Welcome to today’s edition of Fail-Time Daily.
Normally, I don’t like basing articles on personal anecdotes, but this is a blog, right, so what the heck. Plus
it’s topical (it happened this morning) and it’s on message, because it’s definitely about real-time marketing, or rather, the lack thereof. But first, let me tell you how much I
love Patagonia. Everything about it. The company, its brand -- and everything it stands for -- and especially its products, which perform as well as they are priced. That said, after shelling out
plenty of synchillas in my time, I like a good deal as well as the next Patagonian, so I was eagerly awaiting their annual winter sale. So much so, that I began bookmarking items in my virtual
Patagonia.com shopping cart months ago when they started discounting some items post-holiday retail season. And sure enough, they were cookied so that every time I revisited Patagonia’s site
with my trusty Chrome browser, there they were, safely tucked on some server somewhere up in the sky (though I tend to imagine Patagonia’s actually on a mountain peak, or hanging from a rock
outcropping the way its founder Yvon Chouinard might).
It was comforting to see my potential pair of expedition weight undies, or my Nano Puff jacket waiting there for me when the time
and budget came for me to buy them. That time came this morning when the Winter Sale began. I rose early, before daylight, much the way I would for an actual summit, and began scrambling through the
outdoorsy retailer’s webpages, adding this item and that one, until I had my shopping cart fill. And that’s when I abandoned Patagonia. Or should I say, when Patagonia abandoned me. Pffft!
Not only was my shopping cart empty and inaccessible, but there was no way to check out.
A few online bot chats, and one actual human conversation
later, I learned that Patagonia was experiencing an epic website failure due to both a surge in both traffic, as well as an “upgrade” its tech team made a couple of days prior to the sale
to help prepare for it. Whatever they did, my human customer assistant told me, “your cookies are gone.”
Never, in this age of
hyper-vigilant consumer privacy, did I imagine those words would invoke such anger in me. But they did. Patagonia had violated something I had come to trust in real-time marketing technology -- that
my intent, my purchase path, and all my big-headed data would actually be there when I needed it. Nope, zilch, not a strip of code to be gleaned.
But fear not, because this real-time marketing story actually has a happy ending, just not the machine-time kind. Instead of processing my order online, I did it over the phone, in human
time. And bless my customer rep’s little head, because she put up with a fair amount of real-time media editor grousing. “You know, I’m a journalist who covers this stuff regularly,
and it’s just unacceptable for a brand I’ve trusted so long,” I stammered. “I completely understand,” she replied. “You know, my magazine
recently recognized Patagonia as an exceptional one of
the best online marketers,” I continued. “I’m sorry we’re having this trouble now, but I’d be happy to place your order myself,” she offered.
And that’s when I was reminded that great brands may be great (or not) at using technology, but it’s still the people behind those brands that make
them great. In this case, it was a patient customer rep operating in human time when the machines timed out.
Thanks for sharing this, Joe. This speaks well for Patagonia that you were able to reach a live person and get your order in with an apology. It is such a problem these days because too many retailers (and ONE is too many) make it difficult, if not impossible, to reach a live person. Having someone available saved your business for a long time to come.
Then again, Patagonia shouldn't be considered in such a good light because they actually did what EVERY business should by having a back-up plan in action.