Invisible Influence (11 page)

Consider the handbags below. Both are from the French luxury brand Longchamp. Both are made mostly out of nylon with leather accents. And, according to their description, both are the perfect size for carrying what you need every day. The only difference between the bags, in fact, is their color.

When I asked people how similar these bags were on a scale of 1 to 100, most thought they were extremely similar. Around a 90.

When I asked them why, they listed many of the same reasons noted above. They're the same size, from the same brand, and so
on. People thought they were so similar that some of the respondents thought I must be playing a trick on them.

When I asked people who owned one of these bags the same question, however, I got very different responses.

Not similar at all,
the Longchamp owners said.
Look how different the colors are!

Ask someone to list their most treasured possessions. Their favorite necklace, shirt, or kitchen gadget. Then ask them how many other people own that same item.

Inevitably, people underestimate the number. Sometimes by an order of magnitude. The more something matters to us, the more distinctive we assume it is.

Even better, head over to day care and watch dozens of kids making macaroni art. Or go to the dog park and watch all the puppies chasing each other in circles. As an outsider, they all look very much the same. Sure there are differences here and there, but similarity rules.

Yet, ask a parent about their child, or a pet owner about their dog, and you'll get a different opinion. Their baby is completely different from the rest. Their dog is the most unique animal that has ever walked the face of the Earth. Ever.

In some ways, this is the crux of distinction. Some differences are real. We purchase different brands, espouse different opinions, or go on different vacations from our friends and neighbors. We buy that antique coffee table made out of reclaimed teakwood and railroad ties.

But we also satisfy our thirst for difference using our minds alone. By focusing on ways we're similar to everyone else or ways we're different. That we bought our shirt at the same store where thousands of others bought theirs, or that we bought that particular shade of off-off-grey that few others have.

These mental gymnastics help resolve a puzzle that many people feel when they hear about distinction.

Look around the next time you're at the grocery store or waiting for the subway and you'll notice that most people look pretty similar. We all have two eyes, two ears, a nose, and a mouth. We wear similar-looking clothes, eat similar-looking food, and live in similar-looking homes. Yet even in this sea of similarity, we feel unique. Different. Special.

And part of it comes down to the illusion of distinction. We focus on ways we are different, even if at the core we are very much the same.

But does everyone feel the desire for difference to the same degree?

Consider the flip of the scenarios earlier in this chapter. Not whether you'd still buy a painting you liked if someone already had it, or still order a beer you wanted if someone already ordered it, but how you'd react if someone copied something
you
were already doing. How you'd react to being imitated.

Imagine you just purchased a new car. You show it to a few friends, and then you find out that one of the friends you showed it to went and bought the same thing. The exact same make and model. How would you feel?

When Northwestern professor Nicole Stephens asked MBA students this question, she got some predictable responses.

Irritated or upset, they replied. They felt betrayed that their friend bought the same car and annoyed that their car was no
longer unique. The MBAs felt that someone else doing the same thing as themselves would spoil their differentiation, that it would make their car more generic.

This negative reaction fits with everything we've talked about regarding uniqueness. People like to be somewhat unique, and when that sense of differentiation is threatened, a negative emotional reaction occurs. And, consistent with people's desire to be different, the MBAs were upset when someone else copied them.

Nicole also asked another group of people the same question. This second group was similar to the MBAs in many ways. They were around the same age and, like MBAs, mostly male.

There was only one difference. Rather than being relatively well-off, this second group of people were a bit more blue-collar. Rather than attending a prestigious business school that costs over $100,000 a year, they had working-class jobs.

They were firefighters.

When Nicole asked the firefighters how they would feel if their friend bought the same car, almost none of them said they would be irritated or upset. In fact, when she tabulated the data, she found that their responses were decidedly positive. Rather than being annoyed, they said they would be happy for their friend. It wouldn't bother them at all, they replied, and the friend would get a great car.

As one firefighter put it: “Awesome, let's start a car club!”

Why did firefighters react so differently? Why were they comfortable with being similar while the MBAs were not, and what does that tell us about people's desire to be different?

It wasn't until she got to college that Nicole had realized she had grown up in two worlds. Like her parents and their parents
before them, Nicole was born in West Palm Beach, Florida. Her family wasn't rich, but they weren't poor, either. Her father had gone to college to stay out of Vietnam, and later became a firefighter and started his own pressure-cleaning business on the side. The business grew and soon he could hire a team of workers. Eventually they started washing trucks for post offices all over the area. A whole parking lot would be filled with hundreds of mail trucks, and, as kids, Nicole and her brother would help as a way of making extra spending money.

Her parents taught Nicole to work hard.
Play by the rules, get good grades, and you'll have opportunities.

So she did. Nicole was a good student, a perfectionist even. She did well in school, won spelling bees, and graduated close to the top of her class.

When it came time to think about college, Nicole knew what she wanted. She had never left Florida, but she dreamed of going to a college like the ones she had seen in the movies. A fancy, small liberal arts school somewhere in New England where people wore sweaters and laughed in the quad as the autumn leaves fell.

Nicole didn't know much about these schools; she just knew she had to go. Florida was fine—nice even—but she didn't want to go to the state school where everyone else was going. She wanted to go somewhere special.

When an acceptance letter came in the mail from Williams College in Williamstown, Massachusetts, Nicole was elated. It was just what she had hoped for.

But her parents weren't convinced.
It's just another school,
they said.
There are fine schools here in Florida where you can get a full scholarship. Why do you need to go somewhere so expensive? Will it really help you get a better job?
These were sensible questions to ask given the price tag attached.

So Nicole called the alumni office. She was looking for data, statistics, anything that would help her parents see that it would be worth the investment.

The alumni office obliged, and sent her reams and reams of information. Eventually, after listening to Nicole's case, her parents caved. Williams it would be.

As Nicole's freshman year unfolded, Williams was perfect in many ways. Consistently one of the best liberal arts colleges in the country, the college had great classes and amazing professors. Basketball was also one of Nicole's passions, and she played on the varsity team. Life was good.

But at the same time, something seemed off. Something she couldn't put her finger on. She felt well equipped academically, but somehow she didn't feel like she fit in with some of the other students.

In some ways, Nicole knew she was privileged. Growing up, she had played on a basketball team in nearby Riviera Beach, an underresourced area where almost a third of families were below the poverty line. She had been the only white girl on the team, and many of her teammates grew up in unsafe, impoverished neighborhoods. Nicole hadn't wanted for anything and she had a stable and supportive family structure. She was embarrassed that she had so much and her teammates had so little.

Yet, at Williams, Nicole realized that other students had access to opportunities she never knew existed. They had houses in the Hamptons, attended expensive prep schools, and used fancy tutors. Their parents had fancy jobs: they were politicians, doctors, and lawyers. Many had all sorts of family connections going back generations. For Nicole, it was a different level of privilege altogether.

It took Nicole years to put these pieces together and make sense of her experiences, but they helped her see the powerful
role that cultural background plays in life. She carried these insights into graduate school, where she began looking more deeply into how gender, race, and social class affect people's experiences and outcomes.

The notion that uniqueness is good is pervasive in American culture. Infants are given their own rooms to foster autonomy. Burger King urges people to “have it your way,” and cigarette companies encourage consumers to “choose anything but ordinary.” Difference seems to be what is valued.

But does everyone feel that way?

Nicole wasn't so sure. She wondered whether social class might play a role. Whether growing up in a middle-class versus a working-class environment might shape whether people preferred to be similar or different.

To find out, Nicole started by looking at cars. She went to two local shopping centers. One was middle-, if not upper-, class. An outdoor mall filled with expensive stores like Louis Vuitton and Neiman Marcus. A place where, if finding a parking spot was too taxing, you could have your car parked by a valet. A place where patrons looking to refresh their palate could get fresh pressed juice “born out of the idea that in order to find fulfillment and balance each day, modern people need to be armed with a fresh set of tools that are simple, convenient, and tailored to their hectic schedules.”

The other shopping center was decidedly working-class. No valet parking, no high-end stores, and no notion that a $9 combination of root juices and celery is what people need to find stability in a crazy world. Just a place where mostly blue-collar people go to get a good deal: the parking lot at Walmart.

Nicole went through each parking lot noting the make and model of each car. For the high-end shopping center: a Nissan Sentra, a BMW 328i, a Volvo S60, and so on. For the Walmart lot, a Toyota Camry, an Acura TL, another Camry, row after row.

Then she counted how many distinct car types there were in each lot. How many different make-and-model combinations there were at both the high-end shopping center and at Walmart.

In places where people want to be unique, there should be more variation. A few people might drive the same make and model, but drivers should spread out and there should be more different types of cars.

In places where people prefer to be more similar, however, there should be more overlap. More people should be more clustered around a smaller set of cars. Rather than thirty distinct makes and models, there might be twenty.

When she tallied the results, Nicole found something similar to what she had found with the firefighters. Compared to the high-end shopping center, there were fewer distinct makes and models in the Walmart lot. More people driving the same cars rather than each person driving something different.
^IV
Working-class people preferred more similarity.

Turns out that there are differences in the drive for difference. Whether people prefer to be more similar to, or different from, others. People from middle-class backgrounds avoid picking popular items, and when someone else chooses something they already selected, it makes them like that thing less. People from working-class backgrounds, however, don't have as big an aversion to fitting in. They pick more popular items over less popular ones, and someone else choosing something they already selected makes them like it
more
. Less rather than more difference is preferred.
^V

But it's not only about socioeconomic status. Even among working-class or middle-class individuals, people vary in their needs or preferences for uniqueness.
^VI
Some people like popular products and brands while others tend to avoid them. Some try to create a personal image that can't be duplicated, while others are fine being more middle-of-the-road.
²⁰

Cross-cultural differences also play a role. In America, people say that “the squeaky wheel gets the grease.” The person who stands out, or is most noticeable, gets the most attention. In Japan, however, a famous proverb notes that “the nail that stands out gets pounded down.” There, fitting in with the group is what is important, and standing out can be a bad thing.