20130603

The Salesman’s Guide To Manipulating Your Friends

A common convention used when pricing a product is to offer 3 different prices - a premium option, a normal option, and a budget option. Even if you would prefer to offer just one product at one price, the three tier option is usually better.

Why? Because when it comes to making decisions based on prices, people are easily manipulated. Here is a good example that summarizes an experiment from the book Priceless:

“People were offered 2 kinds of beer: a premium beer for $2.50 and a bargain beer for $1.80. Around 80% chose the more expensive beer.

“Now a third beer was introduced, a super bargain beer for $1.60 in addition to the previous two. Now 80% bought the $1.80 beer and the rest the $2.50 beer. Nobody bought the cheapest option.

“Third time around, they removed the $1.60 beer and replaced it with a super premium $3.40 beer. Most people chose the $2.50 beer, a small number the $1.80 beer and around 10% opted for the most expensive $3.40 beer. Some people will always buy the most expensive option, no matter the price.”

As the experiment shows, people often have a preference for the middle option, irrespective of quality or price. Although we tend to think of ourselves as making decisions by comparing the cost of a product to its quality (or our willingness to pay), we don’t always do so in practice.

Instead, we often compare the options that are immediately available against each other. The type of person that always buys the premium option will go for the premium option, the person sticking to a budget will go for the cheapest option, and most people will see the middle option as the reasonable balance between quality and price.

As a result, a common sales tactic is to offer a budget and premium option around your product. If you just offer one price for one option, customers will only decide whether to purchase the product by comparing it to similar products or estimating how much they think it’s worth. But by offering three options, you can change the conversation and induce people to make their decision by comparing the three options.



This principle can also be applied outside pricing to any area where you are trying to frame a decision for someone. It’s also a great way to manipulate your friends into making a decision you want.

Let’s imagine a completely hypothetical situation involving two roommates. The roommates decide to go out for dinner, but they can’t agree on a restaurant. So, one of them volunteers to research some options.

On Yelp, he finds a restaurant he wants to go to. But rather than suggest that one restaurant, he pitches his roommate on three different eateries: First a cheap Italian restaurant, next the moderately priced and conveniently located Cuban restaurant that he favors, and finally an expensive Chinese restaurant that is far away.

Now, instead of debating the merits of the Cuban restaurant in isolation (as the first roommate doubts that his roommate would want to go), the second roommate is comparing it to two other options. Comparatively, it seems great. It’s neither the overly cheap nor overly expensive option, and it is conveniently located.

Of course, you probably shouldn’t suggest anything you’re not willing to actually do. In this author’s case, the plan backfired. Bucking the trend, his roommate chose the Chinese restaurant. Luckily, it was delicious.

20130602

How to behave at a sushi restaurant

If you’ve ever found yourself at the counter of a sushi restaurant, nervously watching and copying other customers around you, don’t worry; you’re not alone. It turns out that even Japanese people aren’t too sure of themselves when it comes to dining with sushi.
Thankfully, Japan has etiquette guides for everything – from how to wear a suit to how to eat a hamburger – so proper tips aren’t hard to find. We’ve sourced a compilation of sushi manners that outlines some of the finer points, while also giving us an insight into the type of things that confuse Japanese sushi customers.

First up, “irasshaimase” or “welcome.” Let’s take roll-call with the main styles of sushi (photo left). Nigiri-zushi: Hand molded, with neta (topping) on a bed of sushi rice; “makimono:” Sushi rice with a seaweed wrap and a variety of fillings. These come in regular roll shapes (“makizushi” or roll sushi) and more rectangular, battleship shapes (“gunkanmaki”).

How to Order

Either tell the staff your budget to receive a specially designed course from the chef, or make your requests from the menu. Keep in mind that it’s best to start with lighter flavors and then move on to stronger flavors as the course progresses.
 
While “toro” (supple, fatty tuna) is a popular choice for many people, ordering it in bulk and dismissing all other choices is considered bad form. A well-rounded order with a few different varieties is a much better way to get on good terms with the chef.

They say you can test the flavors of a sushi restaurant by their egg rolls but the “anago” (conger eel) and the “konoshiro” (gizzard shad) are also great ways to see the chef’s talent and try distinctive flavors.
 
When the “makimono” comes out, it’s a sign that your specially designed course is at an end. Make any additional orders now if you’re not full.

How to eat
—Eat the sushi as soon as it’s placed in front of you.
—Eat it with one hand or with chopsticks; either is no problem.
—It’s important to eat the sushi in one mouthful. If you think the sushi might be too big, then ask for it to be cut or molded into a smaller portion.
—When dipping sushi into soy sauce, do it so the sauce only touches the “neta” (the fish topping) and not the rice. You don’t have to totally turn the sushi over to get the job done; just tilt it to the side and dip the tip of the “neta.” As rice soaks up the soy sauce, it’s likely to crumble.
—“Gunkan” sushi might spill and fall apart if tipped, so a bit of sneaky sauce on the rice is forgiven here, as long as you aim mostly for a seaweed dip.

What to avoid
—Don’t drown your sushi in loads of soy sauce. Taste the fish and rice.
—Don’t take the “neta” off the sushi rice; dip it in soy and then return it to the top of its rice bed.
—Don’t wear a strong smelling fragrance if you plan to sit at the counter
—Don’t show off half-hearted sushi knowledge. Show some humility to the chef and he’s sure to treat you in kind.

8 tips to acting upper-class


  1. Never, Ever, Ever talk about money. You can talk about pricey things, like a trip, but you never mention how much it would cost. You may say the name of the hotel (if it was a good one), but there is no need to point out the price.
  2. Dress well for the occasion. Do not overdress. Check what others are going to wear, and if possible prepare before with someone who is already "in the club." They will (if they like you) give you good hints about what to wear and not to wear.
  3. Be nice. Smile, don't insult anyone, and don't pull any rude jokes.
  4. Be open and charming. Don't be shy. There is no need to attack the first person that you see, but if you spot someone interesting go and talk to them.
  5. Boys and girls from upper class families are very strict with good manners. Be careful of how you act. If you want to come on to some one, do it very discreet. Find out if they have a boy/girl friend first. If they do, let them go. You will only be called trashy.
  6. Have good manners. Know in what order to use the forks and knives and so on.
  7. Have a good vocabulary. Don't use bad or vulgar language.
  8. If you get upset over something, try to stay calm.

20130601

Seven tools for thinking

1 USE YOUR MISTAKES

We have all heard the forlorn refrain: "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time!" This phrase has come to stand for the rueful reflection of an idiot, a sign of stupidity, but in fact we should appreciate it as a pillar of wisdom. Any being, any agent, who can truly say: "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time!" is standing on the threshold of brilliance. We human beings pride ourselves on our intelligence, and one of its hallmarks is that we can remember our previous thinking and reflect on it – on how it seemed, on why it was tempting in the first place and then about what went wrong.

I know of no evidence to suggest that any other species on the planet can actually think this thought. If they could, they would be almost as smart as we are. So when you make a mistake, you should learn to take a deep breath, grit your teeth and then examine your own recollections of the mistake as ruthlessly and as dispassionately as you can manage. It's not easy. The natural human reaction to making a mistake is embarrassment and anger (we are never angrier than when we are angry at ourselves) and you have to work hard to overcome these emotional reactions.

Try to acquire the weird practice of savouring your mistakes, delighting in uncovering the strange quirks that led you astray. Then, once you have sucked out all the goodness to be gained from having made them, you can cheerfully set them behind you and go on to the next big opportunity. But that is not enough: you should actively seek out opportunities just so you can then recover from them.

In science, you make your mistakes in public. You show them off so that everybody can learn from them. This way, you get the benefit of everybody else's experience, and not just your own idiosyncratic path through the space of mistakes. (Physicist Wolfgang Pauli famously expressed his contempt for the work of a colleague as "not even wrong". A clear falsehood shared with critics is better than vague mush.)

This, by the way, is another reason why we humans are so much smarter than every other species. It is not so much that our brains are bigger or more powerful, or even that we have the knack of reflecting on our own past errors, but that we share the benefits our individual brains have won by their individual histories of trial and error.

I am amazed at how many really smart people don't understand that you can make big mistakes in public and emerge none the worse for it. I know distinguished researchers who will go to preposterous lengths to avoid having to acknowledge that they were wrong about something. Actually, people love it when somebody admits to making a mistake. All kinds of people love pointing out mistakes.

Generous-spirited people appreciate your giving them the opportunity to help, and acknowledging it when they succeed in helping you; mean-spirited people enjoy showing you up. Let them! Either way we all win.

2 RESPECT YOUR OPPONENT

Just how charitable are you supposed to be when criticising the views of an opponent? If there are obvious contradictions in the opponent's case, then you should point them out, forcefully. If there are somewhat hidden contradictions, you should carefully expose them to view – and then dump on them. But the search for hidden contradictions often crosses the line into nitpicking, sea-lawyering and outright parody. The thrill of the chase and the conviction that your opponent has to be harbouring a confusion somewhere encourages uncharitable interpretation, which gives you an easy target to attack.

But such easy targets are typically irrelevant to the real issues at stake and simply waste everybody's time and patience, even if they give amusement to your supporters. The best antidote I know for this tendency to caricature one's opponent is a list of rules promulgated many years ago by social psychologist and game theorist Anatol Rapoport.

How to compose a successful critical commentary:

1. Attempt to re-express your target's position so clearly, vividly and fairly that your target says: "Thanks, I wish I'd thought of putting it that way."

2. List any points of agreement (especially if they are not matters of general or widespread agreement).

3. Mention anything you have learned from your target.

4. Only then are you permitted to say so much as a word of rebuttal or criticism.

One immediate effect of following these rules is that your targets will be a receptive audience for your criticism: you have already shown that you understand their positions as well as they do, and have demonstrated good judgment (you agree with them on some important matters and have even been persuaded by something they said). Following Rapoport's rules is always, for me, something of a struggle…

3 THE "SURELY" KLAXON

When you're reading or skimming argumentative essays, especially by philosophers, here is a quick trick that may save you much time and effort, especially in this age of simple searching by computer: look for "surely" in the document and check each occurrence. Not always, not even most of the time, but often the word "surely" is as good as a blinking light locating a weak point in the argument.

Why? Because it marks the very edge of what the author is actually sure about and hopes readers will also be sure about. (If the author were really sure all the readers would agree, it wouldn't be worth mentioning.) Being at the edge, the author has had to make a judgment call about whether or not to attempt to demonstrate the point at issue, or provide evidence for it, and – because life is short – has decided in favour of bald assertion, with the presumably well-grounded anticipation of agreement. Just the sort of place to find an ill-examined "truism" that isn't true!

4 ANSWER RHETORICAL QUESTIONS

Just as you should keep a sharp eye out for "surely", you should develop a sensitivity for rhetorical questions in any argument or polemic. Why? Because, like the use of "surely", they represent an author's eagerness to take a short cut. A rhetorical question has a question mark at the end, but it is not meant to be answered. That is, the author doesn't bother waiting for you to answer since the answer is so obvious that you'd be embarrassed to say it!

Here is a good habit to develop: whenever you see a rhetorical question, try – silently, to yourself – to give it an unobvious answer. If you find a good one, surprise your interlocutor by answering the question. I remember a Peanuts cartoon from years ago that nicely illustrates the tactic. Charlie Brown had just asked, rhetorically: "Who's to say what is right and wrong here?" and Lucy responded, in the next panel: "I will."

5 EMPLOY OCCAM'S RAZOR

Attributed to William of Ockham (or Ooccam), a 14th-century English logician and philosopher, this thinking tool is actually a much older rule of thumb. A Latin name for it is lex parsimoniae, the law of parsimony. It is usually put into English as the maxim "Do not multiply entities beyond necessity".

The idea is straightforward: don't concoct a complicated, extravagant theory if you've got a simpler one (containing fewer ingredients, fewer entities) that handles the phenomenon just as well. If exposure to extremely cold air can account for all the symptoms of frostbite, don't postulate unobserved "snow germs" or "Arctic microbes". Kepler's laws explain the orbits of the planets; we have no need to hypothesise pilots guiding the planets from control panels hidden under the surface. This much is uncontroversial, but extensions of the principle have not always met with agreement.

One of the least impressive attempts to apply Occam's razor to a gnarly problem is the claim (and provoked counterclaims) that postulating a God as creator of the universe is simpler, more parsimonious, than the alternatives. How could postulating something supernatural and incomprehensible be parsimonious? It strikes me as the height of extravagance, but perhaps there are clever ways of rebutting that suggestion.

I don't want to argue about it; Occam's razor is, after all, just a rule of thumb, a frequently useful suggestion. The prospect of turning it into a metaphysical principle or fundamental requirement of rationality that could bear the weight of proving or disproving the existence of God in one fell swoop is simply ludicrous. It would be like trying to disprove a theorem of quantum mechanics by showing that it contradicted the axiom "Don't put all your eggs in one basket".

6 DON'T WASTE YOUR TIME ON RUBBISH

Sturgeon's law is usually expressed thus: 90% of everything is crap. So 90% of experiments in molecular biology, 90% of poetry, 90% of philosophy books, 90% of peer-reviewed articles in mathematics – and so forth – is crap. Is that true? Well, maybe it's an exaggeration, but let's agree that there is a lot of mediocre work done in every field. (Some curmudgeons say it's more like 99%, but let's not get into that game.)

A good moral to draw from this observation is that when you want to criticise a field, a genre, a discipline, an art form …don't waste your time and ours hooting at the crap! Go after the good stuff or leave it alone. This advice is often ignored by ideologues intent on destroying the reputation of analytic philosophy, sociology, cultural anthropology, macroeconomics, plastic surgery, improvisational theatre, television sitcoms, philosophical theology, massage therapy, you name it.

Let's stipulate at the outset that there is a great deal of deplorable, second-rate stuff out there, of all sorts. Now, in order not to waste your time and try our patience, make sure you concentrate on the best stuff you can find, the flagship examples extolled by the leaders of the field, the prize-winning entries, not the dregs. Notice that this is closely related to Rapoport's rules: unless you are a comedian whose main purpose is to make people laugh at ludicrous buffoonery, spare us the caricature.

7 BEWARE OF DEEPITIES

A deepity (a term coined by the daughter of my late friend, computer scientist Joseph Weizenbaum) is a proposition that seems both important and true – and profound – but that achieves this effect by being ambiguous. On one reading, it is manifestly false, but it would be earth-shaking if it were true; on the other reading, it is true but trivial. The unwary listener picks up the glimmer of truth from the second reading, and the devastating importance from the first reading, and thinks, Wow! That's a deepity.

Here is an example (better sit down: this is heavy stuff): Love is just a word.

Oh wow! Cosmic. Mind-blowing, right? Wrong. On one reading, it is manifestly false. I'm not sure what love is – maybe an emotion or emotional attachment, maybe an interpersonal relationship, maybe the highest state a human mind can achieve – but we all know it isn't a word. You can't find love in the dictionary!

We can bring out the other reading by availing ourselves of a convention philosophers care mightily about: when we talk about a word, we put it in quotation marks, thus: "love" is just a word. "Cheeseburger" is just a word. "Word" is just a word. But this isn't fair, you say. Whoever said that love is just a word meant something else, surely. No doubt, but they didn't say it.

Not all deepities are quite so easily analysed. Richard Dawkins recently alerted me to a fine deepity by Rowan Williams, the then archbishop of Canterbury, who described his faith as "a silent waiting on the truth, pure sitting and breathing in the presence of the question mark".

I leave the analysis of this as an exercise for you.