Selling Cadavers.

I thought I'd add something here to the discussion about advertising (Paul Walters, et al). This is part of a book I've been writing called: Napalm Has Its Uses (How to succeed in advertising without really frying).

The Art of Selling What People Don't Know They Need

My first job in advertising was selling cadavers—not real ones. These were plastic, the kind used by medical schools for dissections. I got the assignment because the copywriter before me started every radio spot with: “Do you have cadaver needs?”

What the client really wanted was a new market. “We’ve got the universities,” he said, “but we need to expand.”

I didn’t know where he was going to expand. Who else needed plastic cadavers? I sat around for a few days, going through the Yellow Pages. I listed undertaking schools, CPR training, fire departments, etc.

This was all fine and dandy, but my client wanted me to think outside the box. “Look,” he said, “maybe stop thinking of them as cadavers.”

What else could they possibly be? I kept thinking and thinking until something hit me. Maybe we were trying to find a market instead of letting the market find us. What if we simply described the plastic models and the process that made them anatomically perfect.

I even did a sample spot. “Did you know,” it started out, “that plastic can be formed into bodies so exact in every detail, medical students use them for dissection?” I went on to explain how it was done, the technology, the standards.

The client liked the idea, especially the fact that I never used the word “cadaver”. I produced a number of commercials, each describing the miracle of plastic molding. As time went on, my client got a number of responses, the weirdest coming from a man who wanted to reproduce his wife. Surprisingly, the biggest response came from the universities.

For years, the medical faculty had been sending in requisitions for plastic cadavers. All the administrators saw was the price. On paper, it looked like a lot of money. Imagine then, the same administrators driving to work one day, listening to the radio, and hearing these spots. In the course of sixty seconds, they understood what they were buying. They understood the care involved, the painstaking detail, the latest injection methods. Now the price seemed like a bargain and orders increased.

Convincing people to buy something is like telling a good story. If you believe, your listener will believe. If you’re excited, they’ll be excited. Belief and excitement are two of the most contagious feelings we have.

How do you build excitement and belief into your copy? I know copywriters who use a very simple technique. They write each piece of copy as if it’s a letter to their family. They start out hearing their parents, or a cousin or someone saying, “So what are you working on?” 

From there, they write a response. First, they ask, what would interest their parents or their cousin most? They’re not selling at this point (it’s their family, afterall). They’re simply explaining their job.

If the subject is plastic cadavers, they want to describe them as clearly as possible. That’s a good exercise in itself. If you’ve ever spent three days going through technical literature, it drives you crazy. Putting everything in layman’s terms gives you perspective. 

At the same time, you realize your own enthusiasm for the product builds as the knowledge increases. You use sentences like, “Did you know it’s possible to put a complete vascular system into a mold?”

Now you’re being conversational, you’re speaking in your own voice. There’s a personality coming out through your words.

When great copywriters write, they always want to give this impression. One copywriter I know starts her copy with, “Okay, let’s be honest here.” This helps her get the right tone and rhythm. When she’s finished, she simply takes the first sentence out. You don’t miss it because it’s like a form around fresh concrete. Once the concrete hardens, you don’t need the form anymore.

I’ve always loved the old Avis ads, especially the one that says: “I write Avis ads for a living. But that doesn’t make me a paid liar.”

Now that sounds like a letter someone would write to their family. It sounds personal. I believe what the ad says because there’s no pretense. The copywriter—Paula Green—did all her copy this way. She developed the conversation in her head, then wrote it like a faithful transcription. It looks effortless, but Paula labored over her copy. She made every word count.

Here’s the most fascinating thing about that campaign. It failed miserably in research. It almost didn’t run. Yet it drove a struggling car rental company into the black in less than a year. Those ads worked because one copywriter made the product—not just interesting—but believable.

When you can do that, it doesn’t matter if it’s a rental car or a cadaver, you’re building an element of trust. If you build trust, you build an audience.

People are drawn to sincerity, they want to believe you. Each time they turn on their television, or go on line, they’re giving you a chance. If they stay, it’s because you persuaded them to stay. You rewarded them with your copy. Good copy always rewards. Bad copy says, “Do you have cadaver needs?”

Robert Cormack is a freelance copywriter, novelist and blogger. His first novel "You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can't Make It Scuba Dive)" is available online and at most major bookstores. Check out Yucca Publishing or Skyhorse Press for more details.