Why We Buy

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Authors: Paco Underhill
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big and bold and short and simple, it’s wasted.
    Boom. We hit the doors and we’re inside. Still got that momentum going, too. Have you ever seen anybody cross the threshold of a store and then screech to a dead stop the instant they’re inside? Neither have I. Good way to cause a pileup. Come over here, stand with me now and watch the doors. What happens once the customers get inside? You can’t see it, but they’re busily making adjustments—simultaneously they’re slowing their pace, adjusting their eyes to the change in light and scale, and craning their necks to begin taking in all there is to see. Meanwhile, their ears and noses and nerve endings are sorting out the rest of the stimuli—analyzing the sounds and smells, judging whether the store is warm or cold. There’s a lot going on, in other words, and I can pretty much promise you this: These people are not truly in the store yet. You can see them, but it’ll be a few seconds more before they’re actually here. If you watch long enough you’ll be able to predict exactly where most shoppers slow down and make the transition from being outside to being inside. It’s at just about the same place for everybody, depending on the layout of the front of the store.
    All of which means that whatever’s in the zone they cross before making that transition is pretty much lost on them. If there’s a display of merchandise, they’re not going to take it in. If there’s a sign, they’ll probably be moving too fast to absorb what it says. If the sales staff hits them with a hearty “Can I help you?” the answer’s going to be “Nothanks,” I guarantee it. Put a pile of fliers or a stack of shopping baskets just inside the door: Shoppers will barely see them and will almost never pick them up. Move them ten feet in and the fliers and baskets will disappear. It’s a law of nature—shoppers need a landing strip.
    The same thing is true in a hotel lobby. Put a directory too close to the front door, and the people behind the front desk will have to answer stupid questions 24/7. Throughout our work looking at the lobbies of business hotels, the lack of what we call an “information architecture plan” can have a disastrous effect on customer service. If the concierge or bellhop has to tell people coming into your hotel all day, every day where the bathroom is, well, I don’t care how much training you give people, you try answering the same question five hundred times a week and see if you don’t get cranky, too. The windows, the doorways and the landing strip are the start of the consumers’ experience, and the same goes for hotel guests.
    When I talk to clients, they invariably point to our findings on the transition zone, or what has been termed the “decompression zone,” as among our most meaningful and useful work. It is also perhaps the most startling news we deliver. I think that’s mostly because our counsel defies the most ingrained human yearnings about the front: We all want to be there, at the front of the pack, the head of the line, the top of the class. To the front-runner go the spoils.
    In the retail environment, however, up front is sometimes the last place you want to be. For instance, retailers will charge manufacturers for placing their name on the front door, which sounds like a smart use of the marketing dollar—everybody sees the front door. And then you realize that when shoppers approach a door, all they’re looking for is a handle and some sign indicating whether to pull or push. We’ve yet to see a shopper actually stop his or her progress to read a door. There’s only one time when anyone pauses to study what’s written there: when the store is closed. Which may be worth something, as marketing tools go, but not a lot.
    Today many stores have automatic doors, which make life easier for customers, especially

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