Psychology Behind Advertising

Social proof concentration and when not to use it

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It all happened within three or four days. Ben Settle, Brian Kurtz, Abbey Woodcock, Kevin Rogers, and David Deutsch all emailed about the same topic:

Reclusive A-list copywriter Parris Lampropoulos was finally offering a training. He would reveal his best-kept, most profitable secrets to raise funds for his cousin’s cancer treatment.

The first email I got on the topic, I thought, this is interesting — but I’ve already got plenty of copywriting trainings as is. Second email, I thought, another email about that same thing. Third email, maybe I should get this. Fourth email, I better get this now while I still can.

This experience was an illustration of a persuasion principle I read about in a book called The Catalyst. The principle is called concentration.

In a nutshell, all instances of social proof are not the same. If you can get a bunch of people to independently recommend your thing, and they do it in real quick succession, it’s much more powerful than having it all spread out. If it’s spread out, then your prospect can forget about each individual piece of social proof, or rationalize it away. If it’s concentrated, he cannot.

This idea might might or might not be useful if you’re writing a piece of direct response copy. (You’ll have to think about it and make up your own mind.)

But if you’re interested in persuasion more broadly, then the principle of concentration definitely has immediate application. If you’re marshaling an army of lieutenants who will all fight for your cause, it makes sense to focus their attack on one specific point, at one specific time.

But here’s a question to leave you thinking:

Concentration clearly worked on me and got me to pay Parris some $300 for his very valuable training.

But are there situations where concentrating your message might be a less efficient use of your resources?

​​I personally think so. If you agree with me, and you can name some specific situations, I’d love to hear from you. Write in and let me know.

Salvation for low self-esteem prospects

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Martin Luther was obsessed with images of the devil’s butt.

Luther was tormented, day after day, by the awareness of his sins and impurities.

He went to confession so often and confessed in such detail that his confessors grew angry.

Had Martin Luther been born today, there’s a good chance he would be diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, and medicated accordingly.

But because Luther was born in the right environment for his particular kind of crazy, he went on to become one of the most influential persons of the last thousand years.

Point being, a seeming weakness or fault can actually be a tremendous strength — in the right circumstances.

Yesterday, I promised to tell you one way you can convince your prospects that success for them is probable, and not just possible.

This is something I picked up in a talk by Rich Schefren. Rich said that one of the biggest things you have to do as a marketer is increase your prospect’s self-esteem.

And the way to do that is to take something your prospect doesn’t like about himself… and to twist it, so it becomes a potential strength.

“You say you’re obsessed with images of the devil’s butt? That’s actually a good thing. It means you’re on the lookout for moral weakness, which can help you and others from sliding into sin.”

Of course, you’re probably not selling to Martin Luther types.

But with a bit of thinking, you can show your prospect how his procrastination… or shiny-object addiction… or never following through… are just bad manifestations of a good kind of crazy inside him. In slightly different circumstances, the underlying positive characteristics would make him a success.

And how could he change his circumstances in the right way? The path to salvation is quick and easy. It lies in taking you up on your offer.

Here’s an offer that is sure to help you rid yourself of intrusive images of demonic behinds: I write a daily email newsletter. It talks about the fine points of persuasion and copywriting. And if you’d like to keep yourself far from the temptation to slack off in your learning about persuasion and copywriting, then click here to subscribe.

“Reality is a shared hallucination”

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“A student working under the direction of anthropologist Edward T. Hall hid in an abandoned car and filmed children romping in a school playground at lunch hour. Screaming, laughing, running and jumping, each seemed superficially to be doing his or her own thing. But careful analysis revealed that the group was moving to a unified rhythm.”

I ventured out of my apartment today for a rare night-time sortie into the city. And I found a proper summer evening outside:

Teenagers stood around on curbs in groups, giggling to themselves.

Couples strolled down the street and talked in a self-absorbed world.

An occasional single person, just getting out of work at 7:30pm, walked alone, staring at the ground and looking beaten.

All this reminded me of an article that I read years ago, just when I was starting to learn about copywriting. I want to share it with you tonight.

Let me warn you first that this article has no copywriting tactics in it, and nothing about marketing.

But it does talk about human psychology on a really fundamental level, which I haven’t seen discussed much elsewhere.

The article affected me very much. It’s stuck with me for years. It’s colored how I approach marketing, and how I see the world.

It was written by one Howard Bloom. Originally a music publicist for big names like Prince and Billy Joel, Bloom also wrote about group behavior in his spare time.

The quote up top is from one such article of Bloom’s, titled “Reality is a shared hallucination.” That’s the article I read many years ago, and the one I think you might find interesting.

​​In case you’re curious, here’s the link:

https://www.heise.de/tp/features/Reality-is-a-shared-hallucination-3412882.html

My brief and curious career as a stock analyst

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Back in 2014, I quit the one and only proper job I’ve ever had, as a buzzing little drone in a software company. I then started something I was completely unqualified for:

I became a stock analyst.

To be fair, all I was really doing was writing front-end content for The Motley Fool. But the very fact anybody would pay me to write about stocks was outrageous.

Not only did I know nothing about finance, or stocks, or business… but I also didn’t care.

There was nothing less interesting to me than how the price of Apple stock is moving, and whether NVIDIA would be a good buy at $19.

But here’s the kink in this story:

I spent each day reading about a new company, and writing up a 500-word blog post. “Yes, it’s a good buy.” “No, it won’t succeed in a new market.”

I had no idea what I was talking about. But a funny thing started to happen.

I was becoming interested in these companies. And by extension, in their stock prices. And yes, I even became interested in finance, and what all the different accounting numbers meant.

This, of course, has a very powerful implication for copywriting. The technical term for it is a “curiosity gap.”

Of course, people don’t get curious about a question they know the answer to. But they also don’t get curious about a question where their knowledge is non-existent.

The sweet spot is somewhere between these two extremes. Actually, it’s much closer to the “I know this answer” extreme.

In other words, if you want people to be curious about what you have to say, they must already know a lot about your topic.

But what if they don’t? Well, then it’s your job to tell them all about NVIDIA, in such a way that even a 2014 version of me would listen.

Finally, here’s a hot stock tip for you:

Click here and subscribe to my daily email newsletter. There’s actually nothing about finance in my emails. But if you’re interested in marketing and copywriting, I can fill in the occasional curiosity gap on those topics.

The $3.9-billion argument for soft, believable persuasion

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Michael Burry, the first guy to figure out how to make money from the subprime mortgage crisis, lost out in a way.

Burry saw the crisis coming. He realized he could make money from it by buying something called a credit default swap. This would pay out big time once crappy mortgage bonds failed.

Burry ran a hedge fund. He invested much of the money in his control in these credit default swaps. But this was a massive opportunity. Burry wanted to invest more. So he tried to raise money for a new fund, which would buy more credit default swaps.

Trouble was, Burry was an awkward guy, and not great at persuading. He shocked people with his predictions of catastrophe. Nobody gave him more money to invest.

Fast forward nine months. Burry’s ideas had spread around the industry. So another investor, John Paulson, attempted the exact same thing Burry had tried to do. From The Big Short:

“Paulson succeeded, by presenting it to investors not as a catastrophe almost certain to happen but as a cheap hedge against the remote possibility of catastrophe.”

This brings up a fundamental rule of persuasion. It’s perhaps the most important rule of them all:

Only tell people something that they are ready to accept.

In some situations, this can mean you don’t start with your biggest promise, your strongest proof, or your most shocking prediction. In the words of Gene Schwartz, the best thinker on this topic:

“The effectiveness of your headline is as much determined by the willingness of your audience to believe what it says, as it is by the promises it makes.”

So did Michael Burry lose out? Depends on your perspective. When it was time to cash in, Burry walked away with an estimated $100 million. John Paulson? $4 billion.

Want more billion-dollar persuasion ideas? Click here and sign up for my email newsletter.

“Controversial search engine” may be a good business model

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Two years ago, I signed up to get emails from Newsmax. Since then, I’ve seen over 50 sponsored Newsmax emails for the same unusual offer:

“Controversial search engine goes viral — have you searched your name?”

So today, when another one of those emails arrived, I finally clicked on the ad and went through the funnel.

I didn’t search my name, but I typed in a friend’s name. I also gave the town he lives in and his estimated age.

And then I waited. And waited.

The search engine worked furiously in the background, combing through public records, government databases, and various social networks to dig up everything it could on my — so I thought — squeaky clean friend.

I say “so I thought” because while I waited, I kept getting notifications like, “You might be surprised by [FRIEND]’s criminal record!” and “You might be shocked by [FRIEND]’s dating site profiles!”

A few times, I was prompted for more info or to confirm info I had put in already. At one point, the search engine asked me whether I planned to make use of my UNLIMITED access to reports, which I would get after getting [FRIEND]’S report. I thought this was a strange question, but I answered “YES.”

Meanwhile, loading bars kept loading, time kept passing, and I kept getting more notices that I will be “very surprised” or “shocked” by what’s inside [FRIEND]’s report.

After about 10 minutes of leading me by the nose like this, the search engine finally finished. One final checkbox appeared:

“Please confirm once again that you are ready to learn the truth about [FRIEND].”

I sighed and clicked yes.

An order page opened up, giving me the option to access the report on my suspect friend (and as many other reports as I want) for $27.78/month.

I found this whole experience interesting, for a couple reasons. First off, even though this offer is unusual — it’s not a supplement or a newsletter — it’s built upon direct response fundamentals like curiosity, consistency, and continuity.

Second, I started wondering where else you could use the same business model. That model in a nutshell:

Create an online tool that takes in some personal information… churns and whizzes while it applies proprietary algorithms to secret sources of data… and finally spits out a shocking and surprising report — which is only available through a paid monthly subscription.

Off the top of my head, I thought of a tool for generating the horoscope of a person… the historical coat of arms of a family… the feng shui of a property… or an auspicious name for a baby born on a given date.

If you have other ideas, let me know. Or if you like any of the ideas above, they’re yours to use. And if you want a copywriting partner in your new endeavor, get in touch. If you can handle the proprietary algorithms, I can write up the teasing notifications that pop up while your algorithms run — and we can become the next Google together.

Captain Midnight: a perfect direct response prospect

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On April 26 1986, millions of homes on the eastern half of the US were tuning in to the spy drama The Falcon and the Snowman.

It was being broadcast on HBO, but not for long. Soon after midnight on the 27th, the picture flickered and changed. The SMPTE color bars appeared along with a message:

GOODEVENING HBO
FROM CAPTAIN MIDNIGHT
$12.95/MONTH ?
NO WAY !
[SHOWTIME/MOVIE CHANNEL BEWARE!]

This weird interruption only lasted 4 1/2 minutes, but it had big consequences.

The next day, network news picked up the story. People around the country got to jabbering about the unfairness of HBO’s prices. HBO was furious, and they put pressure on the FCC to catch Captain Midnight, whoever he was.

Several months and an investigative manhunt later, that’s just what happened.

In July of that year, Captain Midnight was arrested and exposed as a 25-year-old electrical engineer named John MacDougall. He lived in Ocala, Florida. He had a part-time job there at the Central Florida Teleport satellite uplink station.

But what was MacDougall’s motivation for this stunt?

Was he a modern-day Robin Hood?

Had he been planning this for months?

Turns out, MacDougall had a satellite dish installation business. He’d been doing real well for a few years. But then, HBO (and other paid cable channels) started giving satellite dish owners the shaft. Instead of getting HBO for free, satellite dish owners now had to pay $500 for a decoder box plus $12.95 a month.

So people stopped buying satellite dishes. MacDougall’s business tanked. He was miffed. And so, while monitoring the satellite uplink of Pee-wee’s Big Adventure, he made an impulsive decision.

He pulled up the character generator and typed up the above message. Once Pee-wee’s Big Adventure finished, he pointed the giant 30-foot dish straight at the Galaxy 1 satellite. And he jammed Transponder 23, which carried the eastern feed of HBO.

“I had no animus and I had no malice in my heart,” said MacDougall. “It was the act of a frustrated individual who was trying to get his point across to people who didn’t seem to listen.”

I thought this story was interesting. Almost as interesting as Richard Armstrong’s How to Talk Anybody into Anything. That’s the little book Richard wrote about 44 points he learned by studying con artists. Point 3 is about how con artists choose their marks:

“Look for intelligent, emotional & impulsive people”

That’s good to remember and easy to forget. Because when you’re writing direct response copy, you might feel like you have people’s inner motivations at the tips of your fingers. You might feel you can manipulate them into doing what you want. You might even feel your prospects are gullible nincompoops.

But they are not. At least if they are good prospects, like Richard Armstrong says. In order to sell big with direct marketing, you want to write to people like Captain Midnight. Intelligent, frustrated, lacking a feeling of control.

“The customer is not a moron,” said David Ogilvy. “She’s your wife.” But let me finish the story of Captain Midnight.

In the following months, HBO devised a system to identify unauthorized uplink transmissions. Congress passed a new law, which made satellite hijacking a felony. But MacDougall was charged under the old law, with just a misdemeanor, and got away with a $5,000 fine.

He still lives and works in Ocala, FL, where he continues to make an excellent prospect for bizop offers. As for his legacy, MacDougall says,

“I do not regret trying to get the message out to corporate America about unfair pricing and restrictive trade practices. That was the impetus for doing what I did; that’s the reason I jammed HBO; that’s the reason I sent them a polite message.”

General Patton and 4 top copywriters

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“The difficulty in understanding the Russian is that we do not take cognizance of the fact that he is not a European, but an Asiatic, and therefore thinks deviously. We can no more understand a Russian than a Chinaman or a Japanese, and from what I have seen of them, I have no particular desire to understand them, except to ascertain how much lead or iron it takes to kill them. In addition to his other Asiatic characteristics, the Russian has no regard for human life and is an all out son of bitch, barbarian, and chronic drunk.”
— General George S. Patton, August 8 1945

Why is Patton the most famous American military man, at least among those who never became president?

You might say it’s his wartime performance. That might be so. I’m not a history buff so I can’t say. But my guess is there were lots of other great generals in American history who never became household names. Why Patton?

Maybe it’s the Oscar-winning movie that was made about him, which had the Francis Ford Coppola golden touch. But this raises the question, why make a movie about Patton? I’ll tell you my theory.

Patton became famous because people perceived him as a true leader, and they perceived him as a leader because he was (among a few other things) so unflinchingly opinionated.

Look at the quote above. It’s so stupid. Not just by 2020 standards, but by 1945 standards. But the content of what you say doesn’t matter much as long as you say it with enough fury, conviction, and disregard for what others think.

I have another theory: I believe most people (myself included) have this empty socket in their brain. We are constantly looking for an authority to plug into that empty socket, if only for a little while. The appeal of strongmen like Patton is one manifestation of this… but so is our obsession with celebrities… or even the popularity of concerts and clubs.

All of which has clear implications for persuasion. While doable, it might be hard to get to Patton-like levels of opinionatedness and charisma in real life. But if you’re writing, say a sales letter, then you can definitely whip yourself up into the right kind of certainty and frenzy, and channel that across the page.

Speaking of writing sales letters and authority, I listened to an interesting discussion today between four top copywriters. They were Stefan Georgi, Chris Haddad, Justin Goff, and Dan Ferrari.

Odds are, you’ve already watched this discussion. But if you haven’t yet, it’s worthwhile. There’s nothing tactical being discussed on this call, but there’s a lot of behind the scenes thinking that might interest you if you’re into copywriting or persuasion. Here’s the link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ThUusBt1dIM

Machiavellian logic applied to your next sales letter

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“Because this is to be asserted in general of men, that they are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, covetous, and as long as you succeed they are yours entirely; they will offer you their blood, property, life, and children, as is said above, when the need is far distant; but when it approaches they turn against you.”
– Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince

Direct response marketing doesn’t expose you to the most noble parts of the human soul.

Fear… greed… shame… vanity… these are the lowest common denominators we appeal to reliably in order to close the sale.

Sometimes it’s clear which of these appeals you have to go with — your offer or your market simply says so.

But what if you have a choice? Are some of these snarling, slobbering, psychological gremlins stronger than others?

Well, Niccolo Machiavelli, who would probably own many direct response businesses had he lived today instead of in the 16th century, has something to say about general human nature in his quote above.

Men are fickle and swayed by the present moment, says Machiavelli. In other words, just because someone starts, say, writing a book today, that doesn’t mean he will continue to work on it next week. And vice versa. Just because a man will suffer from a hangover tomorrow, that doesn’t mean he won’t drink tonight. So let’s take that as the first axiom of Machiavellian mathematics:

Present >>> Future

Moving on. Here’s a second Machiavelli quote:

“And men have less scruple in offending one who is beloved than one who is feared, for love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage; but fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails.”

What is Machiavelli saying here? Maybe I’m reading into it, but it sounds like he’s saying people are motivated more by negative emotions than by positive ones. Or in precise mathematical notation:

Pain >>> Gain

Of course, there are going to be exceptions to this. Some individuals and some markets will be immune to these nasty Machiavellian laws. After all, people volunteered to cross Antarctica by sled 100 years ago.

But don’t bet the house on it. Most of the time, if you’re in doubt, remember the two axioms above. And in particular, remember it will take an enormous amount of future gain to outweigh even a little bit of present pain.

Soothing the shame-filled sailor

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If Billy Budd is real, I haven’t met him in my 39 years on this planet.

Billy Budd, as you might know, is the eponymous main character of Herman Melville’s last novel. He’s “the handsome sailor,” which is shorthand for saying he is beautiful, brave, optimistic, strong, kind, likeable, healthy, and noble.

Quite a combination.

Not often seen.

Especially in real life.

For example, I’ve only ever come across a few people — fewer than 5, either men or women — who I thought qualified to be a real-life Billy Budd. And that was only at first sight.

Because whenever I got a chance to know these people better… it turned out they were not really “the handsome sailor.” These perfect-seeming people all had secret problems, conflicts, and scars lurking beneath the surface.

And so it is with all of us.

All of us have problems. Usually bunches of problems.

​​And along with these problems, there’s almost always shame. ​This shame doesn’t have to be conscious. But it’s there. And it’s powerful.

That’s why a hackneyed copywriting phrase crops up in so many sales letters, year after year. You might think this phrase is hokey… but it works. It soothes shame, cleanses sins, and opens up the reader to the possibility that their problem can be fixed.

Do you wanna know the phrase? Here goes:

“It’s not your fault.”

Try using this phrase in your copy in some form. And watch your conversions rise like a sail in a full breeze.

Because like I said, most of us are not handsome sailors… we’re shame-filled sailors. Not that that’s all bad. In Melville’s book, Billy Budd pays for his perfection with his life — though he dies a noble, admirable death. But who wants that?