I have better things to do than to read content. We all do. That’s why your headlines grab us any time, anywhere, and make us listen to you.
Your content saves me time, or even better, money? Oh, my hair will catch on fire if I ignore you? I’ll learn something about myself (because the world is full of narcissists who buy things)? I can trade my old socks for a trip to Alaska?
You crafty content marketer you. You had me at your headline.
You know that people care about: time, safety, money, love and happiness. In business, you use the pain points of your buyer personas and turn them into an angle that actually sounds interesting.
You never ramble and tell me too little with too many words. In the age of internet-sponsored instant gratification, you know that no one wants to work for information.
You’re clear. You’re concise.
P.S. (Thanks for not making me wait until slide 37 of an ad-infested slideshow, after which I would have blocked your entire brand on every social media channel that gave me the option to do so.)
Those wizards of data known as Inbound Marketers know how to target leads like snipers aiming at blimps. They do it with modern magic: contextual marketing, targeted pay-per-click ads and cold, hard data.
So you also use data, if you can, to write specifically for a fictitious person (buyer persona) that represents the ideal consumer you’re after.
Without data, you’re still writing for an ideal customer and staying true to your brand voice without worrying too much about appealing to everyone.
Content isn’t a one-size-fits-all shirt (because those make everyone look terrible). Your targeted copy makes you look better and fits your ideal consumers.
You always make me feel so special.
You know that people like stories. Stories make sense. You gave us a character we can relate to and a problem that got solved. We stopped being wary of why you’re talking to us and instead, got swept away in what you had to say.
Make us feel something, anything, and we’ll remember you.
Keep on keepin’ on, Shakespeare.
Hell hath no fury like the Internet scorned. Too many brands have learned the hard way that it costs to be dishonest with your online readership. It costs hard.
So you changed your perspective and thought about your topic or service every which way you could. There were at least a dozen interesting angles to use, without stretching the truth.
You created a story around the “why” of your thing. It was powerful enough that I wanted to buy it before I even knew what it was or how much it cost.
I sure am one happy customer.
I’ve got 99 problems and you helped me solve one. When I turned to the World Wide Web for help, you answered the call and delivered with a thoroughly-written solution that didn’t even mention your product or service.
Though we were once strangers, I’m starting to think you really “get me” and know what you’re talking about.
I see what you did. You edited that blog post so hard that even a librarian with a Master’s Degree in grammar couldn’t find a comma out of place. And to thank you for all of that mind-numbing patience, I will read your post all the way until “The End” without the drive to click away in disgust at the incorrect use of their/they’re/there.
Even when your content lacks fluffy puppies, your pictures keep the page colorful and feed my inner content child who just wants to look at the pictures.
You know that video is taking over the Internet, so you set a place for at the table where I feast on content. You thought outside of the textbox and delivered.
Bravo, Spielberg. You’re keeping up with the times and keeping those cameras rolling.
Just when I thought I was coming to the conclusion of your post, you told me you were serious about us. You put yourself out there and asked for my full name and phone number. You promised me a future together, full of content.
And I said, “yes.” Yes, I’ll subscribe to you. I thought you’d never ask.