Nicole Hyman 🐪’s Post

Clean tech companies: education > conversions. That’s my conclusion after I spent more time than I care to admit trying to make sense of a commercial building’s energy bill. Confession time: I still don’t fully understand how to read a utility bill. 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Whether it’s an energy bill, peak demand or a VPP, the clean tech space is full of expert-level complexity that so many of your customers probably don’t have. That means your messaging is lost on your target audience. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞: Before you can sell your technology, you need to make your target audience understand it. You need to give them a reason to care. But how do you do this without talking down to your target audience? That’s where good copywriting comes in. * This pairs well with The National - Fake Empire

My approach to LinkedIn breaks (almost) every rule you’d learn in a copywriting 101 course. I imagine marketing bros everywhere cringe in unison: Oh no, she didn’t. Okay - so I’m exaggerating a bit. Not every rule. Just the cardinal, back-bone type rule. The big, fat, hairy rule that guides everything we do in copywriting. “It’s okay to break the rules if you know the rules,” I tell myself reassuringly.  It’s like I’m giving myself permission to let her rip and be … me.  (now that’s a scary thought) * I don’t write to one reader.  That’s it. That’s the rule: Always write to one reader. And honestly - I’m okay with it. My approach to LinkedIn is more … Pollack-esque than Ogilvy.  I take what I’m thinking, feeling, noticing, reading, and I throw it at the page.  And if it sticks and resonates with even just one reader, I’ve done my job. And if not - well, tomorrow is another day. Another day, another post. * LinkedIn has become my stage. My sounding board. My space to test ideas and hone messaging. It’s less about my “one ideal reader.” It’s about me. Yes, it’s a tad bit self-indulgent, but it’s also how you make peace with social media when you’re a textbook, social media-hating introvert trying to make peace with social media. * The unspoken truth is that no one really enjoys coming here. It’s like a support group for people in recovery. We show up begrudgingly, reluctantly. We recognize each other’s pain. We drag our feet and suffer through it, hoping one day, it will become a habit. But, like flossing, we can’t seem to stick with it. Because showing up and bringing your you-ness online is hard work. I want to reassure you. I want to grab your hand as we run towards the ocean, shouting, " If it stings, you know it’s working.” I got nothing. Words fail me. All I can say is: keep at it.  Do the work, and you’ll get somewhere. And while it may not be where you planned to go, I promise you’ll end up somewhere interesting. * This post pairs well with Imagine Dragons - I Don’t Know Why

“Ahh … So, you’re a copywriter?” he said with a face scrunched up with so much confusion it looked like a sheet after a fitful night of sleep. “Yep, You know those words on your website, your blog, your emails? Well -  I write those,” I explained. He just looked at me. A blank, pitying look you’d save for that one poor dodo on display at a local museum. Was I really a pathetic relic from a simpler time?! I tried to keep my tone kind and neutral. No need for unnecessary burrow furrowing. I wore a well-trained smile like a Broadway actor - fake but convincing. But it was trying. I was no stranger to this conversation. It’s the kind of stuff that used to ambush me in well-lit alleys and at coffee shops and family picnics and bar mitzvahs and my kids' play dates and at bus stops and the dentist. But now I was battle-tested. I was prepared. Some think I’m a lawyer. Others are convinced my job is somehow related to TV ads. And then there are those who don’t know which box to put me in. It’s like I’m a shoe shiner or a lamp lighter or a switchboard operator or a milkman. But here’s the thing: You need me. Or my kind.  WE AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE! Not to sound arrogant or to push your buttons, but word people (AKA copywriters) have never been more important or relevant. We’re the geeky kids who’ve just been informed we can now sit at the cool kids' table. Hell - we are now the cool kids, so watch your step. I see you. See - we’re drowning in so much stale content that it starts to blend together like a day-old slushie that no one would dare drink. Stale, robotic, day-old slush. Ewww! Is that really how you want to sound? This pairs well with Mary Lambert - Feel With Me

Here’s your permission slip to middle-finger the world on days when you feel defeated and are ready to give up. Lean into the suckiness, let go, and just do. I stumbled on this letter the artist Sol LeWitt wrote to the sculptor Eva Hesse in 1965 about her creative block. The advice is timeless. It’s the permission slip we all need from time to time. * An excerpt of the letter is reprinted below: Dear Eva, It will be almost a month since you wrote to me and you have possibly forgotten your state of mind (I doubt it though). You seem the same as always, and being you, hate every minute of it. Don’t! Learn to say “Fuck You” to the world once in a while. You have every right to. Just stop thinking, worrying, looking over your shoulder, wondering, doubting, fearing, hurting, hoping for some easy way out, struggling, grasping, confusing, itching, scratching, mumbling, bumbling, grumbling, humbling, stumbling, numbling, rambling, gambling, tumbling, scumbling, scrambling, hitching, hatching, bitching, moaning, groaning, honing, boning, horse-shitting, hair-splitting, nit-picking, piss-trickling, nose sticking, ass-gouging, eyeball-poking, finger-pointing, alleyway-sneaking, long waiting, small stepping, evil-eyeing, back-scratching, searching, perching, besmirching, grinding, grinding, grinding away at yourself. Stop it and just DO * This post pairs well with Alicia Keys - Underdog

A while ago I helped a good friend with his CV. He's a programmer and was looking to touch up some parts of his outdated CV before putting himself back on the market. I spent an hour on it. I rewrote. I reworked. I tweaked. And then I emailed it back to him. “Now I get why people work with copywriters. You nailed it. You captured me and what I do perfectly,” he wrote back. That was all the payment I needed. I’d never felt so seen. Like my superpower was alive and well. * And so when people tell me that they use AI, I smile and nod. I know that it's the junk food you’d grab from a drive through. It goes down easily and you chug it quickly before moving onto more important things. AI copy many not be remarkable, but it gets the job done. And I’m hearing this from more and more clients who tell me they do use AI. They’ll say something like: “Yes, I yes AI but I have to edit it a lot to be less AI-y” They’re worried it doesn’t sound like them. I smile knowingly. * I’m not about to sell you on ‘soul’, but that’s what AI copy misses. It’s quick. It’s functional. It’s get the job done like vending machine coffee. Drinkable but meh .. it’s not you. Now pitching you on ‘soul’ may not work.  But what if I told you I write words that sound and feel like you?! Because here’s what I know: You can use all the AI tools out there. You can try different prompts. But nothing AI produces will ever really capture your essence. Words that sound and feel like you: that’s where I come in. This pairs well with Sting - Fields of Gold 

For me, it was never about the money. I knew from the age of 6. I wanted to be a writer.  I knew it with the same obsession a brainwashed devotee follows a cult leader. I knew it like that first spark of true love in a stranger’s eyes: naively and wholeheartedly. More a feeling than something rational, there was a doggish out-of-bodyness about my devotion. Writing was a calling. It was my calling. It felt almost holy. “THIS is what I’m meant to do in this world,” I’d tell myself and anyone who would listen. At school, I wrote the first edition of a Barbie-themed magazine. It was the 90s. It was poorly written and didn’t catch on. I didn’t care. I'd found what I love most in the world and was ready to let it kill me. Bukowski would be proud. I went on to study journalism at university. It seemed like the obvious next step. There were naysayers, of course. People warned me there was no money in journalism and that I should study something more “practical.” But I didn’t care. Or maybe it’s that I didn’t know another way of being in the world. But in truth, by then, it didn’t matter. There was no going back. I’d already entered into an unwritten contract with words. A forbidden love affair. And so, while others set off chasing their version of the American/ South African dream, I’d become a humble devotee of words. I’d willingly injected this kool-aide into my veins and wanted more. I chased stories at every turn. And it was thrilling. That’s what brought me to the Middle East. It’s how I met my husband. And now, over a decade later, I find myself on the outskirts of an unwelcoming economy: a word worshiper with skills, grit, and so much to offer. I find myself fighting for a place at a table I earned my place at years ago, only to be denied. I'm now one of thousands. A word peddler whose prowess is as impressive as an outdated magic trick. I’m ignored. I’m undervalued. There are a million like me. A school guidance counselor’s words ring in my ears with an irony that’s too bitter to swallow: “Nicole, that doesn’t seem like a very stable career choice.” I want to say: “The joke’s on you. I turned out alright.” But I bite my tongue. I think about how I should have become a programmer or an engineer or a doctor or a psychologist or an electrician or just about anything else. Anything but a word worshiper. Over the years, I’ve strayed. I tried to reinvent myself more than once. But I always come back to words. Now, as an almost 40-year-old, I sit here thinking back on my 13-year-old self and how it was in Ms. Tobias’ English class that I first fell in love with words. It hasn’t always been easy or pretty, but it’s love. And with all the ups and downs, I’ll take love over anything else any day. This post pairs well with Idan Rafel - מחכה

Picture this. It’s a Friday afternoon. You’re home after a long week spent chasing to-dos and building other people’s dreams. All you want to do is chill. You imagine yourself sprawled out on the couch without a bra or care in the world. Or maybe you’re on all fours on your Plasteline-stained carpet, building a magnet tower with your kids. You should be doing this. But all you can think about is how hot it is. You’re sweating in places you didn’t know had pores. You’re clammy and grumpy. This is what the last seven summers have looked like in our air-conditioner-less apartment. And last Friday, as we battled another 38 C (100.4°F) day, I decided I’d had enough. I couldn’t take another day of this sweaty unpleasantness. A few hours later an electrician was at our apartment installing three new air conditioners. It took him 6 hours. He drilled and pulled and poked and made so much noise our neighbours knocked on our door more than once. But I didn’t care. Because 6 hours later as I reached for the control, hit 24 C (75.2°F) and the ‘turbo’ button, all I could think about was how I’d do anything to be cool. And in that moment I didn’t care how energy-intensive using an air conditioner is or how air conditioners can overwhelm the grid or how in the fight against climate change AC is very much part of the problem. And when it was all done and the electrician packed up all his tools, I thanked him so profusely I think I scared him. “With love,” he said. And it was in that moment I realised what so many clean tech companies miss. At the heart of every climate tech story is a human story waiting to be understood and told. PS. This post pairs well with Brandon Flowers - Diggin’ Up The Heart

"Just be yourself,” she said. It’s as easy as chewing gum or, tying your shoelaces, or popping a balloon, or blinking. Easy and instinctual. And, like riding a bike, it's not something you forget. Or so I’m told. But I’ll have to take your word for it because I’ve never learned to ride a bike. I just need to lean into my me-ness and let go.  Embrace the discomfort like motion sickness on a long car ride. Surrender to the imposter syndrome and face my inner demons head-on. There’s just one problem.  I don’t know how. I’m an awkward person. I struggle enough offline where, on a good day, I’m that fast-talking shy person who imagines there’s a piece of spinach stuck between my two front teeth almost every time I talk to a stranger. And now you want me to bring all this me-ness online?! I remember reading once how the internet's anonymity gives people the freedom to say, do, and be as they wish. Well, this isn’t that. It feels more like I’m reading for a part in a play I’ve never seen, as it's live-streamed to millions of people. The funny this is that words pay my bills. Writing has been my meal ticket for over a decade now. And yet, I still get choked up when I have to write my own content. It’s as if my mouth has suddenly gone dry, and I’ve forgotten how to write. What comes out is boiled chicken. I mean, I do it.  These are my words.  But it’s painful. Oh, so painful. And I know I’m not alone.  The blank page can be a cruel and unwelcoming place if you aren’t careful.  I guess that’s why copywriters exist. All I can say is to stick with it.  While the sting of facing yourself never really goes away, it does get easier.  Or so I tell myself. PS. This post pairs well with Brandon Flowers - Dreams Come True

I call it a labour of love. You can call it No More Boiled Chicken 🐣 And I know you need it because I need it too. I need that behind-the-scenes magician making me sound like ME online. Instead of – let’s face it – boiled chicken. And I say this as someone who has been writing content for over a decade. I know my way around an empty Google Doc, can make ChatGPT blush and write about stuff you probably don’t care about (like thermal energy storage or heat pumps) in a way that makes you say: Tell me more. I have earned the right to call myself a Writer. And yet - I’d rather have a root canal, jump out of a plane or pick up my dog’s poop than write my own content. So I can only imagine how you’re feeling. Writing your own content, whether it’s your website copy or a LinkedIn post, forces you to come face-to-face with all your demons in the most vulnerable way. Just you, your ideas and that cursor that won’t quick no matter how many scowls you throw his way. You feel dumb. You feel naked. You feel like you have nothing to say. And so you don’t. I get it.  And I can help. That’s where No More Boiled Chicken comes in. Think of it as the ultimate LinkedIn incubator lab. I help you get clear on your message. Then I write posts that sound and feel like you! I’ll say it again for the kids at the back: Content thats sounds and feels like you. Not a template. Not someone else. And certainly not boiled chicken. Join me in saying no to boiled chicken.

ME:  Stumbled across your LinkedIn profile. Noticed we’re both in clean tech. I thought I'd connect. CLEAN TECH PERSON:  Both in clean tech? What is she talking about? ME:  Hello?! CLEAN TECH PERSON:  Doesn’t she know we’re serious people?! That we’re trying to save the world from the unthinkable?! This isn’t a joke. ME:  Knock knock CLEAN TECH PERSON:  And what’s the deal the the camel? And all the purple?  Come on, Nicole. What do you know about clean tech?! IGNORE * When I reach out to clean tech people on LinkedIn, this is what I imagine.  Don’t get me wrong - most connect. But I know that this is what some of you are thinking. And I don’t blame you or hate and, and don’t worry, I won’t spam. I come in peace. But also. You’re wrong. Actually - you do need me. Or someone like me. I get how important your work is. I get that you’re on the frontlines trying to sidestep the worst effects of climate change. But also - who cares?! This isn’t about your tech. It’s about your story.  And that’s where creative, camel-befriending writers (like me) come in. Can I help you? PS. This post pairs well with Same Cooke - Good Times