Sathnam Sanghera: True love

True love

These are the people I like hugging and like being hugged by: my mum, my dad, my nephews, my nieces, and, on very special occasions such as funerals and weddings, my siblings. Everybody else has to do with a firm handshake, or, if they’re very close, a pat on the back.

But if Jack Mitchell, author of Hug Your Customers: Love the Results, had his way, then this list wouldn’t be quite so short: for a start, it would include several hundred thousand FT readers. “Read the book, then give your customers a hug,” recommends the blurb on the back of the paperback. “Give them a smile, ask them how their kids are. Just see if it works.”

Mitchell’s best-selling book highlights perhaps the most worrying management trend of them all: the emotionalising of business. No longer can we just like what we do, we have to be passionate. We can’t just value our customers, we have to love and hug them. One would have thought the now famous video clip of Microsoft’s Steve Ballmer leaping around in front of his staff, sweating heavily and whooping “I – LOVE – THIS – COMPANY” would have stopped such talk. But more and more companies are insisting on getting touchy-feely.

The other day I picked up a leaflet from fast-growing, award-winning drinks company Innocent, which contained the claim that they “were really quite emotional” about making their fruit drinks. “We love making drinks, we love drinking them and we especially love everyone who buys them. In fact you’re unlikely to find a more passionate set of people than those that work at Fruit Towers.”

The leaflet ended with an open invitation to its beloved customers: “If you’re a bit bored you can give the banana phone a ring or e-mail us – we’re always up for a chat. Maybe you can suggest a new recipe or just tell us about your holiday. If you’re ever in the area, pop in. We’d really love to see you.”

Reading this made me feel like I did when I was 10 and my alcoholic uncle would try to kiss me goodbye: I wanted to run away and scream. Why would I want to tell Innocent about my holiday? Why would they want to listen to my recipe ideas? Of course they wouldn’t “really love” to see me at Fruit Towers: presumably they’ve got work to do.

Thinking this was the perfect opportunity to show how phoney claims of corporate love are, I decided to take up Innocent’s invitation, beginning by putting in a call to the “banana phone” with a recipe idea. Inevitably, there would be an answering machine, inevitably, nobody would get back to me and, inevitably, I would have made my point.

In the event the phone rang twice before it was answered by a serious-sounding Englishman. I told him my recipe idea: a normal crushed fruit smoothie with banana, honey, milk and apricots but with an added twist: prunes. It would appeal to people with digestion trouble. And they could call it Smooth Moves. “Smooth Moves? I like it,” he crooned back. “I’m just writing that down.” A pen scribbled in the background. “Look, I don’t work in product development myself, I’m on the sales side. And I’m not sure about prunes – I have a feeling that when blended, they won’t look very nice. But I will look into it.”

As I put the receiver down, in spite of myself, I found myself thinking: what a lovely man. He really seemed to like talking to me. But there was no way the company could survive the next test: an unannounced visit from an over-inquisitive customer to their offices in west London. I arrived early on a Tuesday morning and approached the first member of staff I saw, expecting to be turned back or asked to return at a more convenient time.

“Oh come on in,” he replied, inviting me into the office without hesitation. “What’s your name? Cool. Would you like a smoothie? Mangoes and passion fruits? Yeah? Cool. Cool. I’m one of the three founders who started the company five years ago. Row will show you around.” Within thirty seconds Row had appeared, smiling broadly and talking rapidly in a Cumbrian accent. “Hi! Pleased to meet you,” she said, looking genuinely pleased to meet me. “Can I show you around?”

There followed a 30-minute tour where she showed me every bit of the building, answered every inane question (“No, we don’t hug each other”) and explained that they got around 10 calls a day on the banana phone. “We get everything from people saying they like our drinks, to people complaining, to people just wanting a chat.” So it’s like the Samaritans line, but not as serious? “Yes, I mean, I have dealt with a few serious issues in my time, but it’s great having that direct communication with customers – it just shows how much we love them.”

To my surprise I left the Innocent offices feeling warm and fuzzy. As a customer, I felt valued. If I’m really honest, I felt more than that: I felt loved. Indeed, although I started this column by complaining that businesses were getting too touchy-feely, I have now changed my mind. If “loving” your customers and being “passionate” means being as generous and open as Innocent, then we all need more love.

I have changed my mind about Hug Your Customers too. Jack Mitchell, who runs a successful clothing business in Connecticut, isn’t actually suggesting that we grab customers in our arms (though he does do this, occasionally). He uses hug as a metaphor for “exceeding customers’ expectations”, which may come in the form of carrying their shopping to their car, sending thank-you notes and even, on occasions, exchanging recipe ideas. In which case, as cringe-making as it is to say: I need more hugs.