Miss Management: intimate marketing and auto erraticism, or the cry of the consumer

November 17, 2011 | Galynn Nordstrom

Last July (From IQ to HQ®), I had learned about DervalResearch’s “neuromarketing,” which combines cutting-edge neuroscience with marketing research. Prof. Derval’s findings also target hormonal influences on the other senses: vision, taste, smell, hearing and proprioception (the ability to sense our own movement and position). “We can identify the gender polymorphism, or what we call the Hormonal Quotient® (HQ), of an individual based on the gender, ethnicity and different biomarkers, including the digit ratio—the relative length of the index and ring fingers of the right hand,” she says.

At the time, that seemed to be taking targeted marketing a bit too far, especially if you’re in the position of shaking hands a lot. Yesterday, I thought it had gone way too far, when I saw a headline about a new marketing book that read: “New book reveals ‘Kama Sutra’ concepts for marketing in novel form.” (And they’re complaining about airport scanners? I thought to myself. I’ve really got to get more involved with safety and protective fabrics.) It turns out, however, that the book “Intimate Marketing” is actually about how businesses have lost “the human touch” in marketing, sales and customer service, even as social media marketing makes customers easier to identify and contact.

I’ve had my own experiences with that human touch recently. My beloved 1995 Saturn SL2 is having transmission difficulties, after 16 years of stalwart service. I have toyed with the idea of cryomobilics (or whatever the automotive equivalent of cryogenics would be called), wondering if I could have the car frozen until its transmission could heal itself. After all, Saturn is no more. In a few years, the car could be worth millions, even with that scrape on the rear bumper. Right now, however, I have been visiting local auto dealerships to find a replacement that doesn’t completely outrage my rigorous sense of fiscal responsibility, and the differences in salesmanship have been marked.

Perhaps, as a woman consumed by the desire to own a new car before we’re knee-deep in snow, I have stalked into these showrooms and somehow managed to give the impression instead of a woman given to spending her lunch hours simply gazing dreamily at all the shiny new colors. It isn’t that the salespeople ignored me, but while they were certainly willing to show me cars, none of them really made an attempt to close a sale, and not one of them followed up with me after my initial visit to see if I had questions or was interested in a special they had coming up in a few weeks. They all good-naturedly tolerated my attachment to my Saturn, but seemed to regard it as a female thing, not as a loyal-Saturn-owner-seeking-a-new-dealer thing. Remember how Saturn started out as a “new kind of car company,” with no haggling, balloons and cheers when you drove your car off the lot, doughnuts in the service center, annual picnics, and special handshakes for owners? Why aren’t other automotive manufacturers trying to capture the allegiance of all these grieving Saturn owners as their cars get older and can’t be replaced?

Next week: The final dealer. Will the cry of the consumer be heard?

—Galynn Nordstrom, senior editor, Specialty Fabrics Review magazine

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