Blinded by tech, are UK businesses forgetting the basics?

Common sense still not an optional app.

 

The nation’s “bricks and mortar” retailers are beginning to show cracks, with vast numbers looking to set up their stalls online. In fact, the UK retail industry is embracing e-commerce quicker and more successfully than any other Western European countries. But are they missing a trick by deserting the high street?

The UK has indeed taken the lead with innovation and mobile commerce is beginning to kick off: once the smartphone  was invented we had to find a use for it and this is how we started ordering Android-delivered pizza, i-phone delivered pairs of shoes or phone delivered music.

So, whether it’s a country of tech-savvies or a country with too much rain, the mere fact is that no one in Europe has done better in convincing people to shop online.

However, it’s time for the downside. Turning the pages of a couple of reports and chatting with retail, payment and regulatory gurus, it turns out that, in the rush to the web-mirage, UK businesses are forgetting something: “The basics of business”.

This is the conclusion offered by the CEO of a leading payments services provider a few days ago, in front of very full English breakfast.

The very same breakfast that went the wrong way after hearing the staggering number of e-companies, including big players, that are putting security issues linked to customers’ information right at the bottom of the agenda, or just forgetting about it altogether.

Twenty per cent of businesses surveyed by payments company Sage Pay said they are not even sure whether they are compliant or not. They don’t know if they are managing their clients’ data according to the law. Names, addresses, credit card details? Yes, maybe, we don’t really know.

It doesn’t get any more refreshing when it comes to certainties: some 20 per cent know - they are really, really sure - they are not compliant. And another third is convinced it is not important after all, despite the fact that breaches could tarnish the reputation of a business forever.

Even when focusing on the revenue side of the story not everyone seems to get it right.

Take HMV, for example: was it simply the latest high-street retailer to lose out to the power of the web and of new technologies? The truth is that the music store had been on the web for many years before being forced to go into administration.

It did jump on the right tool, but kept a bricks and mortar mentality. When shopping on the web, instead, the same clients become different clients, with speed being the first commandment. When the structure is big and heavy the jump has proved to be more risky.

What should the rules be then? The recipe for success can only come from finding where failure hides.

It’s best to start with the toughest moment of the shopping experience: paying. The majority of customers who visit the website drop out after landing on the payment page, namely after having shown the clear intention of wanting to buy the goods.

Why? Read the data and you’ll get the answer: the longer it takes to pay and the greater number of payment pages you’ve got, the greater the probability the client will get tired and leave. Some websites use up to four pages: worse than queuing ten minutes at Costa.

There are some ego-problems as well: many small merchants think it’s a smart idea to personalise the payment page with their brand. However, if your logo makes your aunty look famous, it will be difficult to convince the customer he can safely give out his data. Better leave the job of reassuring the client to the payments brands. Visa, MasterCard or PayPal inspire more trust than a beloved but unknown aunty Grace, after all.

It doesn’t end here: surprisingly, many small and medium merchants are not taking advantage of social networks. Figures show they work more than the pay-per-click strategy to drive traffic but not enough businesses have an embedded payment feature in the payment page. On the opposite side, a good number of them haven’t got a Facebook page at all.

The moral is ready to be home delivered: new technologies are there, but the human brain and a fine instinct are not an optional app. Business is – and will remain – business.

Don't forget the high street. Photograph: Getty Images

Sara Perria is the Assistant Editor for Banking and Payments, VRL Financial News

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Arsène Wenger: how can an intelligent manager preside over such a hollowed-out team?

The Arsenal manager faces a frustrating legacy.

Sport is obviously not all about winning, but it is about justified hope. That ­distinction has provided, until recently, a serious defence of Arsène Wenger’s Act II – the losing part. Arsenal haven’t won anything big for 13 years. But they have been close enough (and this is a personal view) to sustain the experience of investing emotionally in the story. Hope turning to disappointment is fine. It’s when the hope goes, that’s the problem.

Defeat takes many forms. In both 2010 and 2011, Arsenal lost over two legs to Barcelona in the Champions League. Yet these were rich and rewarding sporting experiences. In the two London fixtures of those ties, Arsenal drew 2-2 and won 2-1 against the most dazzling team in the world. Those nights reinvigorated my pride in sport. The Emirates Stadium had the best show in town. Defeat, when it arrived in Barcelona, was softened by gratitude. We’d been entertained, more than entertained.

Arsenal’s 5-1 surrender to Bayern Munich on 15 February was very different. In this capitulation by instalments, the fascination was macabre rather than dramatic. Having long given up on discerning signs of life, we began the post-mortem mid-match. As we pored over the entrails, the curiosity lay in the extent of the malady that had brought down the body. The same question, over and over: how could such an intelligent, deep-thinking manager preside over a hollowed-out team? How could failings so obvious to outsiders, the absence of steel and resilience, evade the judgement of the boss?

There is a saying in rugby union that forwards (the hard men) determine who wins, and the backs (the glamour boys) decide by how much. Here is a footballing equivalent: midfielders define matches, attacking players adorn them and defenders get the blame. Yet Arsenal’s players as good as vacated the midfield. It is hard to judge how well Bayern’s playmakers performed because they were operating in a vacuum; it looked like a morale-boosting training-ground drill, free from the annoying presence of opponents.

I have always been suspicious of the ­default English critique which posits that mentally fragile teams can be turned around by licensed on-field violence – a good kicking, basically. Sporting “character” takes many forms; physical assertiveness is only one dimension.

Still, it remains baffling, Wenger’s blind spot. He indulges artistry, especially the mercurial Mesut Özil, beyond the point where it serves the player. Yet he won’t protect the magicians by surrounding them with effective but down-to-earth talents. It has become a diet of collapsing soufflés.

What held back Wenger from buying the linchpin midfielder he has lacked for many years? Money is only part of the explanation. All added up, Arsenal do spend: their collective wage bill is the fourth-highest in the League. But Wenger has always been reluctant to lavish cash on a single star player, let alone a steely one. Rather two nice players than one great one.

The power of habit has become debilitating. Like a wealthy but conservative shopper who keeps going back to the same clothes shop, Wenger habituates the same strata of the transfer market. When he can’t get what he needs, he’s happy to come back home with something he’s already got, ­usually an elegant midfielder, tidy passer, gets bounced in big games, prone to going missing. Another button-down blue shirt for a drawer that is well stuffed.

It is almost universally accepted that, as a business, Arsenal are England’s leading club. Where their rivals rely on bailouts from oligarchs or highly leveraged debt, Arsenal took tough choices early and now appear financially secure – helped by their manager’s ability to engineer qualification for the Champions League every season while avoiding excessive transfer costs. Does that count for anything?

After the financial crisis, I had a revealing conversation with the owner of a private bank that had sailed through the turmoil. Being cautious and Swiss, he explained, he had always kept more capital reserves than the norm. As a result, the bank had made less money in boom years. “If I’d been a normal chief executive, I’d have been fired by the board,” he said. Instead, when the economic winds turned, he was much better placed than more bullish rivals. As a competitive strategy, his winning hand was only laid bare by the arrival of harder times.

In football, however, the crash never came. We all wrote that football’s insane spending couldn’t go on but the pace has only quickened. Even the Premier League’s bosses confessed to being surprised by the last extravagant round of television deals – the cash that eventually flows into the hands of managers and then the pockets of players and their agents.

By refusing to splash out on the players he needed, whatever the cost, Wenger was hedged for a downturn that never arrived.

What an irony it would be if football’s bust comes after he has departed. Imagine the scenario. The oligarchs move on, finding fresh ways of achieving fame, respectability and the protection achieved by entering the English establishment. The clubs loaded with debt are forced to cut their spending. Arsenal, benefiting from their solid business model, sail into an outright lead, mopping up star talent and trophies all round.

It’s often said that Wenger – early to invest in data analytics and worldwide scouts; a pioneer of player fitness and lifestyle – was overtaken by imitators. There is a second dimension to the question of time and circumstance. He helped to create and build Arsenal’s off-field robustness, even though football’s crazy economics haven’t yet proved its underlying value.

If the wind turns, Arsène Wenger may face a frustrating legacy: yesterday’s man and yet twice ahead of his time. 

Ed Smith is a journalist and author, most recently of Luck. He is a former professional cricketer and played for both Middlesex and England.

This article first appeared in the 24 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The world after Brexit