What an advertisement asks us to believe

I sometimes reread something I have written about my company and realize that I have left out the reason anyone should believe it.

The words are clear. I mean them. But I know everything sitting behind them: the decisions, the failed attempts, the small things we spent too long getting right. The person reading knows none of that.

I forget this more often than I would like.

When you spend your days building something, its value starts to feel obvious. You can see what it could become. You remember what it took to get here. Eventually, it becomes difficult to look at it without all that knowledge.

Someone else sees a page and gives it a few seconds.

I used to think the distance between those experiences was mostly a matter of explanation. Find the right words and people would understand. There is some truth in that. But a person can understand exactly what you are saying and still have no reason to believe you.

I know this because I do it myself. I read a promise, understand it perfectly, and remain unconvinced. Usually because I have heard it before. Sometimes because I once believed it and was disappointed.

Every new company introduces itself into that history, whether it knows it or not.

I think about this a lot working on advertising. An ad asks someone to accept quite a bit from a stranger. That a product will help. That a company will deliver. That an interruption is worth their time.

The natural response is to make the promise stronger. Better words, a more striking image, a more confident voice.

But I am becoming interested in what happens when you stop improving the promise and look at what supports it.

If something is simple, can I watch someone use it? If it is carefully made, where can I see that care? What would let me judge for myself?

These seem like small questions. They often change what needs to be made.

AI adds a complication I feel in my own work. It is now very easy to give an early thought the appearance of a finished one. Something I have barely worked through can come back fluent, well structured, and certain.

I find that useful. I also find it easy to be persuaded by.

Sometimes I need to read the result twice before noticing that the sentence has become more convincing while the idea underneath has barely moved. The presentation makes it feel as though some thinking has happened that I still need to do.

At Tactimetry, we work on what brands should say and how to bring it to life. That means spending time with this gap between what a business believes about itself and what someone else can actually see.

It is easier to notice in someone else’s work. I can spot the unsupported claim, the detail that needs showing, the explanation that assumes too much. With my own company, I still want people to see what I see.

There is no particular reason they should. They have their own work, their own concerns, and plenty of other things asking for their attention.

I am trying to keep that in mind when I write. Sometimes it means showing a detail I would have skipped. Sometimes it means making a smaller claim.

And sometimes I delete a sentence I like because, for now, I cannot quite back it up.