Category Archives: bio

Globalization vs. Local Culture

Originally published in Adventive’s
I-Branding Digest,
Oct 2, 2001

Context: I am American, but have lived half my life overseas, of which the last ten years in Italy with my Italian husband.

From what I’ve seen in extensive travels and living abroad, most cultures are very resilient, and most adult members of any culture are eventually capable of deciding for themselves what they do and don’t want to assimilate from a foreign culture.

Example: When I was going to high school in India 20+ years ago, an Indian businessman who had gone to university in the US opened a restaurant in Delhi (Nirula’s). It consciously imitated Americanisms such as fast food and 31 flavors of ice cream. Some of its patrons were foreigners like myself who occasionally craved a taste of “home”. But the huge majority were Indians.

When I returned to India four years later for college study abroad year, Nirula’s was thriving and had become a countrywide franchise. One of my classmates argued that it was an example of American cultural imperialism. From his point of view, the entrance of McDonald’s into India must have been even worse. And yet, and yet…

Obviously there is demand in India – by Indians! – for both Nirula’s and McDonald’s. In both cases, an American concept has been not merely transplanted, but adapted to its new environment. I don’t expect to ever see beef hamburgers served anywhere in India, but “mutton” and veggie hamburgers are selling very nicely. These restaurants also serve Indian snack foods that you would never find in an American McDonald’s.

American fast-food franchises the world over have adapted in similar ways to local tastes and cultures. In any country you go to, for a quick education in cultural differences, step into the local Kentucky Fried Chicken. Sure, the decor, colors, typefaces, etc. will look familiar – those are aspects of the brand identity that people are reassured by and want to retain. But the menu may contain quite a few surprises. McDonald’s in Italy serves espresso. And beer. And offers a choice of ketchup or mayonnaise with your fries.

Similarly, Indian languages and music have taken in what they like from the west and adapted it to their own needs. In the Seventies, disco music was as popular in India as the rest of the planet. Nowadays you get delightful mixes such as traditional bhangra made into dance music. This music is brought back across the ocean both by Indian emigrants and strange people like myself, where it can add a new dimension to the Western cultures which helped to create it – I’m told bhangra is very popular in some London dance clubs.

Oh, and another example: Coca Cola. Biggest brand on the planet, right? Remember a few years ago when there was a huge fuss in the US about “New Coke” vs. “Classic Coke”? “How dare they touch the sacred recipe.” Well, folks, the recipe for Coke in other countries has been different for a long time. In Asia it’s sweeter, because people there prefer it that way. In Europe it’s made with cane or beet sugar, instead of corn syrup (which I think tastes a lot better).

So who’s imperializing whom?

Note (Oct 7, 2010) – Interesting to see that Nirula’s is now using the tag line “It’s desilicious”. Desi is Hindi for “of the country,” i.e. Indian. When Nirula’s was founded, foreign was cool. Nowadays being Indian is cool. And that’s cool!

The Infamous Miniskirt Photo: Give the Customers What They Want!

The photo above first appeared on the Adaptec website in April, 1998.

Over the years some of my colleagues griped that having a picture like this on a corporate website was “unprofessional,” and I suppose it was. But (a) why does “corporate” have to mean “boring”? and (b) there’s a story behind it.

It all started with a (rare) vent of my own to the Adaptec discussion list, titled “How NOT to Obtain Customer Service.”

Which I later followed up with “How Not to Obtain Customer Service – a Final Peeve”, which included this throw-away comment: “I used to wear miniskirts to conferences, precisely because this made everyone assume that I was a purely decorative booth bimbo. I then enjoyed the shock on people’s faces when I proved to have a brain or two in my little head after all!”

I wasn’t surprised when this resulted in several requests like: “How about a couple of mini skirt photographs to prove your point regarding Deirdre being a female name?” I laughed them off, until I received this plaintive note: “I’ve had a really tough week. I could really stand to see you in a miniskirt.” So I dutifully put on my miniskirt and had my husband take the picture, and posted it on the site for the benefit of our list subscribers.

Time marches on… I still adore the denim “Born 2 Burn” shirt and the cowboy boots, but, sadly, don’t  fit into the miniskirt quite as well as I did…

Alex Britti in Concert

This summer we went to a concert by Alex Britti, a singer-songwriter as yet unknown outside Europe. He’s popular with the bubblegum set for a few immensely singable songs such asLa Vasca (The Bathtub), but he considers himself more a guitarist – and turns out to be a hell of a good one.Unfortunately, we hardly got to hear him sing during the concert, due to the chorus of teenyboppers who sang along enthusiastically (and badly) with most of the songs. Early on, I asked the girls behind us to stop: “I came to hear him, not you,” I pointed out. Their mother retorted: “Lady, if you want to hear the music, buy the CD. This is a concert.”

Defeated by this, er, logic, I retired from the battle, and had to be grateful for the guitar solos: delightfully un-singalongable, and very well played. These seemed to confuse much of the audience, who muttered to each other: “What song is this?” or got up and went for a beer.

Alex Britti must be frustrated. He’s made lots of money and gained some artistic freedom thanks to his lighter bestsellers, but his audience doesn’t seem to understand or appreciate the stuff that he himself likes best!

Other musical experiences this summer were less than stellar. Roseto, the little town on the Adriatic coast where my in-laws live, used to be a pleasantly sleepy place with nothing to do at night except stroll around, eat gelato, and watch kids on the carnival rides. But now it aspires to the trendy disco status of the Adriatic’s hotter spots, so the beachfront establishments all have permission to play music til 1 or 2 am.

This would be somewhat bearable, or at least understandable, if the music was good. However, it was all REALLY bad, mostly youngsters basically doing karaoke with automated music machines – their equipment was far more impressive than their abilities deserved.

One band started out relatively promising, playing real instruments, with an admirable selection of blues tunes and guitar licks ripped off from Stevie Ray Vaughan. But the guitar wasn’t quite in tune with the keyboard, and the singer wasn’t in tune with anything. After hearing “Pride and Joy” murdered two or three times, we were ready to strangle the drunk who kept demanding encores.

We could easily perceive even that detail, because my in-laws’ apartment overlooks the beach, within a stone’s throw of two of these establishments (alas, I had no stones). After we finally dropped off to sleep at 2 am one night, I was awoken at 8:00 by a group of retirees just arrived on an group tour. “Ecco il mare!” shouted one enthusiastic fellow – “Look! The sea!” (And just what did you expect to find on a trip to the seaside…?)

Note: I have also translated some of Alex Britti’s songs into English.

About Woodstock School

This year is the 20th anniversary of my graduation from an international boarding school called Woodstock School, located in the foothills of the Himalayas in India.

Woodstock was founded 150 years ago for Protestant girls. India was a rough place for children then, so it was usual for westerners to send their kids to boarding school back home, or to the hills in India where cooler weather meant less disease.

By the mid-1970s, the missionary population in India was diminishing, and Woodstock realized that, to survive, it would have to change direction and emphasis. A new school charter was adopted, aiming to recruit a student population of 1/3 North Americans, 1/3 Indians, and 1/3 others.

So Woodstock is a very international place. The 60 graduates in my class represented 14 different nationalities, plus every major religion and several “minor” ones. We were intensely together – studying, playing, living, growing up – ten months of every year.

When you grow up with people of other cultures, you know in your gut that, beneath surface differences, we’re all human, with similar feelings and aspirations.

The only thing we didn’t tolerate at Woodstock was intolerance itself. One girl arrived in 1979, fresh from the US where her father had been in India’s diplomatic service. One day she wore to school a “Nuke the Ayatollah” t-shirt she had bought in the US. None of us were fond of the Ayatollah, but many of our schoolmates were Iranis who had left their home during the Iranian revolution because they were in danger from one side or the other. (One boy exhibited horrifying drawings of violence he had witnessed firsthand, such as soldiers machine-gunning a crowd.) All of these kids still had friends and family back in Iran, and of course nuking the Ayatollah would have meant nuking those innocent people as well. I don’t think anyone actually said anything to her about the t-shirt, but she never wore it again.

Woodstock taught us not only to accept the different, but to embrace it. Miscegenation was the rule: most of the teenage couples were mixed by race, religion, culture, or nationality. Many of us went on to marry people of other cultures, races, religions, and nationalities, and are raising children in countries we were neither born nor raised in. This is only the most obvious manifestation of the culture of tolerance that Woodstock instilled in us. Even Woodstockers who go back to their hometowns, marry, and raise children there, have a different attitude than most of their neighbors.

Most of the world’s strife is born of ignorance and misunderstanding. Many people cannot comprehend how someone else could see things differently than they do; their instinctive reaction is: “Anyone who doesn’t think the way I do is evil, stupid, or insane.”

Woodstockers, however, accept that others see things differently, and are able to respect others’ opinions and beliefs even when we do not agree with them. The world could use more people with this attitude. If there were more schools like Woodstock, there might be fewer wars.

I don’t have the money to create more schools like Woodstock. But this idea has been in the back of my mind for a long time: What if we could fund scholarships to bring more kinds of kids from all parts of the world to Woodstock, for at least a year, maybe all four years of high school? Kids from all countries, cultures, and social strata, especially inner city/disadvantaged kids who otherwise might not have much of a future. And, in the present context, we might specifically “target” kids from areas like Israel/Palestine, for whom a chance to meet “the other” in a different context could change their attitudes – and, in a small way, their country’s future.

But I wanted to talk to you all about Woodstock in hopes of reaching some “ordinary” kids as well. If you have or know a teenager who has a sense of adventure, let them know about this extraordinary school. BTW, it’s also a well-recognized place to get a great education. Woodstock grads go on to college pretty much wherever they want (two of my classmates went to MIT), and thrive on higher education (my class can so far boast at least six PhDs, two MDs, and almost everyone got at least an undergrad degree). Great music instruction, sports, lots of hiking, and fantastic scenery. And an experience that will stay with you for a lifetime.

ps One of our distinguished alumni is TED’s Chris Anderson; here’s what he has to say about his Woodstock experience: An international school in India with a message for the world

EMail Encounters: Anecdotes of a Professional Life Online

I’ve spent probably half of my working life answering email. And therein lie a number of tales…

Some people were convinced I had to be mailbot, because I answered so quickly. As I told them: “If we had a mailbot this good, we’d be selling that instead of CD-R!”

The Unexpected Response

It seems that when people write to a general address at a company, they don’t necessarily expect a response, and are surprised when they get one.

I often received extremely abusive messages from people who were angry about products, service, or whatever. I usually managed to respond calmly and politely. Most of the time, the second email from these people was a great deal politer, and a few even apologized for their previous harsh tone. On two memorable occasions, the answer was: “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! I never thought a real human being would read that!”

Which is a sad statement about how some companies handle their email – how has it happened that this medium, which was supposed to help companies communicate with customers, is routinely used so badly that, when customers write, they don’t even expect a reply?

Bringing in the Big Guns

Perhaps this is why many people, in their very first contact with a company, come in with  bazookas blazing: “If you don’t make me a happy customer, I’m going to sic the Better Business Bureau, the Federal Trade Commission, and a pack of lawyers on you.” Or “I’m going to write to all the major magazines about how rotten you are.” As if they had to greet me with a kick in the teeth in order to get my attention.

Again, many of these people backed off as soon as they got any sort of polite and semi-competent response from the company. But it makes for a tiring workday, being barraged with abuse from people who assume that you won’t help them unless they’re nasty.

Perhaps we’d all suffer less stress if we started from the assumption that the people whose job it is to help us actually want to do so, and only escalate to threats if they fail to take that job seriously.

There were two types of aggressives who made me laugh:

  • “I’m going to put up a nasty website about you. You obviously don’t understand the power of the Internet!” (The second sentence is an actual quote that I remember very clearly – I received that message a few years ago, but, even then, trying to tell me about the power of the Internet was a clear case of ‘trying to teach Granny to suck eggs.’)
  • “I’m a journalist and write for [blank] magazine – you’d better make me happy or your name will be mud.” (Not an exact quote, but the gist was clear.) These were both amusing and irritating. By the time I left Roxio, my own newsletters had a combined circulation of over 190,000. I think that qualifies me as a well-read journalist, no? But I always bit my tongue and handed those guys over to the PR folks,  who would give them whatever special treatment they deserved.

Myself, I never treated anyone special. Or rather, I treated everyone the same. I truly felt that all customers deserved the same consideration, and all of their problems and gripes should, as far as possible, be resolved.

This runs counter to the current wisdom of “Customer Relationship Management,” which says that you should use fancy software to determine who your most valuable customers are (those who have bought the most and are most likely to buy again), and make sure that they are kept happiest (offer them special deals and so on – the same principle as frequent-flyer mileage).

Many times, the sheer fact of my answering the email kindly, even if all I could say was that I couldn’t help, reversed the customer’s attitude towards the company and “saved the day.”