Long story short: Just because you have a captive audience, doesn’t mean that all of them will respond to the same messaging. One road, different journeys, different customers, different pain points.
When we were kids we lived not exactly at the end of a dirt road, but just before it decided it would rather be a squiggly, rutted thing that tapered to nothing. Naturally, we referred to it as the end of the road.
In the other direction – back to civilisation – the road swept downhill, punctuated by the occasional whoosh when on your bicycle. The gravel was loose so you had to be careful with the brakes. Not so much on the way back.
In the afternoon, once we’d climbed out the bus (Thank you, Mrs De Beer) in a carefully designed turn-circle cut into the hill at 45°, untangled our bikes from where we’d thrown them in a pile at the rear of Jock’s Store next to the big bags of animal feed, wheeled them past the counter with its glass-fronted cubicles filled with Zulu mottoes and two-for-a-cent Chappies (Thank you, Mr Santana), only then would we start the long trek home, pushing said bike.
The first bit was as steep as Everest on one of its bad days. KZN summer. In other words, stinking hot. The tar shimmered.
Did I mention that this was the outer reaches of civilisation? Yes, the tar stopped at the beginning of our road.
I once fell there, where the gravel met the tar with a bit of a ridge, off my brown gingham wedges onto my face, my hands clasped behind me holding my toddler brother on my back. The scar is there to this day.
So, where was I?
Hot.
So hot.
Dusty.
Thirsty.
Uphill.
Mad savage dog behind the diamond wire fence to the left, tall grass veld to the right. No trees, no shade.
Halfway up, the road did a dog-leg, very sharp. A little copse of 3 or 4 houses clung to the bend.
Once I had to dodge behind a tall cactus on that corner when Mrs Varty’s crazed horse gathered speed and charged passed, making a break for freedom.
Eventually, inevitably, we’d get to that half-way mark – neither up nor down – and I’d wonder why, when there was so much space, the houses huddled here. The one had put big rocks on its verge. Never knew who lived there. Never saw anyone enter or leave. Big gates. Long drive. Couldn’t see the house from the road or even from behind the cactus.
But my father knew.
Because, at regular intervals, he’d take that bend a little too wildly, and land his sump on those rocks.
Long story short: Just because you have a captive audience, doesn’t mean they’ll respond to the same messaging. One road, different customers, different pain points.
That’s why market segmentation works.
Bottom Line
Just throwing a brand story out there and hoping it’ll stick is no way to spend a marketing budget – even if your target market is directly in your line of fire. When your audience gets your brand story, they’ll share it — and there’s no marketing as strong as word of mouth. So, tell your brand story in ways that resonate with sub-groups within your audience. The more the merrier, right? Same brand story, told differently for different listeners. Try it.
Read other stories about road trips, gaslighting & other marketing tips.