The Ovo energy fallout proves that words still matter

Someone in the team at Ovo Energy was caught napping when the infamous blog advising people to do star jumps to warm up and cut energy bills slipped through the net. It sparked the derision it deserved, representing the worst side of corporate communication by appearing flippant and out of touch in its underestimation of the customer mood and concerns amid soaring energy bills.

However, if the wider response was incredulity over such a misfire, the greatest surprise for me is how such flare-ups don’t happen more often. While I have no insight into the internal processes that signed off this particular blog, the experience of writing communications for global organisations has taught me how easy it is for muddled messages and clangers to seep into corporate collateral. It’s largely due to the “too many cooks” approach taken to their production.

Decisions about tone and message which are best left in the hands of a content specialist often become a collective concern regardless of people’s specific experience and credentials, and a sort of creativity by committee “free for all” takes place, usually to the detriment of the material.

The fallout from the Ovo Energy communication and its monopoly of the headlines confirmed that words matter and can affect reputation. Conversely, at their most eloquent and considered best, the written word has the power to reverse fortunes – even win elections and public confidence, regardless of the nature of the policies behind them.

Margaret Thatcher’s speeches are the ultimate example, peppered with soundbites that stick in the psyche decades later. “The lady’s not for turning” was perhaps the most famous, a rebuff to expectations about a U-turn on counter-inflationary policies, brilliant in its play on words and the snappiest summation of her intent and character.

Which makes the poor handling of specialist written skills in the business environment a puzzling oversight. Companies increasingly recognise the value of content specialists to craft the message and breathe life into traditionally dry and jargon-heavy corporate releases. However, the skills and value often fail to fully flourish; the author’s creative wings clipped by convoluted processes when the role is subsumed within a wider marketing function where everyone is a frustrated writer with an opinion on every linguistic nuance.

Indeed, when I was an internal journalist at a global outsourcing organisation, far from being trusted to follow my conviction and take ownership of the material I was producing, I faced a draining wrestle for creative control, a level of interface rarely seen in other disciplines and functions. All departments sat in designated circular desk pods, the communication team orbited by the legal, finance and social responsibility teams. Our loud, interminable chats, debate and general hot air were a notable contrast to the calm, head-down efficiency around us.

Pepped up by leadership teams’ regular motivational “power talks”, everyone from junior marketing assistant to the events specialist operated under the misnomer that there was no such thing as a bad idea. There was. And while creativity does thrive with a team approach, crucially it depends on a team. Corporate communication units can be broad churches in terms of experience and skillsets, which is fine when people focus on their own speciality and expertise but less so when they feel like switching roles for the day.

Two colleagues in my team had defected from HR and bid management respectively, and while their efficiency, organisation and people skills transferred seamlessly to a new sphere and remit, their backgrounds didn’t equate to honed editorial judgement or a knack for compelling prose, not that it usually deters people from having a go.

The production of the company magazine, ostensibly my responsibility, sent everyone’s inner hack into overdrive. The newly appointed marketing manager and her assistant (collective experience: bid management, retail and dental nursing) were particularly keen to put their own stamp on it. I returned from a break to discover they had added headshots of some sixty-something staff members to illustrate a feature written on older workers – pictures of individuals who were neither quoted nor referenced in the piece and whose permission hadn’t been sought anyway – the sort of addition that would have probably caused offence to those individuals.

Then came the tampering with the copy; words and phrases unfamiliar to them peppered with big red question marks when the pages were proofed; oh, and the creation of an editorial schedule. It involved a spreadsheet, something I had always managed to avoid and was supposed to keep track of – the editorial topics weeks in advance to be filled in and shared with the wider team each week. The idea was to make the process more efficient, but it didn’t – other than justifying a reason for the pair to organise more meetings to discuss the spreadsheet.

Perhaps part of the problem is rooted in how communication as a soft skill is perceived by senior leadership, and not always afforded the status of other functions such as finance and legal. As such, it fosters a misguided sense that anyone can do it regardless of aptitude and abilities, exemplified by the marketing assistant who one day informed me she would be writing more company articles after she “done a copywriting course”.

At the same company, I learnt the person covering the communication manager’s maternity leave, which included writing company-wide internal newsletters sent out to some 40,000 employees, had previously worked on reception without any written communication experience. As all good progressive companies should do, this business was big on personal development, investing in junior people in frontline roles, and broadening their skillset in other areas of the company.

It’s a laudable approach in principle, but ultimately there’s a balance to strike between providing opportunities and promoting people beyond their abilities simply because they’ve shown enthusiasm. The main problem to emerge in the case of the receptionist was she couldn’t spell or write very well at all. While the material was shared internally only and her involvement admittedly short-lived, I wondered if such experiments would have occurred elsewhere. Would someone have been seconded to the finance department who couldn’t add up? Probably not.