I'm not a hipster. That particular role is denied to me thanks to my great age, and my inability to grow a thick bushy beard. But that doesn't mean I can't have a little taste of the hipster world. So last weekend, I headed for the achingly fashionable E1 district of London to stay in a painfully trendy hotel.
I use hotels quite often, and frequently they are of the predictable, utilitarian, corporate chain variety. This place was refreshingly different. It had a funny name, for starters (which I'm not going to quote, for reasons that will soon become clear). It was a knowing misspelling, with missing vowels, and could easily have been attached to an iPhone app rather than a hotel. Also, on arrival, there wasn't a reception desk in the accepted sense. Just a fellow stood at a tall pedestal table with an iPad. And the walls in the lobby were decorated with pithy phrases, over packing cases in the shape of animals. A little pretentious, but intriguing.
"One hip hotel, one satisfied customer? Not quite."
The room, I loved. It was really big, with a massive bed which sported an integral television. A large, bright window lit a low, expensive-looking couch, the 'Do Not Disturb' sign was a stuffed toy, a mural of dog in sunglasses covered one wall, and the dressing table was built from an old palette and industrial hosepipe. If that all sounds a trifle daft, then it was - but in quite an exciting, stimulating way. Once I'd managed to secure some extra pillows, I was very comfortable and slept like a top.
One hip hotel, one satisfied customer - yes? Well, not quite.
After my smashing kip, and having done a spot of work while still in my comfy bed, I headed down to breakfast. My order was simple, a cup of Earl Grey tea, toast and jam - all of which were on the menu. I then settled back with the paper, and waited for my snack. And waited. And waited. After about fifteen minutes, I went back to the (predictably vintage) bar and asked after my order. 'We're just making it!' was the reply, and I returned to my place. Ten minutes passed. Still no breakfast arrived. I then spotted the hotel's manager having a coffee at an adjoining table, so I told him of my plight. He had a word, and assured me it wouldn't take a minute. It didn't. My tea and toast continued not to come. So I told the waitress to cancel my order, as I was leaving. She tried to persuade me to stay with the news they were just searching the building for some tea. Yes, really.
Of course, this experience didn't harm me at all - and was very much a first-world problem. But it did reinforce a frequent problem with brands presenting themselves as arch and trendy. With so much focus on being amusing and unexpected, and commissioning re-claimed furniture, this hotel had somehow failed to ensure they could provide a basic guest with a basic cup of tea. While all the eye-catching bells and whistles were in place, that basic service was missing.
There's a lesson here. By all means make your brand a bit edgy, witty or alternative - that's fine, and a good way to be noticed. But before you have all the fun in creating that clever image, you must ensure you've done the groundwork - like buying a few tea bags. Because, if you don't, your customers won't remember all the smart little touches, they'll remember the hopeless incompetence. And that's not very hip, is it?
Magnus Shaw is a copywriter and blogger.
Photo Reference: Hotel SP34, which is not the one described in this article.
