I recently purchased a violin. Because finding a violin can be a subjective process, the experience helped to surface a number of interesting ideas relating to the marketing and selling of really any type of product or service.
Upon walking into a violin shop and announcing that I wished to purchase an instrument, I was inevitably asked what kind of "sound" I liked. This question posed something of a challenge to me, as I have only been playing for about nine months, and the best answer I could come up with was, "uh, a good sound?" Needless, to say, this wasn't the right answer. This is because, despite a form that has been fixed for about three hundred years, there is great variation in instruments. The process of actually finding the right instrument is largely the process of determining which one of these individualistic instruments is the best fit for the individualistic player. As a result, finding a fiddle entails playing many, many instruments until you find the one you like. An instrument's tone obviously matters a great deal. But, because I'm a novice, I noticed a number of other factors slipped into my head and colored my opinion of a particular fiddle. It is these factors that I think easily carry beyond the music world and into the marketing of nearly anything.
Every instrument has a story. Some, however, are better than others. Which do you find more compelling? A factory-built instrument from China? Or a fiddle made by a former member of the Velvet Underground who is now making violins?
I, for one, am a sucker for a good story. While I didn't buy either of the instruments I mentioned just now, I won't deny that the story did influence the fiddle I ultimately bought. When it was down to two, I picked an instrument made by a local luthier (violin maker) in the 1960s over an anonymous German instrument from the same period.
The story matters. It could be the story of the object itself, or it could be the story of how we feel when we associate ourselves with the object. Witness the rise of green/organic/shade grown/fair trade products. These tell a great story about how earth- and people-friendly they are, and, as a consequence, many people want to associate themselves with this story. Telling the right story about a product isn't easy, but when it hits, it can really help.
While this observations seems obvious, remember that as I played through dozens of instruments searching for the "one", I was trying desperately to tell the difference in sound between each one. And yet, when I picked up one labeled $900 (a cheap violin) and compared it to one at twice the price, I was hard pressed to say whether the first violin actually sounded worse, or if I just thought it sounded worse because it was the cheaper of the two instruments. My mind probably was playing tricks on me. I confirmed my suspicions when I noticed that I found it much harder to evaluate instruments that lack price tags. Removing that data point forced me to focus on sound quality alone, which was, as I have mentioned, not a strong point of mine.
I can take some consolation in knowing that, by shopping at a reputable dealer, there is probably some quality judgment at play when he prices the instruments. Because I trusted the dealer's knowledge and honesty, I could safely assume that there was a quality difference between a $900 instrument and a $1800 instrument. Of course, the closer two instruments are in price, the less this factor comes into play, and the more I was back to evaluating the sound and story.
An object's price tells a story about the object. Assuming you're not selling a commodity, the trick is to price an item high enough to impart an impression of quality, yet not too high that the item is obviously overpriced. Price too low and you're effectively saying that your item is of lower quality. These principles drive the marketing of a whole host of prestige products, from $4 cups of coffee to luxury cars.
I freely admit that I am swayed by aesthetics, and the violin purchasing experience showed this bias.
The form of a violin is fairly constrained (unless you move into the realm of electric violins, where all manner of weird shapes can be found), so small variations can provide a big impact. The wood used for the instrument can swing a fiddle from dull to dramatic. A number of people have commented on the beautiful back of the instrument I eventually purchased. The varnish can make the violin pop or not, and they can dramatically range in color.
But perhaps the most interest aesthetic factor is wear. Most violins, at least most of the violins that I was considering, were not new. They showed some wear from years of use. Rather than detracting (see: run-down used car), the usage actually improved the look of an instrument. This effect could be driven by having 300-year old instruments, which obviously show wear, as ideals for what a violin should be. Years of playing give instruments a patina as parts fade and scratch. This look is prized to the extent that some makers of new violins intentionally distress instruments to make them look old. This is not done to deceive (for the labels clearly identify the instruments as being new), but rather because many people want instruments that look old.
I've seen the term "beausage" ("beauty" + "usage") used to describe the phenomenon where objects look better with wear than they do new. Leather jacket and jeans (which are often intentionally distressed as well) seem to be canonical examples of beausage, and I think violins can easily be added to the list. According to the man who coined the term, Grant Petersen, "real materials develop beausage, and synthetics look like old junk" The more "real" a violin is, the more prized.
A good many violins, especially in the lower end of the market, are made in factories. While humans did work on these factory-made instruments, it is different from the image of a craftsman creating a violin by hand in his workshop. As I evaluated dozens of instruments, I began to notice (after, of course, I was clued-in by someone more knowledge than I) some tell-tale differences between a factory-made violin and a handmade one. Factory instruments are smooth, whereas the handmade ones show tool marks (albeit often very, very subtle). Whereas some might see tool marks as flaws, I think they actually give the instrument character, and, ultimately, more "reality." In a society where few objects we use are made by hand, those traits help make objects stand apart.
Lest you think that all wear and tear improves a violin, I did come across one example where usage didn't lead to beauty. The instrument in question sounded great, and had a interesting backstory, but the aesthetics put it instantly out of the running. The violin had been repaired by a fairly famous luthier who claimed to have received his varnish resin from Stradivarius himself, by way of a dream. But, a previous owner had seen fit to carve his initials into both the top and bottom of the fiddle. And not in a pretty way, either. Needless to say, I passed on this one.
Clearly, the way an object is created, packaged, and wears over time has a big impact on its value. The key, I think, is authenticity. Authentic products will capture people's attention more than synthetic ones, and then stand the test of time.
I've already mentioned that a big part of finding a violin is playing dozens of them. One curious aspect of this is that violin shops will let, and actively encourage, you to take one or two instruments home to evaluate. The idea is that you should play the instrument in situations where you normally play—home, school, church, theater, and so forth. While a part of me always marveled that any business would let a potential customer walk out the door with thousands of dollars worth of merchandize (and with little to secure it beyond a name and address), I must admit that it is a brilliant sales technique.
Ever been to a Krispy Kreme donut shop? When they're making donuts, they hand you a fresh one before you place your order. With this hot, sweet pastry melting in your mouth, you can't help but order a dozen. Recent financial difficulties notwithstanding, I'm sure that Krispy Kreme more than makes up for the cost of the freebies in increased sales.
This technique has been around in the software world for years now. Most programs have downloadable demos, and some let you run the complete program for a number of days before deciding to pay or not (this used to be called "shareware", although I rarely hear the term anymore). For organizations (say, a church or a non-profit) looking to add members, the key is offering people the a low barrier to entry. Let folks try things on for size before hitting them up for a commitment.
I took home five different instruments from two different violin shops. I was able to run through my entire practice routine on each instrument, and do side-by-side comparisons. I even had my violin teacher do a "blind" test, where she played and I listened. I would have been hard pressed to make a decision, by myself, in the violin shop. Letting me try the instruments over a week really helped clarify my decision.
In short, I found the entire experience, even the confusing and frustrating parts, fascinating. It isn't every day that I get to go through this type of intensive purchasing process, and I likely won't need to do it again in this realm for years to come. Part of the fun was examining the process itself, and the various forces that played on me as I moved through it. Next time you are in the processing of buying something interesting or complex, take a few minutes to step back and analyze the factors that go into your decision. You might be surprised!
Posted by Karl
June 4, 2006 02:47 PM