“A custom-built boat is like a tailored suit…
How many times have you read, heard, or seen this phrase? It probably ranks third in overused nautical communication clichés, right after ‘smooth ride on waves’ and ‘larger dimensions than its category.’
But this time, I want to bring it up starting with the suit.
Picture this scene: It’s aperitivo hour at one of the many chic marinas scattered across the Mediterranean’s hotspots—your pick: Capri, Porto Cervo, or St. Tropez, it doesn’t matter.
While strolling along the pier, watching boats and their owners, the setting sun casts an orange glow on my skin, shirt, and elegant cream-colored suit. I spot a good acquaintance at a table, sipping an Americano and enjoying the sunset.
He, too, oddly enough, is wearing a jacket and shirt. He notices me and waves hello. Since I’m a bit early for my next engagement (a rare occurrence), I decide to walk over and chat.
After the initial small talk, we start discussing our projects. A few minutes later, my watch reminds me that I’m no longer early. So I explain that I’m headed to a party at the villa of a high school friend known for hosting spectacular events with fun, interesting, and often very important guests.
‘You know,’ I tell him, ‘Tizio, Caio, and Sempronia will be there tonight, and they might be useful for that project you mentioned. Since I have a plus-one invitation and I’m alone, do you want to join? You’re already dressed for it. My friend doesn’t care about these things—he wore the same three shirts for five years of high school—but his wife is a stickler for formalities…’
To my surprise, he agrees enthusiastically, saying, ‘Let me pay, and we’ll go!’ As he stands up, I notice he’s inexplicably wearing swim trunks and flip-flops under his jacket.
Pause the story. What would you advise him to do? Show up like that (assuming he even gets through the door), risking embarrassment once inside, or find an open shop, buy pants and shoes (keep the trunks underneath—it won’t matter if someone notices at that point), and arrive at the party dressed properly to get the outcome he hopes for: meeting key people to close a deal?
I imagine you’d recommend the second option, wouldn’t you? So let me ask you this: Why, when you communicate about your boats, services, or expertise, do you present yourself like my acquaintance?
You might have one great piece (a website, a social media page, a press office), but then lack the rest entirely. What’s the point of having an amazing Facebook page if you don’t know where to reach people to offer what you want to sell? What’s the use of having a website that brews coffee if you don’t drive traffic to it? How well are your funds invested if, besides the press release your PR agency secured this month, your presence fades for the rest of the season and people don’t even know where to find you?
Communication is indeed like clothing: You can tailor it all you want, but if you don’t have all the pieces in place to speak to the right people, you won’t get far—they’ll block you before you even get in. And there’s no need for a doorman; the clients already do the screening.
If you think a conversation could help you figure out if your wardrobe is fit for the occasion, email info@lliquida.com and book a free one-hour consultation. You might find it takes just a little to get inside the next party, instead of standing outside, staring at your flip-flops.”
