Trusted Secrets From A 3-Year Old

This past spring, my three-year old had become obsessed with wearing hats. At the time, his favorite was his Capitals hat. My husband and I were walking in downtown Lenox with our son when a young couple stopped us. "That's the cutest Caps fan we've ever seen," they commented. Of course they were right, and we noticed that the man was in fact wearing a Capitals shirt himself. So, what happens when two Caps fans meet in the street, far away from their home turf (er, ice)? They stop to discuss the most recent Ovechkin stats.

So while the two men compared notes about the coaching mistakes of the most recent game, his wife and I got to talking about where they are from (Washington DC, less than 10 minutes from where we used to live) and what brought them to Lenox (anniversary weekend). We exchanged pleasantries about what a beautiful area it is, how funny that we should meet someone from DC and casually talked about the place the owner at their B&B had recommended for dinner that night. My husband and I had been to that restaurant only once before, and hadn't been overly impressed with it. When she asked if we knew it, I told her this, with the caveat that it had been a while and we had only been there once. She asked which restaurants we would recommend, so I listed a few of our favorite spots. As they walked away, I heard her tell her husband, "Did you hear that?  Let's cancel our reservations. She said it's not good and I trust her more than the guy at our hotel."

I didn't really think much about it at the time, but now, looking back on it, I realize that my (adorable) 3-year old was responsible for one restaurant losing business that night.  

Or more accurately, perhaps, his red Capitals hat is responsible--a recognizable symbol that created an opportunity for connection. It's actually quite funny, when you stop to think about it, that we should have such influence over people we don't even know.  

That couple didn't know me any better than they knew that B&B owner. Our entire interaction lasted 3, maybe 4 minutes at most - probably about as much time as their interaction with the hotel staff member. But it was our brief interaction that compelled them to change their reservation. In that small amount of time, she developed TRUST. Based on only this:

We are Caps fans. We used to live near DC. We live in the Berkshires.  

Admittedly, not the most impressive qualifications, but apparently enough to leave them walking away saying "I trust her."  And that's a big word. So, what was it that earned me this trust?  

Just two basic, simple things: connection and authenticity.  

It started with connection -- a feeling of "something I recognize in a place I don't know." From there, further connection: We used to live near DC. This also served as authenticity. We are real, authentic Caps fans because we used live there. Trust-o-meter just went up two notches.  

Next, we are real, authentic Berkshire residents - and anyone who's ever traveled knows that there's simply nothing better than getting a restaurant recommendation from a real, authentic local. (Ironically, I'm willing to bet that the B&B owner was also a real, authentic local.  Probably a real, authentic Bruins fan, too, which is likely what did him in.)  

Here's the most incredible part:

Under these same circumstances, this would never have happened if we had been in DC. Because in DC, we would have merely been more Caps fans (albeit authentic) surrounded by more DC residents (albeit authentic). We would have had no reason to connect, no reason to discover one another's authenticity. We might, however, have connected with an entirely different set of people for entirely different reasons. We might even have connected with that same couple, but for very different reasons.    

This is the challenge of building a strong brand: building connection through authenticity, when the measure, value, and relevance of both are constantly changing. (I said it was simple, but I never promised it would be easy.) But what you stand to gain is trust, even that of complete strangers.