The one where I ruin a carpet (a.k.a. why storytelling matters)
The Sunday before my internship began, I drove to St. Thomas, Ontario for the first time.
Right where the highway turns into the city’s main street, I was greeted by the business end of a local landmark: a statue of Jumbo the elephant. A few turns later and I was in the empty parking lot of a non-descript building where the local newspaper, the Times-Journal, was put together each day. The trip took just over half an hour.
Route: check. Timing: check. All tests completed. I was ready for my first day.
The next morning, I took care to pick out just the right outfit. Professional but approachable, since I wasn’t sure who I’d be talking to that day. A blazer, in case it got cold in the office. A comfortable pair of boots, because it was the beginning of January and I might need to do some walking outside.
I even left a little early just in case of traffic. There was none, which gave me time to pick up a little treat for myself on the way in – a steamy hot chocolate.
When I walked in through the front doors, Mark, the city editor, came to meet me. He was going to help me get settled at my new desk in the newsroom and give me my first assignment. But first, he walked me over to a coat rack to hang my jacket.
My hands full, I set my purse and hot chocolate down on the floor and unfastened a row of buttons. I took one step to the side as I was turning around. My foot connected with something.
I looked down in horror: my cup was on its side, hot chocolate spilling out of the plastic lid onto the carpet.
“I’m so sorry. So sorry. Where can I find something to clean this up?” I grabbed the cup, saving a few mouthfuls at the bottom that hadn’t yet escaped.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it,” said Mark. He ducked into the mens room and emerged with a handful of paper towels. We got to work mopping up the mess.
They say first impressions last, and this one left a stain in the carpet that would remain at least as long as I wrote with them.
Thankfully, that was for quite a while – despite damaging company property before I had even sat down, that day I went on to write my first of what would become over a hundred stories.
See what I did there?
Yes, I told you a story. But what else did I just do?
- I held your attention (at least I assume so, since you’re still reading) with a splash of drama
- I made you feel an emotion or two by sharing how I felt
- I showed you I’m human, with an experience you can relate to and empathize with
- I made a connection with you, and now you know me better
- I left a memory you might recall the next time you do something mortifying yet inconsequential
We can harness stories to have similar effect when we’re talking about our businesses, too. How? Look no further than The Significant Objects Project.
In 2009, a journalist and an author set out to prove how much value storytelling has. They spent just under $129 on 100 trinkets from thrift stores and garage sales, hired a team of writers to create stories behind them, and sold them on eBay.
The goal was simple. “Invested with new significance by this fiction, the object should — according to our hypothesis — acquire not merely subjective but objective value.” And it worked.
Take this shot glass from Missouri. It cost only $1, but thanks to the narrative, it sold for $76.
Or this $0.25 yo-yo that went for $41.
Or this fake banana, originally worth $0.25, that netted the pair $76.
In total, the project raised $3,612.51 – a staggering increase of 2,806%.
That’s a big difference, and the fact people were willing to dig deeper into their wallets was a strong indicator that the stories behind our products really do matter.
The science of storytelling
Good stories show us the human side of a topic, answer the question “What was it like?” and let us experience it for a short while.
And we do experience stories, as much as the person telling them, a study from Princeton University shows. Though there’s a bit of a delay, the speaker’s and listener’s brains light up in the same way when scanned under an fMRI.
What about written stories? Researchers in Spain looked into that and found that certain words or phrases make our brains light up, too – specifically, those that describe senses or actions.
Just mentioning the smell of lavender probably makes you think of the smell itself, and describing the sound of nails on a chalkboard may make you physically uncomfortable. (I’m sorry.)
Add to that the release of chemicals in our brains that stories can trigger through conflict, suspense, catharsis, empathy, and humour. To name a few:
- Dopamine, which makes us feel positive and optimistic
- Oxytocin, which taps into our generosity, trust, and bonding
- Cortisol, which increases our stress, tension, and focus
It explains why, after hearing a story that makes us feel good, we’re more likely to give money to someone we’ve never met.
Brains are weird, huh?
It’s not just for tv, movies, and books
Stories are everywhere, and they’re powerful. They make up the difference between the bare facts and the human experiences surrounding them.
Think about it – if I started this article with just the bare facts of my embarrassing moment – that I stained the carpet at the Times-Journal – and left it at that, you probably wouldn’t care much. You might not even have chosen to read it in the first place. Instead, because I set it up as a story, you invited me into your head and let me take the wheel for a few short moments.
The same goes for your blog, your product descriptions, you’re “about us” section – pretty much anywhere you need to make a connection and stay memorable. “If you rely only on your offering, you will become just another ‘me too’ brand that isn’t able to differentiate itself from the others. You have to stand out,” says an article from the Huffington Post.
“You need to tell better stories.”