the schwarzenegger of pickle jars
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Soooooo, Reader. My partner loves pickles. Scratch that. My partner thinks he loves pickles. In reality, he’s only loved TWO specific pickles in the past and now conflates all pickles with perfection. It usually isn’t a huge problem.
I start the conversation the same way each time. “Why don’t you like these pickles?” “I don’t know.” “Is it the crunchiness? Do you need more? Less? Are they too sweet? Too much bite? Not enough of either? Is it the shape? The cut?” “I don’t know. They’re just … not good.” He’s a simple man: a trait I love in a life partner and a trait I LOATHE when it comes to pickle feedback. I have to give it to him, though. He’s persistent with the pickles. As evidenced by his … confident … purchase last week. THIS FUCKING GOLIATH JAR OF PICKLES. You’re probably thinking, “Oh! Don’t overreact, Kelsey. He probably found the world’s largest jar of his favorite pickles. What a score!” No. No no no no no. This volkswagen jar was like aaaaaall of the other pickle jars he’s bought … preceded by one caveman thought of: “grunt, me likes pickles.” I should have shut it down — or shown ANY kind of apprehension — but I’m doing this thing where I’m trying *not* to mother my romantic partner. (I have a long way to go.) So I let it slide, as though he was an eight-year-old trying to sneak Gushers into the cart. Later that day, he cracks open the André the Giant of pickle jars and takes one out. I hear: “Hm, I don’t like this pickle.” You can imagine my face. Ross has committed himself to a lifetime of pickle disappointment. And I’m convinced it’s because of one thing: He won’t get specific about his pickles. He’s suspended in pickle purgatory. Destined to fluctuate between “this pickle sucks” and “this pickle is alright” every 9 out of 10 pickles. Because when you don’t get specific, you don’t know what you’re getting. And I’m talking about your copy now. Your audience is a lot like Ross. They *sorta* know what they want: a perfect pickle bite. They can *imagine* it: the bliss from a perfect pickle bite. But they can’t spell it out. They need you to do it for them. They need you to be so specific in your copywriting that they know:
If you’re not specific, you’re setting them up to be disappointed. Specificity in your copy looks like this … ❌ Bad pickle copywriting ❌
✅ Good pickle copywriting ✅ "Our pickles are like any other pickle … if other pickles were crisp enough to give the perfect amount of resistance before sinking into dense vinegary bliss, and sweet enough to tinge your dessert taste bud, but savory enough to where you don’t even NEED a bite of cheese afterward. ❌ Bad pickle copywriting ❌
✅ Good pickle copywriting ✅ ❌ Bad pickle copywriting ❌
✅ Good pickle copywriting ✅ See the difference? (And are you hungry yet?) GET SPECIFIC WITH YOUR PICKLES. GET SPECIFIC WITH YOUR COPY. If you’re still a little unsure whether your copy is specific enough, The Copy Audit is perfect for you. I’ll tell you exactly where to tighten it up so your audience will know, without a doubt, that you’re for them. Much love ✌️ Kelsey PS Anyone know what to do with a huge-ass jar of pickles? Please reply and tell me! (We don’t entirely LOVE relish, but we’re open to it.) PPS YES … I giggled every time I typed “pickles” for this email. Tell me you did, too. |
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