E-Mail Exchange: Do I Answer You or Not?

Let's say some materials you promised to send just landed in my In basket. Do I respond with a brief thank-you e-mail?

Or maybe you're sending me batches of material throughout the day. Do I thank you for each one?

What if we've been exchanging e-mails about a particular subject, and your last response was something along the lines of, "Let's do it" or "Let's not do it." Do I reply "Great" or "OK"?

A few years ago, I would have said Yes to all three questions. But now that the volume of e-mail cluttering our In boxes is just short of unmanageable, a new strategy seems to be called for. So I now tailor my level of — let's call it "e-mail persistence" — to the personality of the recipient.

It seems clear that many busy people dislike the bother of opening an e-mail containing a response that was expected, whether "OK" or "thank you." So I respond only when my correspondent might be wondering whether I agreed or would take the step we discussed.

Exceptions to the rule

On the other hand, I do work with people who make a point of responding to every e-mail I send. So I answer all their messages, however brief or trivial. This is an instance of the mimicry that makes for good client-consultant relationships. (Similarly, adopting your client's posture — hands on table, hand supporting chin, etc. — can help foster productive interaction at a meeting.)

People with weighty positions also merit the "persistent" treatment. If you are corresponding with the CEO or the executive director, the appropriate response is to answer every e-mail. Let the client be the one to bow out of the exchange.

And when you're not sure what to do? My strategy has been to forestall any uncertainty by telling my recipient how I'll handle the situation — for example, that I will not respond individually to all the documents she sends today, but will let her know at the close of business* that I've received all 20 of them.

*I was introduced to COB (close of business) by a staff member in a government office. Since then, I've also encountered EOD (end of day). Both are useful shorthand, assuming that we're all working with the same 9-to-5 (or thereabouts) notion of a business day.

We're Supposed To Have (Informed) Opinions: An Imaginary Dialogue

Me: If our client wants an approach we feel is inappropriate, we’ll have to tell them that this is not in their best interest.

Designer: Oh, no, we should never dictate to them. We need to listen to what they want.

Me: Sure, it’s our job to listen, and listen carefully. But we’ve been hired for our expertise. So often, clients know (or think they know) what they want, but they don’t understand what their audience needs. So we must explain — in a friendly way — why a different approach is better suited to the project.

Designer: We can’t afford to offend them. They call the shots.

Me: Look, all we can do is present our point of view. In the end, they can get whatever they want — if not from us, then from someone else they hire. But we need to consider ourselves as consultants, not simply as order-takers.

***

I don’t know whether this is a personality issue or a professional niche issue (do other copywriters feel the same way?), but I often find designers to be extremely hesitant to stand up to their clients.

Much has been written in recent years about a key shift in the world of graphic design from “making” to “thinking.” Not that there isn’t a lot of thinking involved in making. But many in the profession have called for a renewed emphasis on the designer as conceptual thinker, engaging his or her client on a macro level. To my mind, this means acting like a consultant.

And if we are to be treated as consultants, we must act as such from our very first client meeting. If the client has already pegged us as merely obedient servants, we’ve lost our professional leverage.

Designers will stand up for client-proposed infringements of specific design rules. If the client doesn’t understand why an extra two pages can’t be added to a catalogue, the designer can fold sheets of paper to show why the minimum additional page-count must be four. If the client wants to clutter a website home page with numerous bits and pieces of information, the designer will explain why this is ill-advised.

But when it’s a matter of discussing how people are likely to perceive something — when we move into a realm with no set rules (or no rules that have been learned in design class) — opinions tend to be withheld or muted.

I believe that this is a form of misplaced deference. Let's be judicious and thoughtful. Let's base our opinions on solid experience. Let's be matter-of-fact, never dictatorial. But for heaven's sake, let's speak up!

© Cathy Curtis 2010