As someone interested in research, and as a human being, it’s probably fair to assume that you think empathy is a good thing.

But increasingly it has come in for questioning. Philosopher Paul Bloom recently called out its distorting effects on our judgement; the way it leads us to favour the individual over the majority, the way it appeals to emotion rather than reason. If we want to do good, he argues, we should exercise ‘rational compassion’.

The refugee crisis has made this debate more relevant than ever: should we follow our hearts and accept as many as we can, or is a more hard-headed approach, ultimately, the best solution for everyone?

While the debate rolls on, The Story 2017 – an annual conference celebrating stories and storytelling – provided several welcome reminders of the power of empathy. But one talk in particular stood out for me.   

Clara Westaway Gaggero, from design and innovation agency Special Projects, talked us through the steps she and her team went through to solve the knottiest of briefs: how to engage ‘old people’ with smart phones. After hanging out with them in their natural habitats (the bingo hall…the care home…) and listening to their experiences of technology, they realised that the common perception of old people as technological refuseniks simply wasn’t true; they wanted to harness the power of smart phones but they were falling at the first huddle – the ‘unboxing’.

Unlike you or I, older people don’t tear the phone out of the packaging and work it out for themselves. They actually read the instructions (I know…). If you’ve ever taken the time to read them for yourself, you would know that phone instructions are not the easiest to follow – hence so many older people are deterred.

Clara and her team focussed their energies on simplifying this part of journey and devised a dazzlingly simple and intuitive solution: a book in which each page represents a step in the set-up process, with the phone housed neatly inside. Check it out here to see it in all its glory.

With empathy at the heart of their approach, Special Projects arrived at a solution with potential to transform the lives of older people.  

Empathy may not be an unalloyed good where politics is concerned – and it is right that we contest its merits. But as a research tool, it is invaluable. Special Projects’ work with old people provides an inspiring reminder of that value.     

Controversy has always been a sure-fire way to get noticed and so it will come of little surprise that in 2017, in the dawn of Trump’s America, politics is the topic of choice. It’s guaranteed to get people talking about your brand – although often loudly, and potentially while spitting nails. With celebrations of multiculturalism, diversity, and America’s history as an asylum of the ‘tired, poor and huddled masses’ abound in this season’s commercial line-up, we saw other advertisers make overt political commentary with a story of Mexican immigrants stuck behind a towering wall, and even quips at the President Trump’s ‘do.

But while these brands have certainly received praise for their efforts – and probably gained a new set of fans from those who have taken these adverts to be salutes to tolerance and progress – they have simultaneously alienated swathes of Americans who took to social media to vent their outrage.

Does any brand plan to wake up the morning after the launch of a multimillion dollar campaign to see their brand trending on twitter with #boycott written in front of it?

Considering the amount of vitriol these brands are now receiving, it will be fascinating to watch how these campaigns will affect their sales. Will this year’s Super Bowl commercial break act as a controlled experiment to finally figure out whether “all publicity is good publicity”?

Here are some of the offenders – (or favourites, depending on which side of the wall fence you sit on): 

AirBnb’s “We Accept” ad had a clear message of tolerance to some, but was seen as a defiant statement against President Trump’s policies to others

Audi managed to get themselves on the #boycott list with an advert stating that they have a workplace policy of gender equality.

Budweiser told the story of one of its founders’ (Busch) journey of immigration to the USA – the ambiguity of its message proved divisive.

Coca-Cola has re-aired their highly controversial from 2014, where America The Beautiful was sung in different languages.

It’s a 10 haircare makes a tongue-in-cheek jibe at a certain politician’s barnet.

84 Lumber perhaps sparked the biggest debate of them all with this delicately filmed homage to those who attempt to cross America’s borders.

(Image: Budweiser 2017.)

Technological advances, and the growing popularity of social media, are changing consumer shopping behaviour and creating major implications for the fashion industry. Brands and retailers no longer have the power they once had.

But what does this mean for high street fashion brands competing for consumer attention in an increasingly busy marketplace both on and offline?

Online has opened consumers’ eyes to a huge world of choice. Social media has eased the process of inspiration to purchase. More sophisticated online visual shopping from the ASOS catwalk to augmented reality has bought consumers closer to products online. And the likes of Amazon Prime same-day delivery has set expectations for push-button shopping.

The continuous posting about daily lives on social media has given rise to greater pressures to adopt the latest trends and to constantly replenish wardrobes. You can no longer be seen wearing the same thing twice! Peer-to-peer consumerism through apps like Depop – where consumers can buy and sell fashion at second hand prices – means that ‘fast fashion’ is more disposable than ever. It doesn’t stop there; dozens of fashion companies have entered the sharing economy fray, providing consumers with rental sites giving access to items that are either only needed for one-off occasions, or are highly expensive and considered out-of-reach of mainstream consumers.

Consumers with more spending power and choice (but less commitment) are forcing fashion retailers to meet their demands through competitive pricing, providing instant access to the latest trends and a seamless omni-channel experience.

Imagine trying to explain to your Grandma what a meme is. Where would you begin? I struggled and resorted to showing many examples. I can’t say that really helped though.

The word ‘meme’ was coined by Richard Dawkins in his 1976 book The Selfish Gene. Dawkins used it to describe the way in which information moves within a culture – or how ideas and behaviours spread from person to person. The ‘internet meme’, a format we’re more than familiar with today, is a subset of the concept. In its simplest form, it means ‘to go viral’ (drawn from Dawkins’ initial metaphor of a meme being a virus).

The internet – and through that, social media – has given us a platform to instantly share, rapidly change, grow and shift ideas. Pop culture, current affairs, and stock photos are the inspiration for most memes. From the outside looking in, one might view them as pointless, sarcastic, childish procrastination. But for me, it’s not pointless.

Last year one of my own memes went viral being liked over 40,000 times and very quickly being re-posted/modified by others. As a result, the internet owns it now. It’s not about getting credit. For me, it’s about sharing, relating to others, and often trying to make light of some pretty unpleasant news stories. For example, a gorilla being shot at Cincinnati zoo. Remember, our generation tends to grieve online. (Saying that, Harambe memes are well out of date. You gotta keep up with your current affairs – memes are not just for Christmas.)

But don’t ignore the power of the meme, it can spread like wildfire, especially when there’s a political theme (which is more often than not). Pepe the Frog first appeared online circa 2008 and quickly became a world-famous character. He’s since taken a sinister turn after being associated with the alt-right. That’s not to say that all memes are destined to become hate symbols – but with constant changing, editing and recycling, what starts as something harmless could end up turning sour.

Some of the biggest memes in 2016 were based on the children’s show, LazyTown. They’ve since taken ownership of these memes and have responded by posting original content across their own social media and receiving millions of hits. This is refreshing from the programme’s producers, actively embracing meme culture. I wonder what would happen if a brand/brand symbol ever became a meme? If not embraced, like LazyTown, how would that end? Perhaps with the same fate as Pepe?

January 2016: Waterloo

• One open-plan office.
• Twelve Razors.
• Seventeen humungous desks.
• Two meeting rooms.
• Two dodgy printers.
• One kitchenette.
• One comfy corner sofa.
• One roof terrace.
• LOTS to coordinate.
• Soooo much clutter.

When Chloë and Steve first talked to me about moving Razor into a new home, I would never in a million years have imagined us ‘living’ where we are today. My original brief was to pretty much take what we had and replicate it on a larger scale (i.e. more meeting rooms). As close to our old office as possible.

I won’t bore you with all the details about the very lengthy and unproductive search. You already know by now that we changed our minds and went for co-working. But why did we?

As time progressed, we realised that having a larger office space would only be beneficial to us when we are all in the office at the same time. Which isn’t actually that often.

Almost all of our team are market researchers. They are out on the road – a lot. During our busiest times, there’d only be a few of us in the office. On rare occasions, I might even get an afternoon to myself (which is great when I want to play my cheesy music while having a massive re-organise sesh).

In short, we ended December 2016 four months into our tenancy at WeWork, Waterhouse Square. Less than two miles up the road, and a million miles away from the kind of office set-up we began the year with. 

For starters, the building we’ve moved into is stunning. It’s majestic-looking from the outside. (Its nickname is ‘Hogwarts’.) The décor inside isn’t too shabby either. Everything is well-maintained throughout the day and gives a fab impression to anyone coming to visit.

Almost all of our researchers are now hot-desking. Believe it or not, quite a scary prospect six months ago!

Having people from other businesses around is a plus. Handy for reminding us that there is a world outside of research. From a selfish point of view, I enjoy seeing those extra faces – especially when my team are busy travelling to their various locations.

Naturally, there are some downsides. Thin (mostly glass) walls. That feeling of being in a goldfish bowl. Echoing sounds. Loud footsteps. But we are also tucked away from the noisiest part of the building which, I think, is not a bad thing.

Our main workspace is much smaller than at our previous office. On the few days we are all in together, it is a squeeze. But this is where the shared workspaces come into their own – especially now that we have our brand new atrium and additional meeting rooms. Whether it’s a quick phone call, a quiet catch-up, or somewhere to spread your papers out, there is always something to suit.

The move also gave us a chance to go even more mobile. Out went the gigantic server and all the dusty wires that cluttered the floor space. In came the Cloud and its beautiful invisibility. Out went all the individual desk phones with their – you guessed it – even dustier wires. In came VOIP calling. We can transfer incoming calls to anyone, anywhere.  

I’d be lying if I said I had no personal concerns for my role at Razor. Much of the day-to-day maintenance I used to take care of is now handled by the brilliant team at WeWork. And if I used to spend ages looking for meeting room venues, I now simply click the members’ app and book a room in any of the offices world-wide. (Job done.) 

Instead of making me feel redundant, what all this has actually done is free up more time for me to get involved in other aspects of the business – something I’m very excited about.

(Speaking of exciting, I could quite easily bang on about the dog-friendly environment, the new prosecco tap, and lots of other fun things for hours. But I won’t. You can see all that via @razorresearch on Instagram.)

Though I’ve written this blog from my own perspective, I did ask the team for anonymous feedback to see how they’re feeling about the new set-up. There are some small niggles that should be easy to fix. And there’s one that’s been a conundrum for me since even before we moved in. All the things that gave our previous office its ‘Razor’ personality came from all the furniture and knick-knacks that we’d accumulated over time. How do we replicate that character in a smaller office without filling it with clutter?

We’ll figure that out eventually. But overall, I’m happy to know that we’re all embracing the change. We’re nothing if not flexible.

So, as we look at the year ahead (our tenth birthday year, in fact!), here’s where we’re at…

January 2017: Holborn

• Three offices
• Eleven Razors.
• Fourteen non-humungous desks. 
• Loads of meeting rooms to choose from.  
• A communal printer that’s not my responsibility!
• Kitchens galore.
• Sofas aplenty.
• No roof terrace, sadly. But we’ll live.
• A LOT LESS to coordinate.
• Still some clutter. (I’d better work on that…)

I am, of course, referring to our previous two blogs/Chloë’s love letters to television. She’s made watching TV an art that I am quite envious of. This blog is about the paradox of choice – and why it stresses me out.

If you’re anything like me, your TV viewing habits might have become almost non-existent over the last few years. It’s not because I hate TV, I love it. But with the rise of catch-up TV – and an ever-increasing number of channels – I find myself with a growing viewing library of clutter and with even less time to watch it. Call me a Luddite, but I miss the days of ‘appointment-to-view’ television. There are few shows that make me physically sit down to watch on a big screen (either at their scheduled times or on demand). Shows like ‘Strictly Come Dancing’, ‘Only Connect’, and ‘Bake Off’ (may it rest in peace).

For everything else on my Sky+ hard drive (other on-demand facilities are available), as soon as the numerous drama/comedy series recordings start to build up, the thought of getting myself up-to-speed by binge-watching starts to fill me with panic. Please don’t suggest that I should watch them during my commute to work – I tried but found it hard to concentrate while stuck under a stranger’s armpit. So I now choose not to invest the time as it’s easier to miss out altogether. This is why I’ve never watched an episode of ‘Game of Thrones’ or whatever else the cool kids are into. This is why I can hardly take part in Chloe’s office conversations about the latest must-watch drama.

But Christmas…that’s a whole other thing. If I treat TV viewing like tapas throughout the year, December is a time to treat myself to a full platter. First of all, I ditch the EPG and get my hands on a copy of The Radio Times’ Christmas TV Guide. This in itself is an event. Flicking through each page, picking out the films and shows I want to watch in REAL TIME. If I’m feeling ultra-nerdy, I’ll whip out my highlighter pen or sticky tabs and mark certain pages. I don’t even care how sad this makes me sound, it gives me a sense of calm in a world full of technological chaos. There’s an element of nostalgia too. I’m old enough to remember the days of having to buy The Radio Times for the BBC listings AND a copy of TV Times for ITV and C4.

Four TV Channels. Ahh, those were the days. But buying TWO TV GUIDES! Can you even begin to imagine the inconvenience?!?!

RIP Coach Taylor.

RIP Clear Eyes Full Hearts Can’t Lose.

RIP Friday Night Lights.

I started watching the first of five series of Friday Night Lights about 6 years ago and I’ve been eking them out ever since.  If someone had done a focus group of one with me (which I realise is in fact a depth interview) I’d’ve said what I wanted from the best ever drama series would be America, some trucks and blokes drinking bottles of beer the way that only they drink bottles of beer, high school kids, not so much of the singing, almost no dancing, team sports and ergo changing rooms.  I might not have got quite as far as requesting a Coach Taylor or a Tami Taylor or a Gracie-Belle Taylor but if you’d paid me a little extra incentive I might have done…

I started watching FNL when I still owned a DVD player and I finished it streaming from Amazon Prime on my telephone. There’s progress for you.  I started it weeping and to be honest, I finished it weeping too.

It tugged at my heartstrings and coincidentally, so does BBC Three’s American High School: Straight Outta Orangeburg.  Very different shows with some similar issues.  Neither one, probably, very real. 

I’ve loved Friday Night Lights.  Soap without suds.  Dudes and no duds.

I’ll miss you Buddy Garrity, Jason,  Landry, Tyra, Lyla, Matt Saracen,  Julie, Smash Williams, Mindy,  and all the dozens of others.  I’ll miss you Tim Riggins.  

Goodbye Dillon, Texas.  Forever.

Everyday I walk into work and ask the same question…”did anyone see Married at First Sight/SAS: Who Dares Wins/American High School/The Fall/Planet Earth…” etc. and most days, unless I’m very lucky, I’m met by blank stares.  I work in an office of people who simply don’t have the same all-consuming relationship with ‘content’ as I do.   Or maybe they have busier lives.  I fit TV in with a rigid timetable of podcasts, the books, the news, social media and bloody hell, the interruption of doing actual work.  Exhausting.  But also vital, transporting, surprising, hilarious and quite simply something I can’t do without.  For an average of 15 hours a week (yes, I counted).

We work in a WeWork co-working space and I’m one explosive documentary away from suggesting a daily ‘meet up’ of fellow telly addicts.  I fondly see myself bonding over tapas and Transparent or a panini and Planet Earth. 

I watch telly to watch it.  I set myself invisible rules around not looking at my phone (mostly obeyed), not doing the washing up (more often obeyed). I am allowed chocolate and if I’m really lucky, cigarettes.

I set off to work and consider how to get there with one eye on what I want to watch or hear.  If it’s walking, it’s a podcast (I can get in a whole New Yorker Radio Hour or This American Life) on the way.  It’s a bus – such a treat – downloaded TV.  There are days I pray for traffic or pause on the way to finish something off.

So I reckon it’s time I started a TV discussion.  Mostly with myself but prompted by an analysis of SAS: Who Dares Wins with some colleagues – perhaps also, finally with them.

SAS: Who Dares Wins

I’ve got a lot of women in my life.  My mother is one, my sister is one and she just gave birth to another one.  Many of my friends are women, my colleagues are and even my wife is one.  There is something viscerally exciting, affirming and reassuring about seeing men being men.  And that’s why I love SAS: Who Dares Wins. 

And before you suggest that I’m taking this too far intellectually, you’d be right, but I am also fascinated by and admit to a quickening of the heart when I see them, the course leaders.  It’s bloke porn.  The editors know that creating visual snapshots (silhouettes of them waiting to ‘interrogate’ in the tin hut, the close-ups of them talking about ‘them’, the brief opportunities to actually see them be tough) is all grist to my mill and I thank them.

But more than that, I love that it’s a programme that celebrates masculinity.  It’s the cave men, the protectors, the warriors, the tough-guys.  The He-Men.  Every episode exposes a temporary lapse in tough guy and we see a few shells peeled off by discussions of grief, crime, anger, turmoil) – we’re never left to believe that they’re just fists and fight for too long.

I get that it could be reductive and maybe even sexist (last year’s the BBC’s Ultimate Hell Week was actually won by a woman) but in SAS world they’re entirely absent (until the final stage where the only woman sort of plays the ‘nice guy’)’.  I get that it’s a celebration of warfare and bro-hood and a winkling out of the weak.  But I’m okay with that.  Just as my lifelong passion (obsession?) with cowboys will attest, I appreciate men.  I appreciate their strength, their stubble, their stubbornness, their grit.  Reader, I did not want to marry one.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to indulge in their muddy, sweaty, sweary, beefy, brawly selves – for an hour a week at least.