The power of storytelling in business

It was Thanksgiving weekend. Six thousand miles away, people were eating turkey and mashed potatoes, sharing what they were grateful for, and swooning on couches with the dull roar of football playing in the background.
I wasn't doing any of that…because I was in Slovenia.
I'll be honest. "I'm in Slovenia" isn't something I ever imagined saying - except once I met a Slovenian footballer on vacation in Mexico and was convinced one day that I would marry him. And yet I was there. We were there. My husband, Michael (who doesn't play football) and I were strolling the quaint, slightly damp cobbled streets of Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. And although we missed Thanksgiving, I felt very grateful. Not just for the fairy tale town we had just entered, but because I had just heard one of the best sales stories of my life.
Before I go any further, I should tell you to say something. stories are my life. They are my work, my currency, my way of seeing the world. I told my first story when I was 11 years old. And ever since that day, stories follow me, seek me out, and now I spend my days talking about the strategic use of stories and teaching others to tell theirs.
Related: How to tell your story
In fact, stories are the reason I was in Slovenia. I was invited specifically to the US to speak to nearly 1000 marketing and brand managers, media executives and ad creatives from across Eastern Europe about the power of storytelling in business.
So you can imagine the irony, or at the very least the intrigue, when I – the history expert – witnessed the greatest coup of all time.

It happened on the evening of this weekend at the end of November. Although Slovenians don't celebrate Thanksgiving, the city was festive and lively as they celebrated the start of the festive season with an annual tree-lighting ceremony. Michael and I walked among thousands of Slovenians enjoying local wine, chestnuts roasted over open fires from street vendors and more wine. The night sky was dark, the air was damp and cool, and the streets glowed with a soft, warm light from the Christmas decor hung between each building. The faint sound of Christmas carols echoed from downtown, and the storefronts lining the streets twinkled, calling to us, inviting us to come in and explore.
Well, that's not quite true. The windows were calling me, not us. Shop windows don't call Michael, because Michael doesn't shop. It doesn't do storefronts, online stores, bargains or anything. He hardly buys anything. The elastic waistband of her underwear disintegrates before Michael buys another pair. In fact, he may not even have a wallet.
As our trip to Europe progressed, this fundamental difference in our shopping preferences turned into a rather repetitive conversation.
Me:Oh! A boutique of local designers. Let's check it out!
Michael:[Acts as if he didn't hear me. Keep walking.]
Me:Oh! A local carpet store. Let's check it out!
Michael:[Doesn't hear me. Keep walking.]
Me:Oh! Everything in this store is cork. Let's check it out!
Michael:[Pulls out his cell phone, though it doesn't work. Keep walking.]
Me:Oh! Fresh bread!
Michael:[Takes a deep breath of baked-bread air. Keeps walking.]
That didn't offend me for two reasons. One, I'm used to. And two, we only brought two carry-on bags for this week-long trip. Even the fluffiest piece of bread wouldn't fit in our luggage, so I didn't fight much.
Until that night. Until I see the shoes. There, sitting proudly in one of the gloriously lit windows, was a pair of show shoes. They were silver. And sparkling. Sequined even. And maybe it was all the wine (and the lack of bread), but at that point, I couldn't resist any longer. Before he knew what was going on, I dragged an unsuspecting Michael to an upmarket boutique on a side street in Ljubljanan.
Inside, the store was an eclectic mix of goods, from watches and jewelry to art and clothing. I walked over to the shoes and left Michael to fend for himself.
To my dismay, up close the shoes looked atrocious. Blinding. I immediately felt a deep sense of guilt for abandoning Michael at the first glimpse of glitter. I ran to the front of the store where Michael was trying to hide behind a rotating tower of perfume bottles. Just as I was about to grab it and head for the safety of the cobblestones, a very ambitious Slovenian salesman in his twenties appeared, as if from nowhere, behind the perfume counter. , only inches from where Michael was standing and calling out to him. .
“Excuse me sir. Are you looking for a perfume? »
Oh no, I thought. Oh, that poor kid is so far away.
Michael certainly wasn't looking for a perfume. Not just because searching for a perfume would involve shopping for a perfume — which we've already covered — but because Michael doesn't wear cologne. Already. It is not a type of perfumed type. He was only near the perfume counter because he needed a place to hide.
That's exactly what I started to tell the salesman, but he didn't seem to care . Instead, he carefully removed a navy and white striped box from an upper display shelf.
"It's our bestseller," he said, his fingers ( unusually long, I noticed) gently framed the box. We prepared to be spritzed against our will.
But the seller didn't even open the box. Instead, he set the unopened packet on the glass counter and, with the faint smile of a man who knows what he's doing, began.
Eight &Bob
“ It's...it's Eight &Bob,” the seller said.
“In 1937, a young, handsome American student was traveling on the French Riviera. At 20, he had something special about him. Everyone who met him could smell a rising star. »

The young clerk stopped to see if we were listening. We were.
"One day this young man was out on the town when he met a Frenchman named Albert Fouquet, a Parisian aristocrat and connoisseur of perfumes.
"Of course the young man don't know. All he knows is that the man smells amazing. Quite charming, the ambitious American convinces Fouquet, who has never sold his perfumes, to share a small sample of the irresistible cologne.
I looked at Michael. He hadn't blinked yet.
"As you can imagine, when the young man returned to the United States, others were also fascinated by the smell, and if he didn't Wasn't irresistible before, it certainly was now. The young man knew he was on to something, so he wrote to Fouquet, pleading that he send eight more samples “and one for Bob”. »

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Although he didn't say anything, Michael's face asked the question which the clerk then answered.
“You see, Bob was the young man's brother. And the young fellow, well, you probably know him as John. Or just J.”
The clerk's voice trailed off before the sentence was finished, and Michael, as if he'd just discovered One-Eyed Willy's pirate treasure, muttered "FK."
"Yes." The clerk nodded. “The young man in question was none other than John F. Kennedy. And the sample was for his brother, Robert. At this point, I was no longer a participant in the interaction (if I ever was), but rather a spectator. While I wanted to know how the story of Eight &Bob ended, I was more interested in the story unfolding before my eyes.
"Is that JFK's cologne?" Michael said in wonder.
"Indeed it is." The clerk continued. “Of course, as you know, international relations have not always been easy between the United States and France. And while I'm no history expert, I do know that shipping cologne bottles has gotten increasingly difficult. So, in order to protect the final deliveries from the Nazis, the last bottles were hidden…”
The employee paused and looked at Michael, whose mouth might or might not open.
“In the books. At that signal, the clerk opened the box he had pulled from the shelf so long ago. In the box was a book. He opened the book. And there, nestled inside the perfectly cut pages to frame its contents, was a beautiful crystal bottle of cologne.
At that moment, Michael said three words that I had never heard him say before .
"I'll take it." ”
A story changes everything
At this point, one thing became clear to me:my husband was kidnapped and replaced by an impostor. A stranger buying cologne. A cologne, to be clear, Michael hadn't even smelled it yet.
Really, though, I know better. There is nothing foreign about what happened to Michael in this Slovenian shop. In fact, his response to the clerk's efforts was the most humane thing that could have happened.

Because the irresistible power of a story is stronger than a man's desire to keep his wallet closed, more charming than JFK himself. A perfectly placed and impeccably delivered story can transport a person to a place beyond attention, past and captivation. The “can’t look away” type. The “oh shoot, I just missed my exit” kind of thing. In these moments of history, we are, like my husband that night, gripped in a way that seems almost beyond our control.
There is a reason why this is so. As we'll see, when it comes to a big story, we really can't help ourselves. From the moment the clerk in this shop started telling the story of Eight &Bob, a change happened within us:a change in our understanding, a change in our desires.
It is the change that many of us seek. Far beyond buying a bottle of cologne, the change a story can make has a profound impact on business. It turns customers into converts. It turns employees into evangelists. Executives managers. It changes the nature and impact of marketing, and perhaps more importantly, it can change the way we see ourselves.
How this change happens and how you can create it by harnessing the power of storytelling .
Back to Slovenia
As fate would have it, the only bottle of Eight &Bob in the shop that night was the sample we saw on the shelf. We couldn't even buy it. In his enthusiasm to tell us the story, the clerk neglected to see if he had any in stock. But our inability to bring home a bottle in no way diminished Michael's enthusiasm. In fact, it fueled him.
My generally uniform-keeled husband was suddenly charged. As we left the shop and I began looking for our next place to drink wine, Michael spoke and gestured with the fervor of an impassioned European. He marveled at the beautiful packaging of the product, so perfectly aligned with the story. He imagined the rare smell sneaking past Nazis, and mysterious books containing hidden bottles of cologne one day sitting on the Resolute desk.
“We have to try to get the distribution rights for North America,” he said. “This stuff is amazing. Everyone should know that.
Keep in mind:We never talked about the smell of cologne. It didn't matter. By the time we got back to our hotel that evening, we had decided to return to the store the next day in case a shipment arrived before we had to catch our flight home.
When we arrived the next morning , the seller of the day before had left. Instead, a middle-aged woman explained that they still weren't at Eight &Bob.
I was curious. "Can you tell us about the cologne?"
Let's see, she mused. “There are five different scents in the product line. Uh, she struggled, they use unique plants from, uh, France. It seems very popular. The packaging is nice. Then she got out of breath. That was it.
The difference between the two experiences was shocking. Like yesterday we accidentally stumbled upon a shop bustling with magicians and overnight it had been turned into 7-Eleven.
Shocking. But that's not uncommon. In my work, I see this messaging tragedy daily. Sales teams struggle to communicate the compelling story of the solution they represent. Agents who miss the mark when trying to effectively engage potential customers. Companies whose cultures wither instead of thrive because their leaders can't explain the reasons why they do what they do.
The good news is that no amount of magic is required to solve this problem. Storytelling has the power to change the way everyone in the company thinks, feels and behaves, and how you can use that power yourself.
And while I highly recommend Ljubljana while on vacation, no travel to Slovenia is required. You just need to learn to identify and tell great stories.