.
A really bad writer would never think to do this. He'd just drone on, ticking off the points he'd planned to make, without the slightest concern about how they might strike his reader, or whether he was repeating himself.
But OK, I admit, it's still a bad habit which I need to keep in check. (As I think I may have mentioned earlier.)
Some thoughts on the language of the Oldest Profession
I'm always amused by the media's use of the phrase "high class prostitute". It brings to mind that anecdote about Winston Churchill asking a respectable female acquaintance whether she would spend the night with a male stranger in return for a million pounds. Well, yes, she conceded, for such an enormous sum, she would certainly give it serious consideration. In that case, went on the Greatest Ever Briton, would she do it for a fiver? "Certainly not," the outraged lady replied. "What do you think I am?" To which Churchill responded, "We've already established what you are. Now we're just haggling over your price."
A high class prostitute means one who charges high prices, nothing more, nothing less.
For slightly different reasons, I also trip over that fairly recent coinage, "sex worker". Of course, you can see the intention here: old fashioned words like tart, hooker, trollop and so on have an undeniably judgemental, moralistic tone about them - which, understandably, those who make their living by selling sexual services feel uncomfortable with.
Usually, I take the view that if members of a minority group want to be referred to in a particular way, it's simple courtesy for the rest of us to respect their wishes. But, in this case, I find the approved term makes a demand on me that I don't feel entirely happy to meet. What "sex worker" asks of me is to accept that making a living by selling sex is just a job like any other - no different from driving a taxi, training as a tree surgeon or working in Top Shop.
And actually, I don't accept this. I don't think I'm exceptionally prudish; and I'm certainly willing to believe that the vast majority of people who work as prostitutes deserve our sympathy (and, if they want it, our help and support), rather than our condemnation. But would I feel happy if my recently graduated daughter came home and announced that she'd decided on a career in sex work? Well, no, I rather decidedly wouldn't (though I would console myself with the thought that at least she'd managed to steer clear of estate agency).
When we use words that carry an agenda like this, we're hoping that they will persuade others to agree us. But if we misjudge it, they can just as easily have the opposite effect.
As good as it gets?
Normally, I rant and scold, but sometimes you see something so punishingly bad that it hardly seems worth the effort. Throwing your apron over your head and having a good old chuckle seems the only appropriate reaction.
A case in point? The ads that have recently appeared on bus shelters all over Bristol, showing a group of (male) Big Brother housemate-types out on the very depressing looking razzle, under the following headline:
LADS' NIGHT OUT/AMAZING WAITRESS SERVING YOU DRINKS ALL NIGHT LONG/MATES TOGETHER/XYZ CIDER OVER ICE . . . AS GOOD AS IT GETS.
Actually, it looks like the kind of evening when someone is almost certainly going to end up in hospital and/or police custody, so the poverty of an imaganation which really couldn't conjure up anything better doesn't bear thinking about. But the unintended comedy is too life-enhancing to quibble over. I think we should just stand back in awe and enjoy the moment - though obviously not as much as our hair-gelled young friends experiencing the very best that life has to offer.
