If things had gone as planned, you’d be about to read a recap of some interesting comments from former P&G CEO A.G. Lafley. Lafley was the featured speaker in a panel discussion at the Shopper Insights In Action conference in Chicago last month and he was entertaining and engaging. Though the timing was tight with the production of this issue of the magazine, I was excited to be able to bring you my report on his appearance.
But after I had sent my column to production, I was catching up on some e-mails and found two notes that I somehow missed from the conference organizers that were sent while I was attending the event. Both were issued late in the day before Lafley was due to speak. The first informed me that his appearance would be closed to all press and media and be completely off the record. The second, sent a few hours later, told me I wouldn’t be granted access to his presentation.
Hmm…I could’ve sworn I was there. But I guess I wasn’t.
Our production schedule didn’t allow me time to send Lafley a copy of my proposed column to see if he was comfortable with my take on his comments - perhaps I can do that down the road and run the article in a later issue. And there wasn’t time to get the full explanation from the conference organizers. So, out of respect for the dictates in the e-mails, I withheld my column.
Massive disconnect
I’m not here to assign blame to Lafley or the conference organizers.The event was otherwise stellar. But there a massive disconnect here.
I, as a member of the press, was not supposed to attend, yet I saw several tweets from audience members during and after Lafley’s talk relaying his comments. In addition, each conference room at the event had a for-bloggers-only workspace table.
Prior to the start of the session involving Lafley, I heard no warnings from the dais forbidding audience members from tweeting or blogging about the proceedings. Why, pray tell, are the bloggers and tweeters still allowed to do their thing but I am not?
Since we’re all supposedly citizen journalists these days, is that the next step? No blogging, no tweeting, no typing, no nothing? If so, what comes after that? “Please forget everything you are about to hear!”
Related to this incident, I’m always puzzled by presenters who speak in front of industry gatherings - the largest of which usually draw several hundred attendees - and then ask (or, in some cases chide, as one speaker in Chicago did) audience members to not record or take photos of any of the accompanying presentation materials.
My question is, if you’re not comfortable talking about the research you’ve conducted, or if your company’s legal department has severely cramped your style, why are you here? Why not just stay home and let someone else who has the freedom to say more command our attention?
As a member of the press, I’m not on the hook for conference fees. Still, as an advocate for our readers - the people who do have to pay to attend - I always try to take in the sessions from a consumer’s standpoint. Did that researcher’s talk live up to its billing? Was the title a misnomer? Did I learn anything valuable?
When I sit through a talk that was clearly vetted (to death) by a PR or legal department, I feel badly for the folks in the crowd, who’ve invested their time and their travel budget to be there.
To my mind, the best presentations aren’t the ones packed with facts and figures - the type of information that lawyers and gatekeepers seem most concerned about keeping hidden. They’re the ones where the speaker tells a good story, with a dash of candor, about how marketing research has added value to their organization.
After all, the willingness of its members to share with their colleagues is one of the many things I love about this industry. That sharing is basically the whole reason Quirk’s was founded and what has allowed it to flourish for nearly 25 years. In my decades as editor here, I’ve always tried to use these pages as a vehicle for knowledge exchange. And I’ve been exceedingly fortunate that there are so many good researchers who also happen to be good writers to boot.
This energetic, collegial spirit, the very manifestation of the idea that a rising tide lifts all boats, is a quality that keeps this industry fascinating and vibrant and lays waste to the stereotype of researchers as meek, number-crunching drones.
Don’t get me wrong - I completely understand that marketing research is about gathering proprietary information that could be used by competitors. I get the need for secrecy and discretion. (Though I would argue that, short of the formulas for Coke or Google’s algorithms, there aren’t too many trade secrets worth protecting like gold. There’s not much new under the sun.) And I sympathize with well-meaning researchers who have a great story to tell, if only the folks in legal would let them.
But that ability to share, to pass along what worked and what didn’t, how you finally got your company to sit up and take notice of your research findings, how you were able to crack that nut, get that product launched or elicit a round of ahas in the back room - that’s the truly valuable information. And I hope the day doesn’t come when the fear of legal departments or the threat of trial-by-Twitter wrought by our 24/7 media consumption puts a damper on our industry’s willingness and ability to openly convene and communicate.