Car Guys vs. Bean Counters - Bob Lutz [41]
To make matters worse, these “brand pyramids” were rarely, if ever, put together by the actual marketing people for that make. Instead, they were farmed out to advertising agencies, those vast repositories of “brand knowledge.”
After the agony of feigning interest in the brand presentation, I hoped relief would come when the curtain finally lifted on the cars themselves. But relief soon turned to abject horror. The upcoming Saturn lineup was so ugly, inside the vehicles and out, that even the designer’s mother would buy Japanese. None of the Saturns had any charm or ornamentation to delight the eye. Without grilles, none had any “facial” character, usually a key attribute in brand identification. Cars are like people that way.
When I remarked, “These vehicles seem somewhat devoid of character,” I saw the marketing team beam with pleasure. This, I realized, is exactly what they had wanted! This is what they wanted to offer their carefully researched “postmodern” buyer, the person who (allegedly) didn’t care about character, proportion, or design, but wanted a bland, anonymous appliance. Checking the brand boards, I saw that Saturn featured everything from store-brand detergents to functional, drab Birkenstocks. The Saturn Ion was an all-plastic marvel, as was the upcoming Vue. Both were too late in the process to stop. Both required loss-generating pricing and incentives to move them in the market. Some interior and exterior upgrades (including a front grille and some attractive chrome ornamentation) ultimately helped the Vue later in its life, but both vehicles showed that not even the “postmodern” buyer was willing to drive an amorphous blob.
We then had a lively discussion about Buick. Here, the “experts” had decided that the brand’s focus would cater to the needs of the elderly. Toward this end, a system called “Quiet Servant” was conjured up. To my amazement, I was shown an interior mock-up featuring no instrument panel and no visible controls whatsoever. It was to be the world’s first car operated entirely by voice command. Speed, gas level, and other relevant information were projected on the windshield.
“Folks,” I said, “this is nuts!”
“No, no!” they insisted. They had shown a video to older people, where the fictitious driver merely said “headlights” or “left turn signal” or “radio” and the car instantly delivered. And, at the end of the video, 75 percent had expressed a strong preference for this miraculous system. But I’d learned to be skeptical of research in which subjects are shown an ideal, simplified version of a new technology where everything just works. Real life never quite lives up to the fantasy. Still, I agreed to drive a prototype.
I will never forget that drive through downtown Milford, Michigan, and the engineer sitting next to me probably won’t forget it either. At his urging, I asked for “more cold air.” “No, no!” he said. “You have to scroll verbally! First say ‘climate control.’ When the car says ‘climate control,’ you say ‘blower.’ When the car repeats ‘blower,’ you say ‘up one.’ Same with temperature.” Of course, it wasn’t that easy, and a comedy of errors ensued. I did the best I could, trying to remember the sequence. So fixated did I become with the marvels of voice input technology that I casually cruised through two red lights, nearly causing an accident each time. Quiet Servant should have been called Quiet Assassin!
The new system officially died the next morning. I announced it to the Buick team in person. One earnest young woman almost broke out in tears, seeing the whole purpose of the last two years of her life float away. But, to my surprise, it was a hugely popular decision, and many congratulated me on having the courage to eradicate what had been a festering sore in product development. It was going to cost a fortune