Good Read

Beer Industry Looks to Rebuild "Brand Beer'

Some quick thoughts: I find it interesting how disillusioned big-brand brewers still are about the craft beer market. Apparently, the perception that only "rich people" buy craft beer is still prevalent among the upper echelons of these companies. I may be an outlier (I don't think I am), in that I am nowhere near "rich" and am still willing to pay a premium for a quality, flavorful craft beer.

I don't know much about spirits and wine taking market share away from big beer brands, but I have been loosely following the market share that craft beer is taking from big beer brands. And it should be. Could the advertising be to blame for big brand sales declines? Perhaps. Instead, I think it's capitalism at work: People who can afford to buy beer don't want to spend it on a crappy product.

That being said, I think the author of the article also makes an interesting point in terms of blue collar workers who are not working. While they are often ignored in the advertising and messaging, they tend to be the ones drinking big-brand beer. If they're out of work with no expendable income, they're probably going to buy food instead.

Where Are My Damn Rewards Points?

Rewards points, customer appreciation programs, frequent shopper alliances, or whatever a business may call it, is something that I clamor for as both a consumer and an advertising professional. To me, there is no greater joy than being rewarded for my loyalty (and expenditures). Well, that is a complete and utter lie. There are plenty of greater joys. However, in the tiny world of my shopping habits, being rewarded with coupons, discounts and exclusive sales are the creme de la creme of motivators for me to purchase your shit.

So, when I encounter a place of business in which repeat-shopping is both frequent and extremely important, I am taken aback a bit, nay, maybe even offended, that I cannot earn something for my loyalty. Perhaps these businesses are more of the ilk that our business relationship is more like a friendship, in which I shouldn't expect to be compensated for my loyalty and patronage the same way a true friend should not expect anything in return for helping out a friend. Unfortunately, that's not how I see things. As such, I am at a loss for words why these companies do not employ some type of compensation for me spending my money on their goods. The benefits, from my standpoint, always seem to outweigh the administrative costs.

I am much more likely to shop exclusively, or almost exclusively, with a store that has a loyalty/rewards program. I am handing over to you, not only my personal data (name, address, phone number, age, sex, etc.), but also doing your market research for you. For you see, your rewards program, if sophisticated enough, will track every purchase I make and compare them with each other. You'll learn that for a savings of $0.15, I will switch brands of croutons (meaning I have low brand loyalty). I will jump brands of Organic Milk for even the slightest of reductions in price. I will buy the generic/private label brands of almost everything, except breakfast cereal. Not only can you sell my personal demographic information to the highest bidder, you can sell extremely specific information about my purchasing habits that can be aggregated into studies about my particular set of demographics. The skilled would even be able to determine other factors, like psychographics. And I am a willing participant, because I get to save those $0.15 on croutons.

With all of this in mind, for the life of me I cannot figure out why Trader Joe's and Whole Foods don't have customer loyalty programs. Perhaps people are loyal enough, the stores just don't need them.

The Social Fabric of Beer

Throughout the ages, beer has been regaled as proof that God exists and loves man, a motivator for social change, a driving force behind agriculture/technological advancement, a means for those of different socioeconomic classes to mingle, etc. And these are all, to some extent, undoubtedly true.

For me, personally, beer, as a weaver of social fabrics, was more of the final embroidery on a once-shredded relationship that in the last nine years became one of the most important relationships in my short life. Beer, the emerging and now prevalent craftsmanship, and the culture that encompasses it, become a vast common ground for my father and I to share ideas, knowledge and thoughts on anything from taste, similarities to the appreciation of wine, the politics of the industry, and so on. It became a topic whose breadth covered myriad number of finer points that brought out the best of our collective intellect, varied and often disagreeing as they may have been. He became a fan and avid follower of my pontifications on the different beers I tasted, and would often discuss his thoughts on my articles. When I stopped writing about beer as a hobby a few years ago, he would constantly pepper me with inquiries as to why I hadn't started doing it on my own.

"If you keep doing it and keep putting your name out there, someone will notice. And then maybe you can get paid to do it."

I always thought he pushed so hard because, as a writer, I've had (and am having) my share of struggles financially. I always knew he wanted me to be able to do what I enjoyed doing because, for so many years, he had not had that option. I figured his eagerness had more to do with my success, my future and my personal satisfaction with my work (and maybe because I fancy myself a decent writer and he enjoyed reading my articles). After he passed away, a new facet emerged that I had not really considered, that may have played a bigger role than all of the aforementioned, combined: He was proud of me. He was proud because I was doing what I thoroughly enjoyed. He was proud because I wasn't giving up or giving in. He was proud that I was doing something that he would've loved to do, as well.

For my father and I, beer was a conversation piece much the way sports, politics or personal money management were conversational pieces. And while we both enjoyed in-depth, thought-provoking discussions in which we agreed just as often as we disagreed, these topics were mere vehicles for a much more substantial, veiled topic we were really discussing. Behind the structured arguments tinged with passion about this idea or that were overtures of a fabric sewn through almost a decade of recovery from a tattered, unstable relationship; a peace-offering or, perhaps, an expression of our inherit familial connection that I had forsaken for so long as a rebellious adolescent. Beer was a thread for us to tell each other how we felt, that we were proud, that we cared, that we were and always had been interested in the life and well-being of the other.

I often find myself angry in retrospect of the years I wasted making him the enemy, especially in the face of all that I would give to get him back. But the anger often fades quickly, knowing that I can't change the past and that everything we said and did together and for each other more than made up for lost time. Still, I'm bereft to fault myself for wishing I had more.