Last week I was fortunate enough to hear a talk by CBC president Hubert Lacroix on the future of the public broadcaster. Unsurprisingly, much of the discussion was focused on digital platforms and social media, and how this has changed how we interact with each other.
To crudely paraphrase Mr. Lacroix, if you sat down beside a stranger at Starbucks and asked to see their baby photos, or questioned what they got up to Friday night, they’re likely to look at you funny and tell you to get lost. But once we hop onto Facebook, that type of behaviour is normalized.
One thing I love about Twitter is that such interaction with people you’ve never met is not only perfectly acceptable, it’s encouraged. For me, engaging those you don’t already know is what makes Twitter fascinating.
I was recently invited to participate in an installment of the National Post’s Culture Club. Described as a “Boy George-free effort to bring the water cooler experience online,” the project gathers arts and entertainment critics to discuss topical cultural issues.
In a bid to encourage debate about art and ethics, OCAD recently invited artist Adel Abdessemed to speak to students and exhibit his controversial work. The National Post discussion picked up on this, asking us a simple question without a simple answer: When does art cross the line?
If you’re looking for a creative way to build your email list, you might want to give download cards a try.
A while back I was having a coffee at my neighbourhood corpobucks, where they always have a stack of these iTunes download cards, which offer a free “song of the day.”
After giving it a whirl and downloading a track, I immediately had two thoughts:
These cards could be a great opportunity to have people opt-in to an email marketing campaign.
I can do so much better than one lonesome song.
So I started contacting reps for every artist performing at this year’s Saskatchewan Jazz Festival. Before long I had nearly 30 artists who freely gave permission for one of their songs to be used on a download card to promote the festival.
With 4.5 million views and counting, the Pink Glove Dance is the result of a idea simple enough — and fun enough — that even busy hospital staff could take part in the project. And if they can do it, you can do it.
My ambivalence about the Pink Ribbon industry notwithstanding, the video works. It works not because it’s particularly brilliant, or features inspired cinematography. The Pink Glove Dance works because it’s authentic and it makes us smile.
On top of its stated goal of raising breast cancer awareness, the video is a great marketing piece for the hospital, the Providence St. Vincent Medical Center. The video gives us a behind-the-scenes tour of the facility, and the images of cleaning staff, cooks, lab techs and receptionists getting their groove on reminds us that health care relies upon far more than than doctors and nurses.
Now if a serious, bureaucratic hospital can put together a silly video drawing attention to their cause, so can you. Grab a camera, brainstorm an idea or two, and start rolling!
YouTube is chock full of spoof ads, most of them awful. This morning I watched one that was surprisingly well made, if not particularly clever. The ad was a Toronto Maple Leafs-themed spoof on another Hogtown creation, the award-winning Dove Evolution video that drew attention to the deceptive beauty of the fashion industry.
Around the same time I was catching up on the Ralph Lauren photoshop scandal — what a sick yet well-deserved mess that has become. My morning browsing eventually got me thinking: how am I lying to my audience?
Now, I don’t believe I’ve pumped plus-sized shams out of my MacBook. But let’s not deceive ourselves. Even in the nonprofit world, we are susceptible to acts of exaggeration.
So join me and take this opportunity to review your marketing materials and see what information might be a tad doctored, touched up, or based on truthiness. I hope you’re not telling any whoppers, but don’t be surprised to discover inflated statistics, overstated challenges, or a touch of hyperbole.
