People in all walks of life are rightly concerned about advancing automation: Unless we find as many tasks to give humans as we find to take away from them, all the social and psychological ills of joblessness will grow, from economic recession to youth unemployment to individual crises of identity. What if, the authors ask, we were to reframe the situation? What if we were to uncover new feats that people might achieve if they had better thinking machines to assist them? We could reframe the threat of automation as an opportunity for augmentation. They have been examining cases in which knowledge workers collaborate with machines to do things that neither could do well on their own--and they've found that smart people will be able to take five approaches to making their peace with smart machines. Some will "step up" to even higher levels of cognition, where machines can't follow. Some will "step aside," drawing on forms of intelligence that machines lack. Some will "step in," to monitor and adjust computers' decision making. Some will "step narrowly" into very specialized realms of expertise. And, inevitably, some will "step forward," by creating next-generation machines and finding new ways for them to augment the human strengths of workers.
"What with ad-optimizing technologies and filter-defying product placement, search-based ad serves, real-time media bidding, and location-based features for mobile devices," the author writes, "it would be easy to conclude that advertising has flipped to all science and no art." But she highlights six campaigns to prove that advertising creativity will never cease: 1) Wonderful Pistachios, whose ads include memes such as YouTube's infamous Honey Badger and Secret Service agents partying with prostitutes; 2) Coca-Cola China, which created a TV-plus-smartphone game for the Hong Kong market; 3) Nabisco's "Daily Twist" campaign for Oreo cookies, in which members of the public nominated news pegs and company designers sculpted cookies to illustrate them; 4) Kia Motors America, whose ads are populated with anthropomorphic hamsters; 5) Marks and Spencer, which introduced "shwopping"-- a campaign with Oxfam to encourage clothing recycling; and 6) Neiman Marcus and Target, which teamed up on some merchandise, became the sole sponsors of ABC's drama Revenge, and then hired the cast to perform in five long-form commercials.
Harvard Business Review was launched in 1922 by a Harvard Business School dean who wanted to equip managers-in-training with better tools of the trade. Its initial print run was only 6,000 copies, and its initial subscription price--$5--was a point of contention between the dean and his outside publisher. For the next 25 years the magazine barely broke even. But between its founding and World War II, the HBS faculty became competent at translating rigorous research into relevant reading for practicing managers, and by the end of the war HBR was poised to capitalize on the ensuing business boom. Circulation shot up from 14,000 in 1945 to 243,000 in 1985. Kirby, an editor at large for HBR, traces its history from the Roaring Twenties to the present day. "The threads being woven into HBR's fabric as the years passed," she writes, "were not just timely topics for consideration but distinct approaches to studying them." Those topics included "scientific management," women in the workforce, and the power of the consumer, to name just a few. And those distinct approaches brought names such as Peter Drucker, Michael Porter, and Robert S. Kaplan into our pages. Kirby writes as well about some of the colorful personalities behind the scenes at HBR, and about the magazine's falling and rising fortunes. As it enters its 90s, she says, "it does so with a special provenance, some special strengths, and a deeply informed notion of what the management agenda should be."
Capitalism remains the most powerful, flexible, and robust system for driving broad-based prosperity and enhancing quality of life. But keeping capitalism on track will depend on our ability to rethink the priorities that guide everyone in the system, from entrepreneurs to regulators to investors. In particular we will need to throttle back the headlong pursuits of competition and ROE, and that process begins with recognizing them for what they are: runaways. The runaway, a concept from evolutionary biology, is explained best by the peacock's tail. That feature grew ever more flamboyant across the centuries thanks to a simple fact: Peahens showed a preference for large-tailed mates. But after many generations the tail created a problem: It required more nutrients and was heavy, slowing down its owner and making him easier prey--eventually causing the peacock population to decline. Capitalism is on a similar runaway trajectory, say Meyer and Kirby, mostly because it has taken the ideas of competition and ROE--brilliant in their time--too far. By reining in these metrics and developing new ones more suited to today's world, we can reformulate capitalism and break the runaway cycle.
Companies have long prospered by ignoring what economists call externalities - the various impacts that a business has on its broader milieu but is not obliged to pay for. (Pollution is the classic example.) Now, claim companies must adopt a very different stance, thanks to growing industrial scale, better sensors, and heightened sensibilities. Increasingly, business impacts are laid at companies' doorsteps. The best companies don't react defensively but apply their energies to mitigating the problems they contribute to. Using an externalities-based framework will help managers deal with rising - and often competing - demands for corporate responsibility in a way that is defensible to all stakeholders.
It's hard to imagine a leadership image more iconic than the ringmaster. Merely say the word, and a picture springs to mind of a tall, dashing captain presiding over, well, a circus - a world full of both chaos and opportunity for delight. It's the ringmaster's job to make sense of that environment, anticipate the unexpected, and direct the attention of an audience with as many as 20,000 people - a massive community of stakeholders - to make sure they get their money's worth. The circus has evolved over the decades to keep pace with market realities, and the right talents for its front man have changed as well. In P.T. Barnum's day, he was master of three rings, a structure designed to keep visitors from seeing the whole show in one sitting so they'd come back another day. If he wasn't outright owner of the circus, he was head trainer of its equestrian team, a graduate of the stable and, in earlier times, the cavalry. But Chuck Wagner, of Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey's 138th Edition, is none of those things. He's part of a new breed of ringmaster - a musical-theater star who brings Broadway-style entertainment to the show. Now, the circus has only one ring, and the goal is to make sure audience members leave thoroughly wowed. In a world saturated with entertainment options, they won't come back the next day - but they will tell their friends to. In this conversation with Special Issues Editor Julia Kirby, Wagner talks about the challenges of being the man in the middle of the twenty-first-century circus - his relationship with the cast and the crew, his responsibilities to the modern audience, and how he balances tradition with progress to help Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey's circus remain "the greatest show on earth."
Castlebridge & Company, a maker of high-quality outerwear, is a century-old British institution. Its headquarters remain in London, but most of its manufacturing has moved offshore. With the last domestic factory slated to close, the firm's executives struggle to preserve the "Britishness" of the brand. For historian Niall Ferguson, the plant closure is a logical step. The British public has been down this road, as have foreign consumers of British products. The real risk to the brand, Ferguson asserts, is the potential loss of its high-class cachet--not its national identity. Fashion reporter Dana Thomas argues that by broadening their markets beyond the super wealthy, luxury brands have made themselves vulnerable to economic fluctuations. Cutting costs by moving production offshore is inevitable, so Castlebridge should, with characteristic British candor, come clean about it. If the firm shines light on its native roots and its international production, it could establish a winning reputation as a truly modern, global brand. Dov Seidman, CEO of LRN, takes issue with how Castlebridge has gone about the shift to offshore production. In a world where reputation matters more than ever, the firm can't just outperform competitors. It must "outbehave" them, by keeping its promises and acting in a principled manner. Seidman advises the company to rediscover and recommit to the core values that have brought it this far. Writer and consultant Gill Corkindale looks inside Castlebridge, focusing on the staff that will stay on as the company restructures. She recommends a trust-building people strategy, modeled by the CEO, which emphasizes forthright communication from management, as well as genuine solicitation of, and response to, the opinions of employees.
Castlebridge & Company, a maker of high-quality outerwear, is a century-old British institution. Its headquarters remain in London, but most of its manufacturing has moved offshore. With the last domestic factory slated to close, the firm's executives struggle to preserve the "Britishness" of the brand. For historian Niall Ferguson, the plant closure is a logical step. The British public has been down this road, as have foreign consumers of British products. The real risk to the brand, Ferguson asserts, is the potential loss of its high-class cachet--not its national identity. Fashion reporter Dana Thomas argues that by broadening their markets beyond the super wealthy, luxury brands have made themselves vulnerable to economic fluctuations. Cutting costs by moving production offshore is inevitable, so Castlebridge should, with characteristic British candor, come clean about it. If the firm shines light on its native roots and its international production, it could establish a winning reputation as a truly modern, global brand. Dov Seidman, CEO of LRN, takes issue with how Castlebridge has gone about the shift to offshore production. In a world where reputation matters more than ever, the firm can't just outperform competitors. It must "outbehave" them, by keeping its promises and acting in a principled manner. Seidman advises the company to rediscover and recommit to the core values that have brought it this far. Writer and consultant Gill Corkindale looks inside Castlebridge, focusing on the staff that will stay on as the company restructures. She recommends a trust-building people strategy, modeled by the CEO, which emphasizes forthright communication from management, as well as genuine solicitation of, and response to, the opinions of employees.
Castlebridge & Company, a maker of high-quality outerwear, is a century-old British institution. Its headquarters remain in London, but most of its manufacturing has moved offshore. With the last domestic factory slated to close, the firm's executives struggle to preserve the "Britishness" of the brand. For historian Niall Ferguson, the plant closure is a logical step. The British public has been down this road, as have foreign consumers of British products. The real risk to the brand, Ferguson asserts, is the potential loss of its high-class cachet--not its national identity. Fashion reporter Dana Thomas argues that by broadening their markets beyond the super wealthy, luxury brands have made themselves vulnerable to economic fluctuations. Cutting costs by moving production offshore is inevitable, so Castlebridge should, with characteristic British candor, come clean about it. If the firm shines light on its native roots and its international production, it could establish a winning reputation as a truly modern, global brand. Dov Seidman, CEO of LRN, takes issue with how Castlebridge has gone about the shift to offshore production. In a world where reputation matters more than ever, the firm can't just outperform competitors. It must "outbehave" them, by keeping its promises and acting in a principled manner. Seidman advises the company to rediscover and recommit to the core values that have brought it this far. Writer and consultant Gill Corkindale looks inside Castlebridge, focusing on the staff that will stay on as the company restructures. She recommends a trust-building people strategy, modeled by the CEO, which emphasizes forthright communication from management, as well as genuine solicitation of, and response to, the opinions of employees.
Since its founding, in 1995, Amazon.com's bold moves have often left observers scratching their heads, if not predicting the company's demise. Why open up an effective proprietary retail platform to competition from third-party sellers? Why make tools that Amazon developed for its own use available to other website developers? (Why, for that matter, post negative reviews of your products?) Two HBR editors interviewed Bezos, the founder and CEO, to learn what's different about strategy formulation at Amazon. They came away with the sense that the company's strategy and culture are rooted in a sturdy entrepreneurial optimism and rest on the single question of what's better for the customer. Bezos describes himself as "congenitally customer focused." He knows that the buyers in Amazon's consumer-facing business want selection, low prices, and fast delivery--and he's confident that won't change. "I can't imagine," he says, "that 10 years from now [our customers] are going to say, 'I love Amazon, but if only they could deliver my products a little more slowly.'" Competitor-focused companies risk complacency when they become industry leaders, he maintains, but customer-focused companies must always keep improving. "Years from now," Bezos says, "when people look back at Amazon, I want them to say that we uplifted customer-centricity across the entire business world." If Amazon has made strategic mistakes, he says, they have been errors of omission. So when something seems like an opportunity, Bezos asks the question, "Why not?" which leads to maximizing the number of experiments companywide: "People say, 'We're going to do this. We're going to figure out a way.'" That's the institutional yes.
The Q&A should be more than just an afterthought, says communications consultant Michael Sheehan. It may be the only part of your speech people actually listen to.
Every year, at the annual summit of Ralston Crane's marketing group, Chief Marketing Officer Ruth McViney homes in on an important organizational objective. Last year, the architecture and design firm was focused on green building initiatives. This year, Ruth says, is the year of customer loyalty. Toward the end of her keynote remarks, she introduces two kickoff projects. The goals of one, Project Holding Pattern, sound familiar to Ralston's Guy Christiano; if the project team structures its loyalty program to look like the one he'd been associated with in his previous job, it could be a boon for the company. "Why didn't they put me on that project?" he wonders. "Then again," Guy figures, "I've got plenty to do already." Several weeks after the conference, Guy is contacted by a member of the project team. Guy's ready to share the key success factors for the loyalty program he'd been involved with before: a marketing initiative that looks like a service offering. But what the team is proposing sounds more like a run-of-the-mill seminar series. Against his mentor's advice, Guy calls team leader Charyl Urquhart to make the case for a different approach, going so far as to e-mail her his suggested outline for the program. Miffed, Charyl cuts the call short and never follows up. Guy considers going over her head, to McViney. But another friend in the firm warns him off: "If it's as screwed up as you say it is...you don't want to be associated with it." Should a colleague with strong opinions butt in or butt out? In R0606A and R0606Z, four expert commentators--consultant and author Marcus Buckingham, Harley-Davidson's Joanne Bischmann, former Oticon CEO Lars Kolind, and Umea University School of Business professor Tomas Blomquist--offer their advice on this fictional case study.
Every year, at the annual summit of Ralston Crane's marketing group, Chief Marketing Officer Ruth McViney homes in on an important organizational objective. Last year, the architecture and design firm was focused on green building initiatives. This year, Ruth says, is the year of customer loyalty. Toward the end of her keynote remarks, she introduces two kickoff projects. The goals of one, Project Holding Pattern, sound familiar to Ralston's Guy Christiano; if the project team structures its loyalty program to look like the one he'd been associated with in his previous job, it could be a boon for the company. "Why didn't they put me on that project?" he wonders. "Then again," Guy figures, "I've got plenty to do already." Several weeks after the conference, Guy is contacted by a member of the project team. Guy's ready to share the key success factors for the loyalty program he'd been involved with before: a marketing initiative that looks like a service offering. But what the team is proposing sounds more like a run-of-the-mill seminar series. Against his mentor's advice, Guy calls team leader Charyl Urquhart to make the case for a different approach, going so far as to e-mail her his suggested outline for the program. Miffed, Charyl cuts the call short and never follows up. Guy considers going over her head, to McViney. But another friend in the firm warns him off: "If it's as screwed up as you say it is...you don't want to be associated with it." Should a colleague with strong opinions butt in or butt out? Commenting on this fictional case study in R0606A and R0606Z are four expert commentators--consultant and author Marcus Buckingham, Harley-Davidson's Joanne Bischmann, former Oticon CEO Lars Kolind, and Umea University School of Business professor Tomas Blomquist.
Every year, at the annual summit of Ralston Crane's marketing group, Chief Marketing Officer Ruth McViney homes in on an important organizational objective. Last year, the architecture and design firm was focused on green building initiatives. This year, Ruth says, is the year of customer loyalty. Toward the end of her keynote remarks, she introduces two kickoff projects. The goals of one, Project Holding Pattern, sound familiar to Ralston's Guy Christiano; if the project team structures its loyalty program to look like the one he'd been associated with in his previous job, it could be a boon for the company. "Why didn't they put me on that project?" he wonders. "Then again," Guy figures, "I've got plenty to do already." Several weeks after the conference, Guy is contacted by a member of the project team. Guy's ready to share the key success factors for the loyalty program he'd been involved with before: a marketing initiative that looks like a service offering. But what the team is proposing sounds more like a run-of-the-mill seminar series. Against his mentor's advice, Guy calls team leader Charyl Urquhart to make the case for a different approach, going so far as to e-mail her his suggested outline for the program. Miffed, Charyl cuts the call short and never follows up. Guy considers going over her head, to McViney. But another friend in the firm warns him off: "If it's as screwed up as you say it is...you don't want to be associated with it." Should a colleague with strong opinions butt in or butt out? Commenting on this fictional case study in R0606A and R0606Z are four expert commentators--consultant and author Marcus Buckingham, Harley-Davidson's Joanne Bischmann, former Oticon CEO Lars Kolind, and Umea University School of Business professor Tomas Blomquist.
What does it mean to be a high-performance company? The process of measuring relative performance across industries and eras, declaring top performers, and finding the common drivers of their success is such a difficult one that it might seem a fool's errand to attempt. In fact, no one did for the first thousand or so years of business history. The question didn't even occur to many scholars until Tom Peters and Bob Waterman released In Search of Excellence in 1982. Twenty-three years later, we've witnessed several more attempts--and, just maybe, we're getting closer to answers. In this reported piece, HBR senior editor Julia Kirby explores why it's so difficult to study high performance and how various research efforts--including those from John Kotter and Jim Heskett; Jim Collins and Jerry Porras; Bill Joyce, Nitin Nohria, and Bruce Roberson; and several others outlined in a summary chart--have attacked the problem. The challenge starts with deciding which companies to study closely. Are the stars the ones with the highest market caps, the ones with the greatest sales growth, or simply the ones that remain standing at the end of the game? (And when's the end of the game?) Each major study differs in how it defines success, which companies it therefore declares to be worthy of emulation, and the patterns of activity and attitude it finds in common among them. Yet, Kirby concludes, as each study's method incrementally solves problems others have faced, we are progressing toward a consensus theory of high performance.
Sid Shawn is a 10-year veteran of NMO Financial Services and a mainstay of the pensions marketing group. He's been a good, consistent worker and an invaluable resource for the salespeople and consultant relations managers. Sid also weighs 400 pounds. So when he is the only internal candidate for the customer-facing position of consultant relations manager, sales and marketing VP Bill Houglan feels that he has a tough hiring decision to make. Sid knows the company's products backward and forward, but to succeed in the new job, he would have to impress the polished professionals at major benefits consultancies. What kind of image would Sid present in face-to-face sales situations? Could he keep up with the job's physical demands and fast pace? Does Sid's weight matter? Bill wonders. With obesity reaching epidemic proportions in the United States, companies are feeling its impact on their insurance costs and their employees' health. They are increasingly compelled to adopt policies concerning overweight workers. Offering expert advice on this fictional case study in R0505A and R0505Z are Howard Weyers, CEO of Weyco, which has fired employees for smoking and is now targeting the issue of obesity at work; Sondra Solovay, a California attorney focusing on weight-related issues and the author of Tipping the Scales of Justice: Fighting Weight-Based Discrimination; Mark V. Roehling, a Michigan State University professor whose research has focused on issues of obesity in the workplace; and Amy Wilensky, author of The Weight of It: A Story of Two Sisters.
Sid Shawn is a 10-year veteran of NMO Financial Services and a mainstay of the pensions marketing group. He's been a good, consistent worker and an invaluable resource for the salespeople and consultant relations managers. Sid also weighs 400 pounds. So when he is the only internal candidate for the customer-facing position of consultant relations manager, sales and marketing VP Bill Houglan feels that he has a tough hiring decision to make. Sid knows the company's products backward and forward, but to succeed in the new job, he would have to impress the polished professionals at major benefits consultancies. What kind of image would Sid present in face-to-face sales situations? Could he keep up with the job's physical demands and fast pace? Does Sid's weight matter? Bill wonders. With obesity reaching epidemic proportions in the United States, companies are feeling its impact on their insurance costs and their employees' health. They are increasingly compelled to adopt policies concerning overweight workers. Commenting on this fictional case study in R0505A and R0505Z are Howard Weyers, CEO of Weyco, which has fired employees for smoking and is now targeting the issue of obesity at work; Sondra Solovay, a California attorney focusing on weight-related issues and the author of Tipping the Scales of Justice: Fighting Weight-Based Discrimination; Mark V. Roehling, a Michigan State University professor whose research has focused on issues of obesity in the workplace; and Amy Wilensky, author of The Weight of It: A Story of Two Sisters.
Sid Shawn is a 10-year veteran of NMO Financial Services and a mainstay of the pensions marketing group. He's been a good, consistent worker and an invaluable resource for the salespeople and consultant relations managers. Sid also weighs 400 pounds. So when he is the only internal candidate for the customer-facing position of consultant relations manager, sales and marketing VP Bill Houglan feels that he has a tough hiring decision to make. Sid knows the company's products backward and forward, but to succeed in the new job, he would have to impress the polished professionals at major benefits consultancies. What kind of image would Sid present in face-to-face sales situations? Could he keep up with the job's physical demands and fast pace? Does Sid's weight matter? Bill wonders. With obesity reaching epidemic proportions in the United States, companies are feeling its impact on their insurance costs and their employees' health. They are increasingly compelled to adopt policies concerning overweight workers. Commenting on this fictional case study in R0505A and R0505Z are Howard Weyers, CEO of Weyco, which has fired employees for smoking and is now targeting the issue of obesity at work; Sondra Solovay, a California attorney focusing on weight-related issues and the author of Tipping the Scales of Justice: Fighting Weight-Based Discrimination; Mark V. Roehling, a Michigan State University professor whose research has focused on issues of obesity in the workplace; and Amy Wilensky, author of The Weight of It: A Story of Two Sisters.
The List is HBR's annual attempt to capture ideas in the state of becoming--when they're teetering between what one person suspects and what everyone accepts. Roderick M. Kramer says it isn't bad when leaders flip-flop. Julia Kirby describes new efforts to redefine the problem of organizational performance. Joseph L. Bower praises the "Velcro organization," where managerial responsibilities can be rearranged. Jeffrey F. Rayport argues that companies must refocus innovation on the "demand side." Eric Bonabeau describes a future in which computer-generated sound can be used to transmit vast amounts of data. Roger L. Martin says highly reliable corporate systems such as CRM tend to have little validity. Kirthi Kalyanam and Monte Zweben report that marketers are learning to contact customers at just the right moment. Robert C. Merton explains how equity swaps could help developing countries avoid some of the risk of boom and bust. Thomas A. Stewart says companies need champions of the status quo. Mohanbir Sawhney suggests marketing strategies for the blogosphere. Denise Caruso shows how to deal with risks that lack owners. Thomas H. Davenport says personal information management--how well we use our PDAs and PCs--is the next productivity frontier. Leigh Buchanan explores workplace taboos. Henry W. Chesbrough argues that the time is ripe for services science to become an academic field. Kenneth Lieberthal says China may change everyone's approach to intellectual property. Jochen Wirtz and Loizos Heracleous describe customer service apps for biometrics. Mary Catherine Bateson envisions a midlife sabbatical for workers. Jeffrey Rosen explains why one privacy policy won't fit everyone. Tihamer von Ghyczy and Janis Antonovics say firms should embrace parasites. And Jeffrey Pfeffer warns business-book buyers to beware. Additionally, HBR offers a list of intriguing business titles due out in 2005.