Don't get cute
Watching the detectives. Don’t get cute. (Elvis Costello)
Advising the advisers. I’ve inadvertently carved out a niche doing this. Several of my clients - a significant several - have been in the advice business.
Should I be surprised? My ideal clients are b2b or service businesses. If you are both of those things, a b2b service business, your peer group includes a lot of consultancies, accountants, and law firms. The niche feels inadvertent but it was probably inevitable.
Breaking the ice is tricky when you’re advising the advisers. The advisers I’ve advised have all been very good at what they do. My clients’ clients are lucky bunnies. And good advisers have deep convictions about advice done well and advice done badly. They are wary, rightly wary, borderline cynical, about taking advice from someone they don’t know. And they make no attempt to hide it. It’s not unfriendly, but the not-easily-impressed vibe is palpable.
Advising the advisers. Don’t get cute. (Phil Adams)
These have been some of my favourite gigs.
In every case I’ve been doubly blessed. I’ve been paid to advise. But I’ve also learned some things about the advice trade in the process.
Here are some observations from advising advisers who are good at advising. How do I know they’re good? Because their clients - my clients’ clients - told me. I always speak to my clients’ clients. On these projects, my clients’ clients had all worked with a range of advisory firms. So they had well-informed opinions on what makes for both good and bad advisory practices.
Four of these observations are about tradecraft; professional attributes that my advisory clients have in common, even though they give advice on different subjects to clients in different situations. The fifth observation is just this uncanny thing that has happened every time.
Good advice is the last thing that good advisers do. The first thing that good advisers do is make sure that they have a well-defined problem to advise on. Understanding, defining, and reframing problems is the essential skill of an adviser. In the advice game, that maxim of, “Don’t bring me problems; bring me solutions,” misses the point. You can’t do the latter until you’ve properly done the former.
Good advice is pragmatic advice. There should be a short, straight line between the adviser’s thinking and the client’s doing. An adviser’s client should know exactly what to do with the advice they are given. This should be self-evident, but I’ve seen plenty of so-called strategy presentations leave their audiences none the wiser on implementation.
Good advisers are good interpreters. They know how to explain complicated concepts with precisely the right level of simplicity. That doesn’t mean as simply as possible. It means as simply as appropriate. Oversimplification can be as unhelpful as overcomplication. One of my clients has a standard interview technique for graduates. They have to explain their Masters dissertation subject to a layperson. It’s an acid test of their ability to communicate a technical subject with clarity. And it's an acid test of their ability to put themselves in the shoes of an uninitiated audience.
Good advisers have journalistic instincts. They are direct and they get to the point. Their presentations are punchy. They don’t laboriously meander to their recommendations. They talk turkey on Slide 1, then provide the necessary amount of justification, and no more. They don’t get cute.
Thing five; the uncanny thing that happens every time. There’s always someone on the client team who is particularly cynical, even by an adviser’s standards, about the work I’ve been hired to do. They think that brand advice is fluff, bluster, and puffery. They think like that because they remember the last brand strategy process; the one that everyone felt was done to them rather than with them or for them. And they assume this will be a similar waste of time, money, and nervous energy. They start by assuming the worst of me. This person is always senior and influential. The sponsor of the project knows that they need to be kept onside, so I always get to interview them.
Every time, this person ends up being the one I most want to win over. They’re cynical because they’re protective. They’ve been with the firm a long time and they see themselves as guardian of its soul. They are the Jiminy Cricket, the conscience, of the firm. And they’ll call bullshit on any brand recommendation that offends their sensibilities.
The good thing about these people is that they are brutally, almost comically, honest. You know exactly where you stand. And they give you fabulous insights into the culture and ethos of the firm. They’re also fair. They’re prepared to take as good as they give. They’re not easily impressed but they are open-minded. You can bring them round as long as you get the brand right and don’t try to be cute.
When I’m advising the advisers I write my recommendations imagining this Jiminy Cricket character on my shoulder. On a couple of occasions, writing for this audience of one has made the difference between good and great (in my humble opinion).
Jiminy Cricket is usually in the room when I present my recommendations. I’m watching them like a hawk to gauge their reaction. They don’t say much, if anything, in these meetings. But they do signal. It might be a subtle nod. It might be the hint of a smile. It might be an approving tilt of the head that they make sure I’ve seen. It’s always lovely. It’s insanely gratifying. It’s almost cute.
Hey, look at that cute subscribe button.