As I’ve been aching for a dislike button in Facebook for some time, this article seductively titled “Should Facebook add a dislike button?” instantly caught my attention; after all, why would anyone doubt that?

And mostly, I agree with the Pete, in that companies certainly wouldn’t want anybody to comparatively weight the Likes versus the Dislikes on their page. In a way, I think it’s somewhat short-sighted of them (as getting feedback from consumers is the golden rule to improving how you are perceived), but on the other hand, simple Likes/Dislikes don’t give out much information, and I’m pretty sure Facebook comments cannot be considered as constructive feedback.

To sum up, a Dislike button may or may not be in Facebook’s and in advertiser’s interests, from a business perspective.

But how about the user perspective? Here’s a quote that I strongly disagree with:

Like buttons are about connection; Dislike buttons are about division.

No they’re not.

Disliking something is just as connecting a statement as liking something. Electric car activists are not connected to one another by their fondness of electrons flowing through copper wire: they are because they dislike fossil fuel cars. The Wikipedia team brought hundreds of thousands of contributors together because of their collective distaste of the old way of doing things (too restrictive, not evolving fast enough, etc).

And this is how social signaling works, too: who we are is defined by what we dislike just as much as it is by what we do like.

Facebook is still about social interactions, right? Or has it morphed into an advertising platform already?

As a follow-up to Seth Godin’s Linchpin, I’ve been probing my life for linchpin moments I might have had. If you’re not familiar with the book, I can only advise you to order it: It will most likely change you in a subtle but strong way. If you need a little bit more convincing, go read the the manifesto (okay, if you really need more convincing, go to Amazon and check out the raving reviews, or head over to Seth’s blog to know more about what the Man is about).

Anyway, there was this one time I was at the movie theater:

I was definitely late, and my movie was about to start. Only one register opened, maybe 30 people ahead of me, this wasn’t looking good. As I was (not-so-patiently) waiting, I checked out the schedule: 3 movies were starting in the next few minutes, while the rest didn’t start for another half-hour. Based on people’s attitude, you could definitely tell the ones in line for a movie that was about to start apart from the ones who weren’t in a hurry.

And then this clerk came up the line, asking people if they intended to pay by card; if they did, he’d take them away to another counter and would speed things up, which was a good idea (whether if was a spontaneous one or not). However, using the means of payment seemed like a somewhat irrelevant criteria. What he could/should have done, is simply walk up to people and ask them what movies they were about to see; if it wasn’t about to start, politely ask them if they’d mind waiting 10 minutes to help expedite things for those in a hurry.

And you know what, I could have done it, too. But we’re not used to putting ourselves on the line like this, and I just waited, hoping the situation would somehow fix itself. It didn’t, and I missed my movie. And this is an important shortcoming: to put it in Seth’s own words, a linchpin doesn’t simply think outside of the box, he acts out of the damn box.

Guess I’ll have to wait for the next occasion to pin an orange lizard to my chest.

It’s always been one of Seth Godin’s argument that handling properly the discontents was the key to good public relations, and I couldn’t agree more.

During my upcoming trip,  I’m going to make a half-dozen hops across North America. That’s as many flights to book. I went and used the portal I regularly go to (fast and clear interface, and, up to now, no problems). I started with the 2 flights with fixed dates. I got the reservation for the first flight immediately, and a mail regarding the other one: the fare I had selected wasn’t available anymore, and so I was supposed to call myself (and pay for the call) to fix the problem.

So I called, and the person on the other end asked me if she could call me back 10 minutes later, so they’d have time to recalculate the price of the fare (hum?). So I waited. And finally she called back.

Turns out the fare had increased by a steep 69€, so I promptly canceled the flight. It got me thinking, though: had the fare increase been only a couple of euros, what would have happened? Probably the same hassle, and only for a couple of euros!

I’ve been using this website for some time now, a fact they have to know because I log in every time. Out of good faith, this intermediary could pay the difference (with a limit of course) and just notify me. How I wish they’d sent this type of mail:

“Wow, just in time!

As you were making your reservation, the price of your flight went up by X€, but we’re covering that charge for you. Consider it a gift from our part. Please enjoy your trip to Y for us!”

This situation is probably a rare occurrence; not much money would be lost in the process, and wow! would that make a great impression! I’d be a customer for life, as opposed to the present situation, where I’m going to finish my bookings on a website with up-to-date pricing.

Found on Gamasutra:

Conscience Is But A Word: Why videogames need better villains, by Xander Markham.

Great article. Plenty of valid points are also made in the comment, but I’ll specifically second Jeffrey Wilson’s opinion: bad guys who do evil stuff just for the sake of being bad guys are flat out uninteresting  (and I’ll add, those who do it simply for their own good can get boring pretty quickly).

The audience needs to know enough in order to connect with them: understand what they want and why they want it, and then reject it.