You May Not Judge a Book by Its Cover… But covers sell lots of books, colleges and contractors

Woe is me. I was the hero. I was the king. I was the father made of steel. As invincible as any spandex-wearing, building-leaping protector with fake but superbly sculpted abs. And then my children grew up.

They became people with actual opinions. And I became human and fallible, almost (!), with receding hair and all. Darn it.

We are entering a new phase in life; my cherished “little girl” has left the nest and gone to college.

I stand in her room full of whimsy, Viewing posters of musicians and past heartthrobs. A handsome teen vampire dude looks broodingly my way. I don’t approve of him either. I scan the lavender walls that made me initially cringe when painted while she was at summer camp. Upon returning, she “ooohed” with delight, swooning dramatically into a round plush chair. Only an echo remains. Even the heartthrob’s smile seems to have faded a bit.

Years later, we added an adjoining bathroom so she’d not have to share one with her decidedly less preen-prone brother. Plus, he left the toilet seat up. Forever.

Many evenings of prom-like perfection were achieved there, as teenage girls aplenty tossed, flossed and glossed themselves for exceptionally undeserving young men. (I’ve been male all of my life; believe me – we don’t deserve any of you!)

A misty reflection stands in the full-length mirror checking to see which shoes look best. “They’re both fabulous,” I whisper, knowing I’m answering the most deadly question a man is ever asked. Okay, it’s in the top 10.

Just before I get sad, I smile…

I smile at the independence of her thoughts, artistic pursuits and ability to mount “reasons for or against” faster than Congress approves their own pay raise. She’s also got a laser-like opinion on aesthetics.

I can ask her about the design of a car, the face of a watch, the arc of a boat’s hull or a pediment detail on a Greek Revival façade and the answer – fully formed – comes blazing back in acceptance or dismissal. She can be equal parts sweet vanilla or pure venom, each indiscernible until dispersed. You ask her opinion and you’d better have your seat belt on.

And using these powers of decisive independence, she virtually chose her own college. Yes, a multi-thousand dollar, 4-year life-path commitment 700 miles away, largely made without ever leaving this lavender room.

Say hello to a tidal wave of how your current and future buyers buy.

See, using the powers of prehistoric parenting, we dragged her up and down the eastern U.S. to visit schools “best-suited” to her (in the opinion of real and trusted college counselors). We “suggested” others, including our beloved alma mater and nearby University of Alabama that offered her a full scholarship. Yet, she knew what she wanted and these weren’t it.

So, she did what millions of thinking, independently-minded, focused people on a mission do: She went online.

She searched and researched “Graphic Design Education” like I research marketing behavior. She scoured discussion boards, social sites, the schools’ websites, student and parent reviews, plus everything from enrollment to weather to job placement. (I approved that last entry.)

Eventually, she gathered and presented mounds of convincing evidence about a school called “TCU” in Fort Worth, Texas. I thought Fort Worth was a really large ranch, surrounded by a split-rail fence, where steer walked around saying “Howdy” and doing stuff, most of which is ruinous to good shoes.

Yet, she convinced us to make a visit. And my, oh my…

It was like my daughter and TCU had met on eHarmony. They virtually snuggled and called each other pet names. I had to admit, this place was a dialed-in match for her, and Fort Worth is a beautiful, culturally-advanced jewel of a town. In a 3-day visit, we were completely sold, which is relatively difficult. Especially considering this –

We knew zero current students, no alumni, no teachers and had no “advisor” endorsement.

Yet, her “Book Cover Research” triggered a rather significant sale. Before this, I could barely spell TCU. Now I wear purple and scream “Go Frogs” for no apparent reason.

Let me clarify the money part: She got a seriously good partial scholarship (THANKS to good test scores and my new best friends in the Admissions Department). Plus, I’d saved 10 straight years for this occasion. Yet the “package” value remains, like many colleges today, firmly in the nosebleed section.

TCU ticked every box for her. They dispensed their every advantage online; they linked a world of strangers to become a welcoming spot for friends. They organized their best “features and benefits” for maximum findability and impact. (My daughter sometimes dismissed a school because “Their website was unnavigable; they looked unprofessional.” Talk about death by book cover!)

In short, we were “sold” almost before we arrived. We didn’t know the book, but we knew the cover well. By the time they told us the story, we were signing admission forms.

I come to my senses standing in her now-empty room. I know she’s happy. Very happy. And so is the once superhero, who is still prone to fly to TCU as needed, perhaps accidentally knocking the undeserving jerk from the dorm porch upon landing, since he’s not good enough for her. Ever. Some habits die hard.

Adams Hudson

Questions for you:

If someone was searching for your trade services online, without any prior knowledge of you, what would they find?

Are your reviews positive and powerful?

Does your online “book cover” present convincing evidence that your company is a great choice?

Does your Local Listing show up on PAGE ONE of Google? If not, why not? (Get your no-cost Listing Grade here.)