Curated experiences
In Paris for UN work earlier this week, I indulged in several of my favourite vices. One was visiting Shakespeare & Co, the iconic English language bookstore in the Latin Quarter, where I had stumbled on a profound lesson in strategy.
There, I discovered Fitzcarraldo Editions, a small London-based publisher I'd never encountered before. What caught my eye was their distinctive aesthetic: their Yves Klein blue-on-white covers for non-fiction, white-on-blue for fiction. The high-quality paper and thoughtful design made each book a tactile pleasure.
But it was the content that truly captivated me. I first picked up a memoir by Annie Ernaux, who had just won the Nobel Prize. Impressed, I returned for more of their titles. I soon learned that Fitzcarraldo, despite being only a decade old and publishing just 22 books annually, had produced four Nobel Prize winners.
Their founder, Jacques Testard, has a very deliberate strategy. And, it’s NOT to win Nobel Prizes. That’s a by-product of their strategy. In fact, Testard says his taste just happens to align with “a bunch of older bourgeois Swedish people” who decide the Nobel each year.
What I want to point out is that Fitzcarraldo is a perfect case of a curated experience.
When you pick up one of their books, they all have the same tactile experience. And the writing? Inventive, yet accessible. Penetrating and profound, and packed densely - there’s no filler here.
And, it’s that curated experience is what some of the best organisations offer. It’s different to a replicated experience (like a fast food franchise or a public transport system). It takes inherent variability as an asset and asks, “What are the essential ingredients that make us distinctive, and how do we apply them across these different contexts?”
You see this strategy in curated hotels like Four Seasons and Como, but not in replicated hotels like Holiday Inns and Quest apartments. You see it in curated record labels like ECM and Factory that present different artists and even genres, but there’s a common DNA to the production and packaging. And, even the skincare brand Aesop sells the same products in ‘curated’ shops that are each unique, but with a common set of outstanding aesthetic principles.
Question: What aspects of your service offerings should you think of as curated experiences?
Wonder
The author I bought this year at Shakespeare & Co was Emmanuel Carrere.
In his memoir “Yoga” he quotes the pianist Glenn Gould who said, “The purpose of art is not the momentary ejection of adrenalin but is, rather, the gradual, lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity”. He follows that with this, from Pythagoras, who when asked, “Why are we on earth?” replied, “To observe the heavens”.
Carrere contrasts this with the motivations that consumer most people: “To find love, get rich, wield power, promote growth or otherwise leave their mark on the sands of time”
Yes, various combinations of those have driven me (and do).
But, I’m also here to experience wonder.
Carrere talks of a Swiss village which was his magical place to experience this, with its ‘top of the world’ views and deep serenity. He’d been there dozens of times over 30 years.
I looked it up on Google Maps. And guess what? It’s an hour from where I am writing this. I think that’s my little road trip for Saturday. Not because I’m seeking a place to place a spell on me, but because I’ll associate into what Carrere describes so well, and try to capture just a small sliver of it.
I’ll report back.
Question: How can you detach yourself from an achievement focus, and replace it, even temporarily, with one of wonder and curiosity?
Bidding war
Yesterday morning, 8.00am. A Geneva cafe, and I’m finishing up breakfast and coffee. I’m not overly familiar with the city and, needing to get to my 9am meeting, I thought I’d do what I do in any other city: summon an Uber.
Within minutes, I get a car, a Lexus. The fare is CHF18 (about AUD$30). For an 8 minute ride. Yes, I know, everything in Switzerland is expensive. But it’s about to get more so.
The app pings, and I notice the Lexus is gone, and now there’s an Audi. The message is, “Your fare has increased. Press accept to continue”. It’s now CHF19, so without thinking, I press accept.
Then it happens again a minute later. CHF23. Accept. Then again two minutes later. CHF30. A Hyundai. Hmmm. Decline. CHF25. A BMW. Accept.
But now I’m getting anxious I won’t get to my meeting on time. Because I know what’s going to happen in less than a minute.
Another fare increase. CHF36. No, dammit. Decline. CHF40. OK, that’s it, I’ve had enough, even if it is an S-Class Mercedes they’re offering. Decline. And, exit the app.
Now, it’s 8.25.
Google Maps to the rescue - which tells me that all I need to do is take a #19 electric bus. It’ll be a 16 minute trip. Arriving 250m away in 5 minutes. Do the maths.
Yes, I made it, and I was the first in the room at 9.01am. My clients arrived at 9.03am and, in very Swiss fashion, apologised profusely for being late and holding me up. I just smiled graciously.
When I told them of my trial, they laughed and said, “We all catch the bus”. And it’s true. Public transport in Geneva - and other cities like it — is truly marvellous. Between today and my days in Paris, I calculated I’d used almost eight forms of public transport: planes, Ubers, metro, e-bikes, trams, buses. From the lowest tech (a small boat across Lake Geneva) to the highest (the wonderful 300km/h French TGV train that took me from Paris to Geneva in 3 hours). And, the lowest tech of all, just walking. Both cities are beautiful, especially in summer, to just saunter around.
But it got me thinking about building appropriateness and choice. Uber doesn’t work here, and it’s no problem because I have choices. But if Uber doesn’t work in Melbourne, say on a trip to the airport, I have NO other options.
Question: How do you build appropriateness and choice for your customers?
I’m back on Australian soil next week, so I’ll look forward to being with you again next Friday. Until then, soak up feelings of wonder - and avoid people who pull you into an escalation of some sort, especially when there’s an alternative to it.
Andrew
Wonder... such a wondrous word. I wonder if the antithesis of wonder is perhaps doubt, or cynicism