In a profoundly important respect, the bean-counters now in charge at Virgin have forgotten that their primary source of income is humans.
To a bean-counter, it makes sense to slice apparently "unnecessary" trimmings from a product, and thereby decrease incremental costs and increase gross profit. Indeed, one might think it irresponsible to one's shareholders to ignore focus-group and survey data which would suggest such cuts were possible. And, yes, if Virgin were producing printed circuit boards, and found that one method of surface-mounting was cheaper than another, then the bean-counters would be right to request the saving. Virgin Atlantic, however, do not make printed circuits boards - they deliver a service to humans, and humans do not react like printed circuit boards to apparently "rational" skimpings.
The bean-counters at Virgin have forgotten that they are in a service industry - a very competitive one - where the whole is worth more than the parts, and the "petty" details have devastating psychological importance. That Virgin, of all companies, has suddenly become blind to the subtlety of sustaining a community is astonishing: the most brand-conscious of organisations has forgotten that its flagship service is either burnished or tarnished through the composite of hundreds of apparently "insignificant" details; details like little red pillows, flowers, a "light bites" service, consistent staff-training and performance, and yes, a decent amenity kit.
Having forgotten this, perhaps any bean-counters would fail to understand how the effective removal of an amenity kit could have had the profound reaction it has received here:
"But nobody particularly cared about the amenity kit. There was wastage!", they might retort, incredulously. If one listens to the simple output of a focus group, or examines the evidence of "wastage" without a little lateral thinking of what might actually be implied, then one can fall in to these little traps, as the bean-counters have. Yes, many people did not "use" all the items in the kit. Yes, many people CLAIMED that they wouldn't miss it, were it gone. And, were people simple, linearly reactive robots, one would react accordingly to such "data". Unlike the bean-counters, most people have subtly contradictory psychologies which do not progress down such simplistic tracks.
In a profound respect, amenity kits, red pillows and the rest are not valuable merely for the utilitarian benefit they provide; their import lies in their being symbols of a complex social performance, one that acts to welcome the sustainers of one's flagship service, and yes, even to betoken a mild decadence, of being ALLOWED to waste, an invitation not to worry about being nickled and dimed. Funnily enough, an amenity kit's value is that it suggests an oppulence. "You may well not need it, but we care so much that we nevertheless provide it for you, just in case you do. No need to beg here!". They are physical metonyms for the brand, and the service as a whole. They represent the desire that the "guest" be comforted, pampered and valued, beyond responding cursorily to specific requests. Every culture - every SINGLE culture - has "gift-giving" as a token of esteem. Whether one visits a Bedouin tribe or a Scottish clan during Hogmany, a complex set of giving and receiving rituals indicate status, welcome and acceptance. The exchanged goods are not important. Their quality, and what they represent about attitudes are. This is a deeply rooted part of our species's enculturation, and the bean-counters ignore it at their peril.
Cultures are full of rituals and performances which, to a degree, could be "rationalised" away. Think of the complex Japanese tea-ceremony. A Virgin bean-counter would, no doubt, find the thing absurd, and suggest it be replaced with a tea-bag in a cardboard cup. After all, "surveys" would show that the tea-ceremony was not, indeed, the most convenient way of getting a cup of tea! Get rid of tokens and ceremonies and, strip by torn strip, one rips away the very essence of what makes a culture more than just a "bunch of people". Unpick the "unnecessary" threads comprising the tokens and ceremonies that are part of the complex tapestry of a premium brand, and one is left with a bare frame. Bare frames do not encourage brand loyalty! They encourage shopping-around and price comparisons.
High-premium brands are not selected by its customers primarily on price. Ryan Air can get away with stripping their planes to the bare bone, because few have a loyalty to the Ryan Air brand beyond its cheap fares. Virgin's genius used to be in recognising that brand-loyalty could be predicated on something less tangible, but more durable, than cost-cutting and service-paring.
In summary, then, Virgin Atlantic is losing its corporate soul and significantly damaging its high-end branding. The damage will not be visible initially beyond the "canaries in the mine" in these and other forums. Eventually, though, the results will be wide-spread and devastating to the brand. Who would have guessed, three or four years ago, that an impressionistic image of Virgin's top-end product would include penny-pinching, reduced and lacklustre food, embarrassed and listless employees, ripped cardboard handouts, utterly arrogant management and, most profoundly of all, "fan" sites filled with disillusion and complaint? There is a deep rot at Virgin's core. Its profitable future demands high-paying premium fliers. The brand eco-system that sustains these is being plundered by reductionist bean-counters in a way that should alarm highly any perspicacious shareholder. Virgin had better wake up now to the scorched earth it is razing, because its competitors are certainly no longer asleep, and seem to recognise much of what Virgin has forgotten in its blind pursuit of petty snipping.
To a bean-counter, it makes sense to slice apparently "unnecessary" trimmings from a product, and thereby decrease incremental costs and increase gross profit. Indeed, one might think it irresponsible to one's shareholders to ignore focus-group and survey data which would suggest such cuts were possible. And, yes, if Virgin were producing printed circuit boards, and found that one method of surface-mounting was cheaper than another, then the bean-counters would be right to request the saving. Virgin Atlantic, however, do not make printed circuits boards - they deliver a service to humans, and humans do not react like printed circuit boards to apparently "rational" skimpings.
The bean-counters at Virgin have forgotten that they are in a service industry - a very competitive one - where the whole is worth more than the parts, and the "petty" details have devastating psychological importance. That Virgin, of all companies, has suddenly become blind to the subtlety of sustaining a community is astonishing: the most brand-conscious of organisations has forgotten that its flagship service is either burnished or tarnished through the composite of hundreds of apparently "insignificant" details; details like little red pillows, flowers, a "light bites" service, consistent staff-training and performance, and yes, a decent amenity kit.
Having forgotten this, perhaps any bean-counters would fail to understand how the effective removal of an amenity kit could have had the profound reaction it has received here:
"But nobody particularly cared about the amenity kit. There was wastage!", they might retort, incredulously. If one listens to the simple output of a focus group, or examines the evidence of "wastage" without a little lateral thinking of what might actually be implied, then one can fall in to these little traps, as the bean-counters have. Yes, many people did not "use" all the items in the kit. Yes, many people CLAIMED that they wouldn't miss it, were it gone. And, were people simple, linearly reactive robots, one would react accordingly to such "data". Unlike the bean-counters, most people have subtly contradictory psychologies which do not progress down such simplistic tracks.
In a profound respect, amenity kits, red pillows and the rest are not valuable merely for the utilitarian benefit they provide; their import lies in their being symbols of a complex social performance, one that acts to welcome the sustainers of one's flagship service, and yes, even to betoken a mild decadence, of being ALLOWED to waste, an invitation not to worry about being nickled and dimed. Funnily enough, an amenity kit's value is that it suggests an oppulence. "You may well not need it, but we care so much that we nevertheless provide it for you, just in case you do. No need to beg here!". They are physical metonyms for the brand, and the service as a whole. They represent the desire that the "guest" be comforted, pampered and valued, beyond responding cursorily to specific requests. Every culture - every SINGLE culture - has "gift-giving" as a token of esteem. Whether one visits a Bedouin tribe or a Scottish clan during Hogmany, a complex set of giving and receiving rituals indicate status, welcome and acceptance. The exchanged goods are not important. Their quality, and what they represent about attitudes are. This is a deeply rooted part of our species's enculturation, and the bean-counters ignore it at their peril.
Cultures are full of rituals and performances which, to a degree, could be "rationalised" away. Think of the complex Japanese tea-ceremony. A Virgin bean-counter would, no doubt, find the thing absurd, and suggest it be replaced with a tea-bag in a cardboard cup. After all, "surveys" would show that the tea-ceremony was not, indeed, the most convenient way of getting a cup of tea! Get rid of tokens and ceremonies and, strip by torn strip, one rips away the very essence of what makes a culture more than just a "bunch of people". Unpick the "unnecessary" threads comprising the tokens and ceremonies that are part of the complex tapestry of a premium brand, and one is left with a bare frame. Bare frames do not encourage brand loyalty! They encourage shopping-around and price comparisons.
High-premium brands are not selected by its customers primarily on price. Ryan Air can get away with stripping their planes to the bare bone, because few have a loyalty to the Ryan Air brand beyond its cheap fares. Virgin's genius used to be in recognising that brand-loyalty could be predicated on something less tangible, but more durable, than cost-cutting and service-paring.
In summary, then, Virgin Atlantic is losing its corporate soul and significantly damaging its high-end branding. The damage will not be visible initially beyond the "canaries in the mine" in these and other forums. Eventually, though, the results will be wide-spread and devastating to the brand. Who would have guessed, three or four years ago, that an impressionistic image of Virgin's top-end product would include penny-pinching, reduced and lacklustre food, embarrassed and listless employees, ripped cardboard handouts, utterly arrogant management and, most profoundly of all, "fan" sites filled with disillusion and complaint? There is a deep rot at Virgin's core. Its profitable future demands high-paying premium fliers. The brand eco-system that sustains these is being plundered by reductionist bean-counters in a way that should alarm highly any perspicacious shareholder. Virgin had better wake up now to the scorched earth it is razing, because its competitors are certainly no longer asleep, and seem to recognise much of what Virgin has forgotten in its blind pursuit of petty snipping.
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