Market Study & Mr. Heigh

There are market studies about everything under the sun these days; even market study on market studies. Highly paid professionals are alert to detect our latest whim. Such is their investigative fervour, one would think they do concede, though probably only in moments of dementia, some grudging importance to the real consumers, the little guys who keep the economy spinning ... and market researchers in jobs.

Numerous mounted cameras have been installed in recent years in all public places, monitoring our every move. The detection of a certain gesture by a certain percentage of shoppers may mean a million dollar investment to make the packaging more attractive. For ours is an era of fathomless superficiality. But in time of crippling economic crises, like now, market research is often just a load of hogwash.

Take travel. Especially air travel. Is it really worth the time, trouble and expense? Not any more. My personal experience last year, from one European country to another, told me that a tiny innocent bottle of mineral water is now as scary as an H-bomb. Remove your shoes, socks, jacket, belt, all metal objects, that's watch and rings; even some hair-clips. Don't under any circumstances smile, laugh or crack jokes about these either. We learn to suffer all humiliations without flinching.

Truth is, Tom Heigh (not his real name) was oblivious of all these when they sold him a week in Barcelona at his local travel agency. All he wanted was a break from the monotony of another year in the office. He was already a little tipsy when he got on the plane in Manchester. The glossy brochures about Gaudi, the Sagrada Familia, and Sadanas (Catalan group dance) he couldn't care less about: he couldn't wait to catch a Flamenco show and gets his hands on a real Mexican sombrero, a Paella and gallons of beer. Why else would he come here to Spain?

So he gets to his hotel, the Meridian. Finds a local bar in the back street, and drinks himself stupid. From then on, he is blotted until 10 or 11 in the morning. He virtually lives in that sleazy, foul-smelly dive till it's time to fly home.

"What do you think of Catalonia?" he was asked on his last day when he was leaving the hotel.

"Isn't this Croatia?" he replies in all seriousness.

Do we detect a malignant marketing failure here?

Tags:MarketStuey,Flemenco,Paella