If you build it, they will buy it

This is how I picture it.

Lucy is a business student, doing a one-week internship with a company that manufactures baby gear. After spending most of the week contributing to the company’s success with tasks as challenging as making coffee and filing year-old shareholder reports, she is asked by the production design manager to fax some design specifications for a new stroller over to the marketing department.

Curious, Lucy reads through the entire document. She doesn’t have kids herself, and by the time she’s finished reading through the design specifications she wonders if maybe once you become a parent you lose your mind.

“Market research tells us that the next hot parenting trend will focus on upscale strollers,” says the first paragraph of the introductory notes. “In consulting with other industry researchers, we have determined that parents will buy strollers that incorporate the latest advances in technology. They will want a high-end stroller with luxury finishes.”

Some of the key design features of the new stroller include:

• computerized navigation panel with GPS
• faux-leather seat liner with heat and shiatsu massage modes
• iPod docking station with hidden speakers
• drop-down DVD player built into the sunshade
• lilac and vanilla or green tea aromatherapy options

Lucy, emboldened by the fact that it’s the last day of her internship, asks her boss if she can ask him a few questions about the design. “Sure,” he replies, “but you have to be quick. I’m on my way to a meeting with the marketing team.”

“Well,” begins Lucy tentatively, “it’s just that this stroller sounds a little bit impractical. My sister has kids, and she says she wants a stroller that is easy to steer, easy to store and has a cupholder — none of which are mentioned in this design.”

“Cupholder?” says Lucy’s boss, aghast. “Not likely. Imagine the mess if one were to spill something on the faux Italian leather upholstery.”

“But have you done any research with the parents, to see what kind of features matter to them?” persists Lucy.

“Why on earth would we consult with the parents?” replies her boss. “They won’t know what they want until we educate them with our marketing campaign. Listen, why don’t you sit in on the marketing meeting with me. I’m sure you will find it enlightening.”

Lucy does indeed find the marketing meeting enlightening. Several creative types (she recognizes them as creative types because they wear expensive jeans torn out at the knees with bright print shirts and have a carefully disheveled air to their appearance) sit around a conference table crowded with Grande Starbucks cups and cranberry-flax muffins.

At the front of the room, the marketing manager stands near a flip chart, making notes as the participants brainstorm marketing ideas. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s start with product labeling. What should we write on the box and in the advertising copy?”

“Let’s label it ‘Free of Bisphenol A'” calls out a guy from the back.

“Um,” whispers Lucy to her boss. “Bisphenol A is usually a concern with things you ingest, like baby bottles. Babies don’t eat their strollers.”

“That’s beside the point,” replies her boss. “People will buy products that are Bisphenol A-free because they’ve heard it’s dangerous, but most of them have no idea what it is. They’ve been told to fear it, that’s all we need to know.”

“We should claim that the ergonomic design will improve parental posture,” offers another participant.

“I didn’t see anything about ergonomic design in the production specs,” whispers Lucy, unable to restrain herself.

“Shhh!” replies her boss. “That’s because there was nothing. But ergonomic is hot right now. It will sell.”

“Oh, and don’t forget about how the colours will stimulate baby’s brain development,” calls out Lucy’s boss before Lucy can interrupt him again with another question. “And how this stroller’s sporty design will foster a lifelong love of fitness and better social development.”

“And, don’t forget to write that it’s a ‘green’ stroller – it doesn’t emit any carbons or dangerous toxins. We should call it the Eco-Baby Hybrid Stroller.”

“Oh yeah! And, we should package it with a complimentary LuLuLemon diaper bag!”

“Perfect!” exclaims the marketing manager, writing furiously. “And we can jack up the price to compensate for the ‘complimentary’ bag. Speaking of price,” he continues, “I’m thinking we should price it in the $1500 to $1800 bracket.”

At this, Lucy spews a half-swallowed mouthful of coffee across the table in front of her. “What?” she sputters, incredulous. “But I read in the design specs that this stroller will cost about $115 or so per unit to produce. Nobody’s going to pay more than $1000 for a baby stroller!”

“They will after they see Oprah giving one to Angelina Jolie and Nicole Kidman,” replies the marketing manager. “Besides, the higher the price, the higher the perceived value. If people think it’s worth it, they’ll pay any ridiculous price.”

“Make a note to send a couple freebies to Oprah’s people,” the marketing manager says to his assistant. “And then we’ll hold off actually sending them to stores and ‘leak’ a press release saying we can’t keep up with demand. That’ll get the mom crowd drooling with desire.”

Lucy revises her original assessment of parenthood. When you become a parent, you may in fact lose your mind. But when you become a mega-corporation that makes and markets baby products, you lose touch with reality entirely.