Take the Jump | Part 3
Who wouldn’t want their truck to be their best friend?
The Ford pitch had arrived along with the next 9 am meeting. The board oom had been cleaned up, but somehow felt even more sad. Something about fluorescent lights and overly polished furniture in a high-stress environment feels especially jarring in the warm morning sun. Gordon’s assistant had set out fancy water bottles and a plate of cookies, but nothing had been touched.
The Ford team sat in a row of almost matching suits. Chris, a man whose light blue tie had sat in on all his HR conversations. Martin, who seemed like he didn’t want to be there. Arnold, whose too strict posture made it clear that he’d be the first to not get it. Two assistants on either end.
Across from them, Joel was wearing a dark blue suit. Eli was in a slightly cheaper-looking dark blue suit. Marie was in a black skirt suit that she would regret the moment she stepped into the room. Gordon, at the head of the table, was playing his best Managing Director.
On the screen: a person at a cliff’s edge. You know the one.
“Ford, as all you gentlemen are well aware, sells quality vehicles,” Joel began. It sounded really hollow in a room where this would never be a disputed fact. They were wasting time, and losing this pitch already.
“Right, and when we ask consumers to buy into electric,” Eli said, joining Joel at the front, “we know we’re asking them to take a leap into the unknown.”
CLICK. Their slide deck progresses forward, revealing the lightning with its chrome details and cute little electric-bolt flounces.
“EV purchases are accelerating among men thirty-five to fifty,” Eli said, and the slide produced a graph that was real in the same way unicorns or Santa are real.
“Which opens a lane for Ford to enter as the calm, cool big brother,” Joel added. He didn’t glance back at the cliff like he did last night. He could feel the cliff looking at him.
“How do we sell the excitement of electric to a consumer who doesn’t trust advertising? Doesn’t really trust anybody?” Eli asked. He gestured an open palm toward the screen like that old guy in Jurassic Park.
Another CLICK. A video this time. A road curling through the mountains, yellow leaves falling gracefully, and a gray-haired driver. Georgia’s wrinkles had been abandoned for stock footage of a real old man. Definitely a good call.
“We acknowledge their fear,” Eli said, “and invite them to jump anyway.”
The team paused for dramatic effect, it was awkward. CLICK. Text faded in: #TakeTheJump.
“This is more than a campaign, it’s a rallying cry.” Marie moved forward. “It’s inspiration for every day. We create a narrative where Ford isn’t just a truck, but a friend among friends.”
“Who wouldn’t want their truck to be their best friend?” added Joel, but he probably should have held that back.
CLICK. A ‘Thank you’ slide. The room was quiet. Out of mostly politeness. Arnold looked confused. It was very on brand.
“I’m not sure I get it,” Martin stated plainly. “Is it a marketing campaign about suicide?”
That’s when it was over. Whatever they responded with from this point wouldn;t matter. The Ford team eventually rose from their chairs, murmuring of a follow-up call, but everyone knew the pleasantries were hollow. If they didn’t grab a cookie on the way out, it was always a bad sign, and all of those damn cookies were untouched.
If you’re new here, I write a monthly serialized novel called Everything is Advertising, about a burned-out Creative Director and his cynical team that accidentally create QAnon through a viral marketing campaign. If you like that kind of thing, you can start at Part One and catch up from there.
Every Monday, Above the Fold breaks down what’s running in advertising, what’s landing, and what’s a total disaster.
Every Friday, The Business of Advertising shares lessons from over a decade working on the front lines of advertising.
Photo Credit: Billy Pasco
Onto part 4.