Claude Hopkins

A chance meeting of star-crossed lovers, in the business district, next to a fancy hotel

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I was walking this morning through a business district, next to a fancy hotel. I saw a very beautiful blonde girl walking quickly across my path.

She was wearing a white top, which was too short for her, and a white skirt, which was also too short. She slowed down for a moment to adjust her skirt and pull it down into place. I guess she was excited about something coming up, because her eyes lit up with a smile and she picked up her quick pace again.

Suddenly, she spotted me staring at her.

​​Her face got stern, she focused her eyes on the ground in front of her, and she adjusted her skirt again.

She walked on out of my peripheral vision, and I resisted the urge to turn around and look after her.

​​I could hear her pressing a buzzer — I guess the staff entrance to the hotel. In a moment more, the door opened, and she slipped inside. She was gone, and we were both safe — her, from my calf-like staring, and me, from the daunting prospect of having to go and talk to her.

But wait, there’s more.

I mean, not with this girl, even though, who knows, maybe she was THE ONE.

But staring at girls is not all I did this morning. I also read an article about writing. It was written by a certain Jay Acunzo and was titled “Nothing Is Boring: How to Tell Gripping Stories About the Seemingly Mundane.”

Acunzo’s article gives you a simple three-part structure for writing engaging stories from mundane life events.

I will not tell you what the three-part structure is. That’s because I’ve already spent enough time in the past month talking about story templates, and because the conclusion of all that work was, story templates are best forgotten.

But I will share just one bit from Acunzo’s article, which is really all you need to know:

“All it takes to tell a meaningful story from the mundane details around us is some tension, however fleeting, however subtle. These tiny differences make all the difference in the world.”

So did the tension in my little story above grip you?

​​Well, maybe grip is too strong a word.

But maybe you did feel a certain contraction and then relaxation as you were reading.

​​Maybe you felt enough tension to turn this short story from just a random collection of personal facts into something that was sufficiently stimulating, that you enjoyed having communicated to you. And really, that’s the main point. As the original A-list copywriter, Claude H., put it,

“People will not be bored in print. They may listen politely at a dinner table to boasts and personalities, life histories, etc. But in print they choose their own companions, their own subjects. They want to be amused or benefited.”

In case you’d like to be regularly benefited, and occasionally amused, you might like my email newsletter. You can sign up for it here.

Dude… you gotta read this email

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This morning I was idling on the Internet when I saw a clip of an MMA fight between all-time great Fedor Emelianenko and all-time loudmouth Chael Sonnen.

In the clip, Sonnen managed to get Emelianenko on the ground. Sonnen then did some fancy/silly move to get himself in trouble, with Emelianenko on top, raining punches down on Sonnen’s head.

But what really had me transfixed was looking at the ad on Sonnen’s shorts. It read:

DUDE WIPES

Dude wipes? It turns out to be a real thing. Disposable wet wipes for men, in masculine black packaging.

My first impression was that calling your intimate hygiene product “wipes” is already emasculating, and defeats all the manly branding.

But apparently I’m wrong. DUDE Wipes is a successful business. As proof:

They have many offers on their site beyond just wipes (DUDE bidet)…

They have endorsement deals with pro sports figures (pro golfer: “On the golf course and off it, I’m taking it to the hole with DUDE Wipes”)…

And on Amazon, various bundles of DUDE wipes have tens of thousands of reviews, almost all five-star, though with some caveats (“The wife is always reluctant to have them in the guest bath when we have company because of the, as she puts it, sophomoric name and black package”).

This brought to mind my long-simmering idea to create a business by taking a consumable product and applying it to an affinity or identity group.

The usual order in much of direct response is to take a niche and then figure out, what could we sell to them? What could we create and sell at a high-enough markup and with repeating revenue for long enough to make it worthwhile?

This system clearly works.

But the other way works also, and maybe even better. As Claude Hopkins put it, “It is a well-known fact that the greatest profits are made on great volume and small profit.”

So the idea is to take a consumable product which is a known seller to a mass audience, and brand it for a specific affinity or identity group.

I’ve already seen this done with coffee for Reformed Christians. That brand was called Reformed Roasters, and within two months of being launched, it was making $40k/month.

So why not a line of fine cheeses for militant atheists?

Or air fresheners for QAnon nuts?

Or dog food for dogs of heavy metal heads?

Maybe you say any of these ideas is arbitrary, and much more likely to fail than to work.

I’m sure you’re right. To make this work, you will need good marketing to get your Sunni Soda off the ground.

But if you have capital to invest, I happen to know a good marketer. And if you’re looking for a partner to help you create the next Pepsodent or Palmolive soap — for dudes — then sign up for my email list and then we can talk.

/

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Today I’d like to tell you the story of a boy who became known as Thee-Thee.

When Thee-Thee was just ten years old, his father died. The family wasn’t rich before, but now they were poor. Thee-Thee had to go to work — every day, before and after school, weekends too — to help support himself and the rest of his family.

Thee-Thee kept working. And he kept studying. He finished high school and even some college.

But his first job out of college paid so poorly that Thee-Thee couldn’t afford a meal every night. His budget could just support the room he was renting, occasional laundry service for his two shirts, and dinners only five nights a week. The other two nights he had to go to bed hungry.

But Thee-Thee didn’t stop, and he didn’t quit. He kept working hard and being honest. He made his employers more and more money. And as a result, he himself progressed, further and further.

Thee-Thee started getting paid higher wages. Then he got commissions on the money he was earning his employers. Then he was given shares of businesses he helped grow.

In time, Thee-Thee became rich. He bought an ocean-going yacht. He lived in a palatial house surrounded by flower gardens admired across the state. He died a multimillionaire, back when that was the equivalent of what today is a billionaire.

You might recognize who I’m talking about. It’s a famous marketer and copywriter. Perhaps the most famous and influential of them all:

Claude C. Hopkins.

(Thee-Thee? Hopkins had a lisp. When he introduced himself — C.C. — it came out as Thee-Thee. This became his nickname around the Lord & Thomas offices — behind his back of course.)

I’m telling you the story of Thee-Thee Hopkins for two reasons:

First, because it shows what you can earn — “at a typewriter which you operate yourself, without a clerk or secretary, and much of it earned in the woods” — if you get really dedicated to this marketing and copywriting thing.

The second reason is that Hopkins’s life is a perfect illustration of a rags-to-riches story.

Back in 1995, scientists from the University of Vermont looked at 1,700 popular stories, spanning all eras. The scientists used some fancy computering to analyze all these stories.

The upshot was they found these 1,700 stories all boiled down to just six fundamental structures.

The first of these can be concisely represented by the character /. It is the rags-to-riches story, which I just told you about.

If you’re curious about the other five fundamental story structures, you can go look them up for yourself. Or you can just sign up to my email newsletter.

Because over the coming five days, I will illustrate each of these five other canonical story types in an email. And will tell you some extra storytelling tricks and ideas that can help you also.

So if, like me, you get off on the hidden structure behind everyday things, my next few emails might be interesting for you. And who knows, they might even be profitable for you. As Thee-Thee Hopkins almost said once:

“Our success depends on pleasing people. By an inexpensive test we can learn if we please them or not. And if some guys from the University of Vermont have already done that testing for us, all the better. We can guide our endeavors accordingly.”

In case you want to read those emails when I send them out, here’s how to get a spot on my newsletter.

Skunk email with a great and valuable reward

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This email won’t be easy or pleasant to get through.

​​In fact it will take work and it might make you feel queasy along the way. But if you can manage it to the end, the rewards will be great.

Let me start by telling you I’m re-reading Claude Hopkins’s My Life in Advertising. And one story I missed before is this bit from Hopkins’s childhood:

One of the products which father advertised was Vinegar Bitters. I afterward learned its history.

A vinegar-maker spoiled a batch through some queer fermentation. Thus he produced a product weird in its offensiveness.

The people of those days believed that medicine must be horrible to be effective.

We had oils and ointments “for man or beast” which would make either wild. We used “snake oil” and “skunk oil,” presumably because of their names.

Unless the cure was worse than the disease, no one would respect it.

Today we assume that every offer must be fast, easy, and cheap.

But human nature changes like glass flows — so slowly that we will never see it happen.

And a part of the human brain still believes, like it did in Hopkins’s day, that the cure must be worse than the disease. At least along some dimension.

So if your offer is fast and easy, make sure it’s not cheap.

Or if your offer really is all of fast, easy, and cheap… then at least throw a skunk or a snake into it somewhere.

In other words, turn your prospect into a hero. Tell him a story:

He’s somebody who’s willing to do what’s offensive to others… somebody who can swallow what would turn most men or beasts wild. ​​No, it won’t be easy or pleasant. But if he can manage it to the end, the rewards will be great.

Last thing:

Maybe you’d like to know I have an email newsletter. It’s cheap and easy, but it’s very slow. You can sign up for it here.

INSIGHT

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“Will you accept this opportunity to learn at my expense absolutely, how to be rid forever of all forms of stomach trouble — to be rid not only of the trouble, but of the very cause which produced it? Write today.”

Or rather, read today. Read the rest of this post. And then maybe do what I say at the end, which will take you at my expense absolutely to the ad which I quoted above.

The headline for the ad was INDIGESTION. The offer was a patent medicine called Dr. Shoop’s Restorative.

The copywriter may or may not have been Claude Hopkins, author of Scientific Advertising. He cut his teeth writing for Dr. Shoop’s. Right around the time this ad came out.

Or maybe the copywriter was John E. Kennedy, author of Reason Why Advertising, and inventor of the concept of “Salesmanship in print.” Kennedy also wrote copy for Dr Shoop’s.

Whatever the case is, this ad shows you the future.

Yes, it was written more than 100 years ago, and it ran all over the country starting in 1905.

But trust me, it shows the future.

I’m writing a book right now on insight marketing. This is a new concept that only a few smart marketers, like Stefan Georgi… and Travis Sago… and Rich Schefren are using consciously right now.

​​But if you look at this ancient patent medicine ad… it’s like an insight fossil. It shows you the moment where the insight fish crawled out of the sea of promises and onto dry land — and even grew some legs to start walking.

I resisted sharing this ad with anybody for a long time. But I guess the time has come.

​​So if you can read between the lines, and you want to see the future of direct response advertising, then sign up to my email newsletter. That’s my condition for sharing this ad with anybody. And once you’re signed up, reply to my welcome email and ask for the insight fossil ad. I’ll send you the link.

Real #1 proof for 2021 and beyond

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“We write you because, with all you have heard and read ABOUT O. Henry’s stories, you have never yet SEEN them. You have never yet had the privilege we now offer you of ACTUALLY handling volumes — reading in your home some of these wonderful tales — proving to your own satisfaction the marvelous insight of the man, the depth of his understanding and sympathy.”

— Robert Collier, from a 1919 direct mail campaign that sold $1 million worth of O. Henry books

Demonstration is supposed to be the strongest form of proof. And I believe it, because Gary Bencivenga and Claude Hopkins say so.

That’s why demonstration is what I resort to most often in these emails. I don’t just tell you ABOUT a cool persuasion technique. I allow you to ACTUALLY SEE it.

But what if?

What if demonstration is not really tops?

Remember when Beats headphones came out? Headphone snobs were quick to point out that Beats headphones were mediocre in terms of sound quality. Even non-snobs could probably tell Beats headphones were nothing special. And yet Beats soon became one of the biggest headphone brands in the world, and sold for $3.2 billion to Apple a few years later.

Or remember the story of Coke vs. Pepsi? How Pepsi was winning the blind taste tests? And how Coke decided to change their formula… which led to a popular backlash… and a return from the ashes of “the real thing” — Coke — and not Pepsi, which tasted better?

Who knows. Maybe things were different in the time of Robert Collier. Maybe people really trusted their own opinions and experiences. And maybe getting people to try was the best way to to get them to buy. Maybe.

Whatever the case was back then, it’s not how it is today. Today it’s too hard to choose, and we no longer trust our own opinions all that deeply.

You probably see what I’m getting at. And you probably see what I believe is the real #1 type of proof, in 2021 and beyond.

Which brings me to a book I’d like to recommend on that topic. Two people I respect — one a successful marketer and business owner, and the other a copywriter at Agora — recently recommended it to me.

That’s why, even though I haven’t read this book yet, and maybe never will, I’m sure I’d like it. And that’s why I’d like to recommend it to you as well, and why I’m sure you’ll like it too. So here’s the deal:

If you’d like to know the title of this book, sign up to my email newsletter. (A bunch of direct response legends and young stars already do subscribe to it.) And then send me an email to introduce yourself. I’ll write back to you, and tell you the title of this valuable and wonderful book.

More pie: How to sometimes get what you want, even if you can’t afford it

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Before he became a master copywriter, back when he was still a young man, marketing legend Claude Hopkins tried to get a better paying job.

And he tried to do it by talking about his poverty.

No dice. The boss wasn’t moved. He thought struggle and poverty were good for a young man.

So Hopkins admitted his true ambition.

He wanted to eat more pie. There was a boarding house that served pie every night, but he couldn’t afford to live there.

Turns out, the boss loved pie. He couldn’t bear the idea of a man being denied pie. What’s life without pie.

So he hired Hopkins, at a better salary, and even invited the young man to his home — to eat pie, of course.

I mention this because over the past week, a few people have written me to get free access to Copy Riddles. They cited their poverty and bad circumstances.

I turned them away. You can probably guess my reasons:

1. I like to get paid, and even people who are in bad circumstances can often pull together the money for things they really really want.

2. Letting in people for free because isn’t very cool to people who pay.

3. There’s a lot of truth to the idea that, unless you pay for something, you don’t value it.

You’ve probably heard all these arguments before. The only extra thing I can add is to suggest that, if there’s something you really really want, and you absolutely 100% can’t afford it, then talk about your lust for pie — or whatever your true ambition is — rather than about your poverty. It might open more doors.

That however, is not an invitation to write to me about your love of pie. It won’t get you an invite to my house for dinner, and it won’t get you into Copy Riddles for free.

In fact, nothing will get you into Copy Riddles for free, at least for this next round, which kicks off on Monday. But enrollment ends even sooner, tomorrow, Sunday night, at midnight PST.

So if you’d like to join and you can afford to do so… or even if you can’t afford it, but you can somehow scrape together the money because it’s really really important to you… then here’s where to go:

https://copyriddles.com/

One of the greatest direct response mysteries of all time

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“Jesus, that looks frightening.”

There are many cosmetic dentists in the town I’m staying in. Some of these dentists advertise.

So there’s a billboard down the road, and it shows a pretty girl, with perfect teeth, smiling brightly at the driver-by.

​​And then closing in on both sides of the girl’s face… approaching her like monstrous tentacles of an unseen krakken… are various dental instruments of torture — drills, picks, mirrors, and suction tubes.

Every time I pass this billboard, I shudder. It seems to be such a full-on advertising miss.

I guess they tried to associate dentistry with beauty and happiness. They wound up doing just the opposite — making a bright and happy smile look frightening. But who knows, maybe it works?

In any case, it brings to mind one of the greatest direct response mysteries of all time, at least to my mind. Because here’s a quote from Claude Hopkins, the grandfather of direct marketing and the author of the book Scientific Advertising:

Show the bright side, the happy and attractive side, not the dark and uninviting side of things. Show beauty, not homeliness; health, not sickness. Don’t show the wrinkles you propose to remove, but the face as it will appear. Your customers know all about the wrinkles.

In advertising a dentifrice, show pretty teeth, not bad teeth. Talk of coming good conditions, not conditions which exist. In advertising clothes, picture well-dressed people, not the shabby. Picture successful men, not failures, when you advertise a business course. Picture what others wish to be, not what they may be now.

We are attracted by sunshine, beauty, happiness, health, success. Then point the way to them, not the way out of the opposite.

Can this be true? But it’s got to be, right?

After all, Claude Hopkins didn’t have opinions about advertising. He had hard results — scientific advertising — based on keyed ads. The idea back of an ad either sold, or it didn’t.

But hold on. We know today, from equally scientific advertising, that the story of a fat woman humiliated at a ritzy clothing store…

T​he image of a frightened and injured dog, loose on a busy highway…

T​he snapshot of a man walking into a shopping mall, killing three people, leaving his shotgun on the counter, and walking out…

W​e know these are all are powerful ways to make a sale. Or at least my clients and I know.

Because those were all stories I used to start emails, advertorials, and sales letters. And all of them worked many times better than bright, happy, and attractive alternatives.

So what gives?

Has human nature changed so much in the last 100 years?

Or was Claude Hopkins wrong in reading the data he was getting?

Or was this just a classic case of a marketer saying one thing about his marketing… but doing another?

I don’t know. If you do, I hope you will enlighten me about this mystery. And if you’re into direct response mysteries, you might like my scary email newsletter about marketing and copywriting.

Become a scheme man

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“How the Grecian Mother Bathed her Baby”
​
“Fine oils were cleansing agents for young and old. The Grecian mother used nothing else to bathe her babies, together with soft, tepid water. Modern science prescribes the same method for new-born infants.“

That’s from a 1915 ad for Palmolive soap. The ad was written by Claude Hopkins, who was on the Palmolive account back then.

Copywriters today are told to study Hopkins’s ads like this one. For the intriguing headline that gets attention… for the appeals to self-interest… for the proof in the form of reason why copy.

Fine. That’s all important stuff.

But you know what? Hopkins wasn’t primarily a copywriter. Primarily, he was a scheme man.

That was the term at the time for somebody we might call a marketer today. Because what marketers today do is really just apply and adapt ideas that guys like Hopkins invented at the start of the 20th century.

For example, do you know how Claude Hopkins took Palmolive from a product with almost no sales… to the biggest soap brand in the U.S.?

He didn’t do it with clever copy. He did it with a scheme.

Local grocery stores at that time didn’t stock Palmolive. Why should they? Nobody had ever heard of Palmolive, and there were plenty of other decent soaps.

So Hopkins ran ads. First, in one local market. Gradually, all over the country.

“This Coupon Gets You Something Worth 10¢”

The “something” was a bar of Palmolive soap. It cost 10¢ in 1911, and that was something. Something women wouldn’t throw away. Something they would demand from their local grocer.

Hopkins knew that they would do this… so he sent the same ad to grocers before running it in the newspaper. The message was clear:

“Women will come to you asking for their 10¢ gift of Palmolive soap. If you don’t have it, they will still get it, even if they have to go across the street to your competitor.”

So grocers stocked up on Palmolive soap before the newspaper ad ran.

And Hopkins’s initial Palmolive campaign… after the free giveaways were paid for… well, it created a 4-to-1 return on ad spend. With that kind of math, Hopkins soon had almost every woman in America holding a bar of Palmolive in her hand.

Frighteningly clever.

Because at the heart of it wasn’t the appeal to the fine “cleansing agents for young and old.” Sure, Palmolive soap was good enough for women to keep buying. But that wasn’t the key thing that sold it in the beginning.

It also wasn’t the free 10¢ Palmolive bar giveaway. That was important, but it wouldn’t have worked if women couldn’t get their hands on the actual soap.

No, the key was something else.

The key was the fear that Hopkins drove into the hearts of grocers across the country.

Because Hopkins didn’t try to appeal to the grocers’ greed. He didn’t say, “We have a great new soap. Stock it and you will profit.”

Nope.

He effectively threatened. “Stock Palmolive,” he quietly said, “or else you will lose your existing business.”

That’s a scheme. And if you’re a marketer, it’s a scheme that might be worth applying and adapting to your own brands and businesses today.

Anyways, that’s just one foundational thing I’ve learned from Claude Hopkins.

And clever as it is, it’s not nearly the most important thing I’ve learned from him.

The most important thing is something I wrote about in Commandment VI of my 10 Commandments of A-List Copywriters.

That commandment is not about copywriting tactics… not about marketing schemes… but about something much more fundamental that Claude Hopkins preached.

​​And yet, if you follow this one commandment, you will become a success… even if you’ve failed in everything until now… and even if you make all the mistakes you want going forward.

But you gotta read the book to find out the full story. Because if you don’t, other copywriters will. For more info:

https://www.bejakovic.com/10commandments

Tom Cleveland continues his productive NYT snooping

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How do veterans of #vanlife feel about all the newbies? Can you make a statement about your gender, when there’s no one there to watch you? And is that “maskne” on your face, or is it plain old acne?

In case you want answers to any of these questions, head on over to the New York Times website. As I write, these stories are all up on the home page.

A guy named Tom Cleveland has been snooping on the Times. I wrote about him a few weeks ago. Through his snooping, he discovered how the NYT makes its headlines more dramatic through A/B testing.

Now Cleveland has put out a part two to his research. It’s about which stories linger on the Times digital front page. And the breakdown is this:

News: 46.6%
Opinion: 22.2%
Feature: 31.1%

“Categories and numbers, huh?” Let me translate what I think this means.

“News” you’re probably familiar with. “U.S. Adds 916,000 Jobs in Sign of Surging Labor Market.” No thrills there.

“Opinion” is a little more fluid. It includes hard-hitting editorial such as “The unsettling power of Easter” (also on the NYT front page right now) as well as the “If a gender falls in the forest” piece above.

And then there’s “Features.” This is apparently an industry term for pure fluff — your typical #vanlife and maskne pieces.

So adding up Opinion and Feature, we get that the NY Times shows this type of content 54.3% of the time on its front page. In other words, this is most of what they show — because it’s most of what people want to see.

Please believe me:

This is not my ant-sized attack on the elephant that is the New York Times. Instead, I just want to point out that people always want human-interest stuff, first and foremost.

If you’re in the business of feeding people whatever, just to sell subscriptions and ads, they you might as well stick to fluff or tabloid content.

On the other hand, perhaps you have an important message to share with the world. But you worry that your topic puts people to sleep. Or gives them a headache.

Don’t worry. It’s an easy problem to fix. Just wrap your dry, complex topic in a thick human-interest sandwich. People will happily devour it, all the way to the end. ​​Here’s an example from an email I wrote last year:

“It’s a story of family betrayal… of breakthrough ideas, conceived in prison… of a small group of desperate visionaries who took an almost occult science… and combined it with a strange, untested new technology… to create the foundations of an industry worth over a quarter trillion dollars.”

Do you know what that paragraph was about? It’s about dry, technical topic. Namely, direct marketing, told through the colorful characters who dun it — Claude Hopkins, Gary Halbert, Ken McCarthy. And if you want to know how that story developed, you might like to sign up to my very human-friendly email newsletter.