Why Therapy Marketing is Kinda Lame.

Well, it seems so real I can see it

And it seems so real I can feel it

And it seems so real I can taste it

And it seems so real I can hear it

So why can't I touch it?

So why can't I touch it?

(Lyrics from the Buzzcocks song Why Can't I Touch It?)

Here's a fascinating article that has something to offer both therapists and people seeking therapy: Marketing Intangible Products and Product Intangibles. It’s by Theodore Levitt from the 1981 issue of the Harvard Business Review Magazine. 

The author’s basic point is that companies sell intangible and tangible products. 

A tangible product is one that can be seen, touched, smelled, tasted or tested. You can, for example, test-drive a car. That's tangible.

An intangible product is one that cannot be directly experienced or tested. Some examples are health care, insurance, consulting, investment banking, and education. Psychotherapy definitely belongs on that list.

All products have an element of intangibility. Although you can test-drive a car, you cannot know for sure – not until the car has been purchased – if the car is right for you. There's a leap of faith.

Marketing tangible and intangible products creates special challenges. Take the marketing of food. Food is tangible, but customers (especially in the era of hyper-specific online reviews) need lots of information to help them make a purchase. That’s where packaging comes in: the glossy, appetizing image of the cereal in a bowl of milk combined with descriptions of its health benefits.

Marketing intangibles is more challenging. As Levitt says, when customers can’t experience the product in advance, they are asked to buy what are essentially promises -- promises of satisfaction. Levitt adds that promises, because they are intangible, have to be “tangibilized.” In other words, promises presented in tangible ways. 

How does this relate to psychotherapy? Psychotherapists use promises of satisfaction in their marketing. If you've spent a few minutes perusing therapist profiles or websites you will be bombarded with these promises.

I make promises too. On my Psychology Today profile I say, “You will feel truly seen and you will leave our conversations feeling more competent, empowered and genuinely hopeful than before. We'll build on this momentum so that almost immediately you'll notice yourself solving your problems and taking small steps in the right direction.” 

I stand by every word written there. And I can back that promise up by pointing to years of experience and a track record of success as a therapist. But at the end of the day, all I can do is offer this promise to you. A promise that I cannot reasonably guarantee.  

Another way that therapists “tangibilize” their intangibles is through the management of impressions. We've all seen the framed diplomas and other symbols of elite education on the doctor's office wall. Therapists use those, too. Or consider the safe and approachable face of the perennial therapist headshot. I have a headshot and hope that my face conveys to you that I am sincere in my wish to be helpful, warm in my bedside manner and responsible enough to be trusted with your most vulnerable thoughts and feelings. It's a lot to ask of what is basically a glorified passport photo.

This blog is another way to tangibilize the intangible. I hope to offer, from these musings, the opportunity to “test drive” what it's like to chat with me. Within a few seconds of skimming any given post, you can size me up pretty quickly. This post, for example, says to you that I hope to connect with you, that I value your concerns and that I enjoy demystifying therapy so that non-therapists can easily access this amazing resource. I hope you'll take that leap of faith and give me a call.

Here's that article:

https://hbr.org/1981/05/marketing-intangible-products-and-product-intangibles?fbclid=IwY2xjawGOc4NleHRuA2FlbQIxMAABHVEz31EPrh-2BvDxQf6YHDG6LML76uhFwSD0Yr9I5symouAhS3av7wPohg_aem_D-cUc5mCcQbbm6ayyLVVdg

I’d love to hear your thoughts at jeremyfaintherapy@gmail.com