Category: Business


Apple has responded to these concerns in a hilariously inept open letter.  I’ve added a few paragraphs to the end of the post to discuss this.

I can say these with complete confidence as I type this on my MacBook Pro, while listening to music on iTunes and waiting for my brand new iPhone 4 to arrive in the mail: In the last year, Apple has laid the groundwork for its own downfall.

The old and new Tylenol bottles.

Crisis = Opportunity

In 1982, someone tampered with a number of bottles of Tylenol while they were on store shelves, adding small amounts of cyanide to the medicine.  As a result, seven people were killed—including 3 members of one family.  In response, Johnson & Johnson (the makers of Tylenol) acted immediately—they performed one of the largest product recalls in history, voluntarily reclaiming and destroying 31 million Tylenol capsules, at a cost to the company of over $100 million.  Johnson & Johnson then re-debuted their product with tamper-proof packaging, a practice which is now standard in the industry.

Despite the $100 million price tag, the Tylenol recall is today considered to be one of the finest examples of corporate crisis management in American history.  Tylenol sales immediately bounced back up to pre-crisis levels.  Suddenly Tylenol, which days before had been a poster-child for corporate negligence, was leading the way in consumer safety—and taking action which other players in that industry had to scramble to catch up with.  It is generally accepted that consumer confidence in the Tylenol brand was actually higher after the deaths took place than before.

Fast forward to the launch of the iPhone 4.  Just a few hours after the first purchasers got their phones home, users discovered a serious design flaw—when the phone was held in such a way that the holder’s palm bridged the gap between the two metal antenna panels on the bottom left corner of the phone (as is generally considered the only way to hold the phone), the antenna short-circuits and the phone loses reception.

This is a corporate crisis.  And like every corporate crisis, it is also an opportunity.  The question is, how is Apple going to handle it?

Well, it wasn’t long before Steve Jobs gave us our answer:

It’s not a big issue.

You are in a marginal cell area. It has nothing to do with the phone.

Just avoid holding it in that way.

Gripping any mobile phone will result in some attenuation of its antenna performance, with certain places being worse than others depending on the placement of the antennas. This is a fact of life for every wireless phone. If you ever experience this on your iPhone 4, avoid gripping it in the lower left corner in a way that covers both sides of the black strip in the metal band, or simply use one of many available cases.

There is no reception issue. Stay tuned.

If you read the Wikipedia article on crisis management, you’ll find a few examples of successful crisis management—but you’ll also find a number of examples of unsuccessful crisis management.  One of the examples cited is the Ford/Firestone tire fiasco that took place in 2000.  Regarding Ford and Firestone’s poor handling of the crisis, Wikipedia has this to say:

The two companies’ committed three major blunders early on, say crisis experts. First, they blamed consumers for not inflating their tires properly. Then they blamed each other for faulty tires and faulty vehicle design. Then they said very little about what they were doing to solve a problem that had caused more than 100 deaths—until they got called to Washington to testify before Congress.

Sound familiar?

Apple’s behavior in this crisis is a textbook example of poor crisis management.  In turn, they’ve refused to acknowledge that a problem exists, blamed their customers, blamed other companies (like AT&T), and finally been intentionally obtuse regarding what action they intend to take (if any) to resolve the crisis.  It remains unclear even now whether Apple intends to take any steps at all to resolve these problems.

In fact, Apple has created a corporate culture that is antithetical to the very idea of crisis management.  Successfully resolving a corporate crisis requires admitting error, requires apology, requires taking immediate action at visible cost to the company to make sure the user experience is a good one.  Apple’s entire brand strategy is centered around the concept that they simply don’t make mistakes.  Steve Jobs knows what’s best, and if you just trust him, then he’ll take care of you.  I know you say you want multi-tasking, but what you really want is task completion and widgets.  He has a long history of being right of course—that’s the reason for Apple’s success.  But Steve Jobs, and Apple, really have no idea how to handle being wrong.

Why Should Apple Care?

Now there is one obvious argument in favor of Apple’s current PR strategy: 1.7 million iPhones sold in 3 days. “What does this PR crisis even matter?”, Apple execs will say.  ”There are a lot of complaints, petitions, funny images, 4chan memes and Hitler videos going around, but who cares as long as people keep buying iPhones?”

This is flawed thinking, and Apple—the masters of brand management—should know better.

I work for a website called Wowhead.  We are currently the market leader for World of Warcraft database sites.  This is a space that’s crowded with competitors, including Thottbot, Allakhazam, Wowdb, and to a lesser extent WoWWiki.  We have the tireless efforts of our team to thank for our continued success.  But for initial success, we have to thank someone else entirely: Thottbot.

At the launch of WoW, Thottbot was king.  The site was ultra-fast, the interface was simple, and you never had to work too hard to get to the content you wanted to see.  Over time, though, anomalies crept into the data—monsters would appear in the wrong zones, bosses would be listed as dropping flowers amongst their normal array of loot.  User confidence in Thottbot began to weaken—people would complain about the inaccuracies to their friends, or laugh and make jokes to their guildies.  But Thottbot’s traffic didn’t decrease—in fact it increased over time.

The reason is simple: There were no adequate competitors.

The fact is that even though Thottbot had its share of issues, for most users it was still the best option available.  People forgave the anomalies in exchange for the simplicity and ease-of-use of the site interface, and this continued for a long time—until a competitor did come along: Wowhead.

Wowhead had cleaned up the data, and had designed a new interface from scratch with ease of use in mind, and over the course of the next year, traffic slowly bled off from Thottbot to Wowhead.  Today, Wowhead gets around three times Thottbot’s traffic.

But here’s the trick: Making a product that’s a little better than your competitors isn’t enough.

Some time later, the Curse Network launched Wowdb, another competing WoW database site, in the hopes of duplicating Wowhead’s path to success.  While the Wowdb project has been a boon to Curse in other ways (most notably providing a framework for them to expand easily to other games, like Aion or Warhammer Online), as a competitor to Wowhead it failed utterly.

Why?  Wowdb did everything right.  They had a solid development team.  They rolled out some exciting new features that Wowhead didn’t have, several of which Wowhead wasn’t able to develop until months later.  Their design was familiar, but still new.  They had the support of a well-established MMO network.  Why did they fail?

They failed because unlike Thottbot, Wowhead users weren’t looking for a replacement.

It’s hard to change an old habit.  Once you’re used to getting your news from Digg, it’s hard to switch to Reddit—even if someone gives you a convincing argument that Reddit is better.  Even if I can make a convincing argument that Android phones are superior to iPhones, people still don’t want to switch—if their iPhone works fine, why do I need a new one?  If Wowhead has all the info I ever need, why would I switch to Wowdb?  Wowdb failed because they didn’t have a compelling answer to that question.  Wowhead succeeded because Thottbot’s users already had a reason to switch—they just didn’t have another site to switch to.  Wowhead filled a need that already existed.  Wowdb tried to create a need where there was none.

The Straw That Broke the Customer’s Back

The first signs of a collapsing brand are never sales numbers.  Once sales start dropping, it’s already too late.  Anyone who’s read The Tipping Point knows that the spread of ideas and behaviors isn’t linear—it’s logarithmic.  Communities withstand a certain amount of pressure, and then they break.

This is an idea that people who work online frequently deal with.  If I run an ad-supported site, how many ads is too many? How intrusive should the ads be?  How do I balance the desires of the advertisers to get clicks with the desire of the users not to be irritated, so that the business is its most successful?  This is a difficult question, because communities don’t work on a linear scale.  You can’t just turn up the “annoyance meter” one click at a time, watching users leave your site in dribbles until you find the point where revenue is the highest.  What happens instead is that your pageviews stay near-constant as the annoyance meter gets higher and higher, until it finally reaches a particular point where it becomes too much—your community gets up and leaves en masse, leaving you scratching your head and wondering what happened.

The true danger of this situation lies in the fact that it’s often difficult to predict where this point is, even after you’ve crossed it—and once you’ve crossed it, you can’t go back. Thottbot’s users had already decided to leave before there was anywhere to go.  Curse made the mistake of assuming that Thottbot users switched to Wowhead because they thought Wowhead was better.  Wowhead was better, but Thottbot’s users switched because they thought Thottbot was bad.

Over the few years, Apple has dropped a huge number of straws on the backs of its users.  Apple rose to prominence on the power of its hipster charm, portraying itself as a creative, irrepressible minority struggling against the soulless corporate drones of IBM and Microsoft—their classic 1984 ad being a striking example.  Yet in the past few years, Apple has increasingly come off as Big Brother itself.  iTunes music files aren’t designed to play on other players.  They’ve fought to keep down Skype and Google Voice to protect their relationship with AT&T.  They’ve remotely disabled jailbroken phones.  They’ve maintained such tyrannical, arbitrary restrictions over iPhone app development that some of the best have resigned in disgust.  They’ve created an advertising API built directly into iOS so that app developers can run rich media ads using their closed app system, then built ad-blocking software into the browser they claim to use to support the “open web”. They even questioned a Foxconn employee about a leaked iPhone prototype using such “unbearable interrogation techniques” that the employee was supposedly driven to suicide.

The fact is, these days even the most hardcore of Apple fan-boys—like myself—are no longer comfortable admitting that they use Apple products.  A few days ago I noted that a game was causing my MacBook pro to overheat.  I posted it on Facebook, Twitter, and Google Buzz, and within seconds I had received responses in all three mediums raking me over the coals for owning an Apple product:

I think the solution here is simple: Get a PC, you tool :P

Take a hammer to the top of your MBP. Then hire a moving company to take something from one place to another. Smash some other shit for good measure. Then claim that they did it, sue them, settle out of court, and use that money to buy a PC with decent fucking cooling.

Get away from Apple….only way to fix that problem

Get a computer that was designed for something besides looking pretty?

Apple products are no longer the aesthete’s badge of honor.  Now they’re for blind, corporate sheep—people who are unwilling to look past the shiny design and see the at best kludgy, and at worst downright insidious, hardware that they’re using.

Apple sold 1.7 million iPhone 4s in the first 3 days, their biggest product launch of all time.  Apple’s bad corporate behavior hasn’t stopped their core audience—myself included—from buying their products.  But we used to be devoted fans.  We used to wear our iPods like badges of honor.  We were willing to buy any Apple product, no matter what it was, just because it was an Apple product.

Those days are gone.  Apple’s core userbase is starting to look a lot like Thottbot’s—they’re looking around for an alternative.  And as it is now, just like with Thottbot—there is no alternative.  As much as I respect the work that has been done on Android phones, they still haven’t released a product that can compete with iPhones in the places where it matters—design, responsiveness, and ease of use.  But eventually, the day will come.

How It Should Be Handled

If Apple wants to recover from this crisis, they need to take a page from Johnson & Johnson’s approach to crisis management.

Make a public apology. Jobs and crew need to acknowledge that there is a fundamental design flaw in their phones.  Acting as though it’s not a big deal makes it worse, not better.  My father is an actor, and one of the things he taught me was this: “Never laugh at your own joke.  If you laugh, the audience doesn’t have to.”  The same is true when you’re acknowledging a mistake.  If you acknowledge and publicly own up to a mistake, then there’s no longer any need for the legions of Mac-haters on the Internet to do it for you.

Recall the first generation of phones. I know it’s expensive—more than $100 million expensive.  But the quality of Apple’s brand is at stake, and if Apple takes a moment to knowingly and publicly put customers before immediate profits, it will spell greater revenues for them in the long run.  Imagine for a moment what a juggernaut Apple would be if they had the kind of customer faith and goodwill that Google does.  The only way to earn that goodwill is to be straight with your customers.  Re-debuting the phone with a non-conductive coating on the antenna band is a tiny investment compared to the level of profit that Apple could reach if they were once again able to convincingly argue that they were on the customers’ side.

I don’t expect that Apple will do this—it flies in the face of their whole corporate culture.  But if they don’t, it won’t be long before a competitor that honestly beats the iPhone will appear.  And when that happens, Apple’s core customer base will dry up overnight—and Apple execs will be left scratching their heads, wondering what went wrong.  Apple will tell their shareholders that it was the competitor that destroyed their business, but they’ll be wrong—it was Apple.

Edit: Apple has responded to these concerns in an open letter, which you can read about here.

Apple is addressing the issues by claiming that in fact, every iPhone launched since 2007 has been incorrectly calculating how many “bars” of connectivity to show at all times.  Gripping the iPhone incorrectly does cause the signal to drop, but no more than any other phone—it’s just that the phone was showing you bars you didn’t actually have, and when you grip the phone incorrectly, it (apparently) stops displaying those fraudulent bars.

There are two reasons why this response is hilariously insufficient.  One is that it seems willing to say anything, as long as that statement is not “You’re right.”  Apple is even willing to admit that they have made a mistake—as long as it’s their mistake and not the one you thought they made.  But the other, and the more significant, is that this doesn’t address the problem at all.

I recognize that the lower bars are the symptom by which we recognize the problem.  But the problem itself is the fact that when you hold the phone wrong, you drop calls. This has been tested and verified by measuring internet connectivity, and regardless of how many “bars” we’ve lost, the phone still becomes nearly unusable when you hold it normally, and that’s the problem Apple needs to solve.

This is exactly what we should expect from Apple: It’s more important for them to be right than for their users to be happy.  Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if we discovered the “bars” problem Apple claims doesn’t exist at all—that Apple is releasing a software update which will do nothing except break the formula they use to display connectivity, just to make it harder for their users to identify the real problem with their phones.

In the process of reading the GamePro article I linked yesterday, I missed some critical information.  Specifically, I seem to have glossed over this damning paragraph:

To be fair to Amrich and to explore why so many community managers find themselves in these “blurry” situations, we should look at how the role of community manager has evolved over the last six years. Before Xbox Live’s Larry “Major Nelson” Hryb — who holds the ambiguous title director of programming for Xbox Live — community managers were mostly forum moderators, people whose job entailed monitoring message boards and weeding out trolls.

Now I’ve only been a community manager for about three years.  But even as a relatively fresh face in the industry, I can tell you that community management industry is older than Major Nelson.  MMO studios have been focussing heavily on community management for ages, and I believe it’s played a significant role in the explosive growth of the MMO Industry.  Early MMOs were built on the subscription model, and that means that you need to do more than market your game—you need to support it after the fact.  Your game needs to evolve, it needs to constantly add new content—and the only way to do that is to listen to your players, to get to know them, and to develop your game accordingly.

The fact is that every generation of game developers is learning and studying these lessons on their own, reinventing the wheel over and over again.  What mainstream game companies are learning now about the risks, dangers, and ultimately the value of community—these same lessons were being learned (the hard way) by MMO community managers several years before.

But that’s not where it started.  Before MMOs were managing their own communities, the fansites were doing it for them.  That’s where this all began—with the fans.  This is also why the best community managers don’t come from marketing or PR backgrounds—though a degree in marketing certainly can’t hurt (I’m studying for one myself).  The best community managers, if I may toot my own horn, come from fansites.  It’s been very heartening to see friends (like Tamat over at NCSoft) who made the jump from fansite to community manager.

This whole process has marked the very shift in focus that community management is based on from the very beginning—listening to your fans.  The very reason why community managers exist is because game companies, slowly but surely, are starting to understand that their fans are the heart of their business, and forming channels and conduits through which game studios can adopt their ideas into the games—and the game studios—only means good news for all of us.

Community Management and the New PR

GamePro posted an article yesterday which I consider required reading for anyone who doesn’t feel like they really understand what a “community manager” does. The article can be found here:

http://www.gamepro.com/article/news/215050/analysis-communication-confusion-and-community-managers-update/

The inspiration for this was something that happened to Dan Amrich, a friend of mine who recently became the Social Media Manager at Activision. This is a new position, and watching him as he defines the boundaries of his new role has been a learning experience for me—as I imagine it probably has been for him.

There was a big fuss recently on Develop and Joystiq about some conjecture Dan posted on Facebook regarding the Activision / Infinity Ward lawsuit. Basically he offered some commentary on the lawsuit which was his own personal conjecture, which the news sites interpreted as official statements. Dan quickly posted a clarification on his blog, but I can nonetheless easily imagine the Activision chewing out that I personally conjecture must have occurred—I’ve been on the receiving end of a chewout or two like that myself.

Employing someone like Dan is a very scary decision for most businesses. The purpose of hiring a community representative is to connect directly with your customers, and that means really answering their questions—and not just the easy ones. You need to be genuinely open to customer feedback. Transparency is scary—the closed culture is a tradition that goes all the way back to the beginning of corporate America. There are some things that you don’t talk about. Anything you say can and will be used against you, after all—and the Internet is a wild, vindictive place.

When community management is good, it’s really really good. Seth Killian at Capcom calls it a “superhealthy feedback loop”—the players tell the devs what they’re passionate about, and the devs tell the gamers what they’re passionate about, and everyone is richer for the experience.

But when it’s bad, it’s horrid. The true danger of snafus like this lies in the fact that when the proverbial shit hits the fan, the reaction of the company is frequently one of panic. The first thing a company often does is to tie the community manager’s hands—to lock them down and prevent them from saying anything, for fear of making the situation worse. This is a mistake, just as much as the passengers trying to take the controls away from the pilot when the flight gets turbulent. Crisis situations are a good time to make your expectations of your community team very clear, but the worst thing you can do is lock down your community manager when that happens. Community managers are your first line of defense from PR crises, and heavily restricting their ability to do their job at those critical times is only going to hurt you in the long run.

The fact is, the industry needs community managers. I belong to a generation of gamers that expects to be personally engaged. We’re interested in the companies we patronize, and if we can’t get our information from the source we’ll speculate—and that speculation is often dangerous, both to the company and to the community.

The game industry, perhaps more than any other, is dependent on direct and personal online communication with the customer—and community managers are the people making that connection. We’re still in the early stages of evolution for the community management business, but as time goes on—and as the role of the community manager becomes more clearly defined—more and more companies will be realizing the benefits of a policy of transparency and open communication with their customers. And I, for one, am looking forward to every minute.

The image seen at right is taken from a Facebook group called “Gamers against Bobby Kotick & Activision“.

The description of the group says the following:

Bobby Kotick CEO of Activision, now famous for his apparent hate of video games. He has said a lot things that would make any gamers blood boil, words like ‘when I first became CEO of Activison, my aim was to take all the fun out of making games’ would discourage anyone from working Activision and who could forgot his infamous quote regarding the MW2 price rise ‘if it were up to me i’d raise prices even higher. We must make him realise that treating his customers in horrible manners will not be tolorated and we must stop him before other companies decide to copy him.

Bobby Kotick has said some really dumb things, the above poorly formatted quotes being the most egregious examples.  Quotes like this have gotten him vilified throughout the gaming community.  A Google search for “Bobby Kotick” turns up his Wikipedia page first, but the other results are hilariously titled:

My particular favorite is the Ars Technica link that says “Bobby Kotick has opened his mouth again, if you were wondering where the smell of brimstone was coming from.”

Now I can understand where these people are coming from to a certain extent.  He’s come to represent everything that’s wrong with the game industry, and with quotes like the above I’m not surprised.  But perhaps because of this vilification, I’ve started to find some sympathy for the guy.

What gets me is the sense of personal injury that comes through in the paragraph quoted up above.  It moves seamlessly from “if it were up to me i’d raise prices even higher” to “We must make him realise that treating his customers in horrible manners will not be tolorated”.  I can’t figure this.  Mr. Kotick has said some ridiculous things, but how exactly has he “mistreated his customers”?  Activision-Blizzard is a game publisher.  They publish games.  They’ve published a lot of games that I’m really excited about.  They’ve published games in some ways that I didn’t necessarily like (that was a lot of Guitar Hero games), but so has virtually every game publisher.

But every game publisher doesn’t have a Bobby Kotick at the helm mouthing off, do they?

Is Bobby Kotick a bad CEO?  I have no idea.  Activision seems to be a successful company, though that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s a good CEO—see Wall Street.  But what does that matter to me?  All that matters is the games.

It’s possible that Bobby Kotick’s influence may even be a negative one on the development studios that Activision owns. But boycotting Activision games, or spreading nasty rumors, or starting defamatory Facebook groups because of Bobby Kotick’s big mouth would be doing a disservice to the hardworking game developers that, for good or ill, threw in with him and with Activision for the long run.

Let the games, and the game developers, speak for themselves.

GDC 2010: T-Shirts and Sport Coats

Last week, my brother and I drove up to San Francisco for the Game Developer’s Conference.  It’s the first time I’ve attended the GDC in San Francisco, though I did attend the GDC in Austin two years ago.  My brother Will has attended several at this point—on the drive up to San Francisco I am deferring to him, asking him about his approach.  This year he isn’t even buying a GDC pass—instead, he spends the whole week flitting back and forth between the W hotel bar and the Intercontinental, making friends with strangers.  I’ve bought the Expo pass, the only one I could afford.

The floor at Gamma IV.

GDC is not a user-facing conference.  It’s a conference oriented towards people who make games, not just people who play them—not like E3 used to be.  Everyone who comes here comes here to meet people.  But it isn’t until after I’ve been here for a few days that I start to realize the strange dichotomy that splits the conference down the middle: some are here to meet new people so they can exchange ideas, and some are here to meet new people so they can do business.

Will calls them “T-Shirts and Sport Coats”.

Both Will and I are at the conference this year wearing our sport coats.  In deference to style, we’re wearing our sport coats over t-shirts—mine has the Wowhead logo, his says “I Am Trustworthy And Have Excellent References.”  Will is there as a talent scout, looking to find IPs to pass on to the producer he’s working for, in the hopes of optioning them for a movie.  I’m here to start building my own network in the game industry—to try and meet some people outside of the tiny corner of the MMO Industry that represents the entirety of my experience at Wowhead.  By the end of the conference I have collected 52 business cards, and am struggling to remember who is who.  Every night I am looking through the stack, entering the information into the contacts list on my computer, trying to read the notes I’ve scribbled on the back of the card.  I know I’m not the only one.

But there are a number of people I see at the conference who aren’t there to form business relationships.  Over the course of the conference I meet the people wearing T-shirts—people who are there to learn about new development technology, people who are there to talk shop with other artists or designers, people who are there to listen to the talks from prominent game industry figures.  My expo pass doesn’t get me in to see any of the talks, so I content myself with devouring the constant stream of GDC-related tweets coming down the pipe (the battery on my phone just barely lasting to the end of each day).

I attend parties (some invited, some otherwise), shake hands, and exchange business cards.  I ask everyone what they’re working on (which I later find out is a GDC noob mistake, since so many developers are under NDA).  I wear my sport coat proudly, and I think I wear it well.

One night, something strange happens.  My brother and I are attending a dinner at a nearby wine bar, with some (old and new) friends in the game industry.  We sit and talk with Adam, an old bandmate who now does iPhone/iPad development.  I finally meet Daniel Cook of Lost Garden, and Darius Kazemi of Tiny Subversions, as well as five or six other designers, developers and game industry professionals sitting around the table, and the conversation is…different.  We’re not networking—we’re just talking.  We’re talking about our ideas, our love of the art form, our belief in the potential of the future of gaming, the insight that games offer into the human condition.  We’re just sitting and talking about games—and it feels good.  After days and days of making contacts, suddenly I am making friends.  It feels relaxed.  It feels natural.  It feels, in fact, just like changing out of my sport coat and back into a t-shirt.

That night I decide not to attend any parties.  As I ride back into Burlingame on the BART, where Eric—the old friend I’m staying with—lives, I realize that this whole week I’ve been wearing my sport coat with a t-shirt underneath.  I’m here to network, and I guess I have to be, for now.  But underneath, the reason why I’m really here—not just at the conference, but in the industry at all—I’m here because I love games, and I love being with people who love games.

After this point, the networking changes. I’m getting to know people, now, not just job descriptions. I’m attending parties to have fun.  I’m asking people about what they’re playing, rather than what they’re working on, and suddenly the whole conference makes sense.

That night, when I arrive at Eric’s house, I set aside the stack of business cards waiting to be entered.  Instead, Will and Eric and I stay up until four AM playing Borderlands.  It feels right.

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