Humankind has climbed the highest point on earth. We have trekked to the poles. We have explored every corner of this world. We have now even tackled the final frontier: space.
So, since we have done just about everything, the shift in focus has moved from “can we” to “how easily can we”. Why climb Everest when a helicopter can get you to the top in moments? And why travel to Colombia when you look at it on Google Street View? This is my view but, I’m sure, I am in a minority.
The issue is that people still want to go and do and see things. Standing on the top of Everest in itself isn’t much fun, especially if all your fingers have fallen off, but the adventure is what drives people to do it still. Of course, ascending the summit of the highest peak on earth is no cheap fete, and young Britons will save many thousands to do it. All well and noble.
However, the knock-on effect is that while they are saving, they have to continue to live and, in Britain unfortunately, that means they have to eat weeds and ride a bicycle.
Fortunately, because life has become so fantastically expensive, society has shifted in the way it does things. The consumer now only cares about one thing: price.
We swoon with nostalgic joy at the concept of Ye Olde English High Street, with the little man in the butcher’s shop and Terry the road sweeper, but we simply won’t buy a joint of pork because it costs £63 and we can’t park anyway. So we go to the supermarket. Not Tesco or Waitrose, but rather Aldi or Lidl. Why spend £2.40 on a six-pack of Twirls when for 55p you can have a Polish equivalent? People are more interested in the product rather than the brand.
Then we have Ryanair. The budget airline makes no secret of its low-cost, low-care approach. More often than not they are the cheapest airline with which to fly. Even if Michael O’Leary were to run off with your wife wearing your Rolex, you’d still fly with them. We need to get to Barcelona; we’re flying Ryanair because they’re £12 cheaper than easyjet. The service matters not, the price of coffee matters not, the pilot’s contract matters not. We know that they are bound by tight aviation regulations to ensure that the plane is airworthy, and that reassures us at least. But we suffer the indignity because it’s cheap. Customer service be damned.
Uber is another good case in point. Black cab drivers are a master race. To have such knowledge of the roads of London is a staggering thing but, sadly, also totally obsolete. Why pay the extra for someone who knows the way over someone who doesn’t but who has satnav instead and is half the price?
When the Uber ban was announced a couple of weeks ago, the very same people who like to march on Parliament Square with EU flag tattoos and purple hair, who are also likely saving up to climb Everest, were up in arms. Forget the fact that the company was exploiting its drivers and flouting basic labour rights, they have been deprived of cheap(ish) urban travel. There’s an irony there.
If you needed a further example, then I offer you the personal contract purchase scheme (PCP). Have you looked around a car park lately? Have you wondered how on earth there are so many new, high-end cars around, especially when everyone is supposed to be queuing up in food banks?
Well, thanks to PCP you can now have nearly any car you so desire without actually needing to own it. You pay an initial deposit (which isn’t very much), and then a nominal monthly fee of, say, £200 depending on the car. You are guaranteed a value at the end of the contract and you can either pay off the outstanding lump sum (so the car becomes yours) or hand the car back and start again with a new one. All servicing included. I tell you, give it two years and you will be able to get a three-year old Mercedes C Class for £5,000 because the used car market will be flooded.
So how is our industry responding to these trends? Last week I spoke to three London venues and they all told me that in the last year, lead times for conference and meetings bookings have dropped considerably, with people expecting to book with as little notice as possible. If a venue cannot afford the booker with the desired flexibility then there will be no ifs or buts, it will lose the business.
But what of price? I haven’t spooled through everyone’s price lists recently (or ever, if I’m honest), but I fear that we are stuck 10 years in the past with a rate for this, a rate for that. Up to X people it’s this, with a minimum billing of that, catering is this much, and if you want the vegan add-on it will be another £30. Maybe it’s too complex or too inflexible?
I would advise everyone to assess current trends and, while I do not advocate abysmal customer service or appalling labour rights, there are some pretty big companies out there who are proving that people will always go with the cheapest.
The consumer isn’t interested in your overheads, only if you’re the cheapest.
