Greetings.  It took me a while to understand what they were doing at IKEA, the giant Swedish home furnishings store that has become a real "cult" brand around the globe.  I mean, how in the world could a leading company be so successful by providing so little customer service?  It seems to fly in the face of everything I write about in this blog!  Not to mention everything I truly believe about business.  But the facts speak for themselves, and their not so subtle blue and yellow stores seem to flourish in every country and culture they enter–offering a wide range of stylish and low-cost furniture, home accessories, and other colorful stuff to an adoring world of apartment dwellers, first-time homeowners, young families, college students, new businesses, and people who just have extra space to fill…which is probably more space than they actually need.  And if you are crazy enough to go there on a weekend be prepared, because its absolutely packed.

Now here's my take on IKEA's business model.  First, they've figured out how to arrange all of their stuff (i.e., about 12,000 products) along an almost endless "journey of discovery" where you can see everything in actual room arrangements or hanging out next to its peers.  And you can imagine how cool this stuff will look in your place.  Then, armed with their handy paper tape measures, you can quickly figure out what will fit in your home and whether or not it will fit through the door. Though the folks at IKEA seem to know exactly how big your rooms are no matter where you live on the planet.  Next, you write down the exact location where the items can be found in the warehouse or their order numbers, and set off to make them yours.  And once you figure out how to get out of the showroom, you can find your items, wrestle them to the ground, put them on an appropriate cart, and line up behind a cashier.  Now, you put them in your car or onto the roof–armed with their amazing cardboard roof-racks and string, tie everything down, and hope it stays on until you arrive home.  Once there, you take out your brilliant little wrench (found in almost every package) and have a furniture assembly party, with appropriate Swedish decorations and party favors, and chants to the Viking gods responsible for assuring that there are no missing parts.  Then, you cautiously sit down as a test prior to inviting friends to see your new IKEA living room…which will look fantastic.

And in the whole process you are unlikely to be approached by a single IKEA staff person.  They are content to let you have at it, hiding behind their stations or seemingly wandering around to talk with colleagues, do their work, and avoid contact with customers.  That's cool.  Why slow the customers down.  After all, they're on a mission to unlock their own compelling value armed with a map, a beautiful and completely self-explanatory catalogue, and the promise of a more stylish and affordable life!  

I tend to like customer service that is upbeat, engaging, and helpful.  Folks who inquire about my needs and then point me to the range of options to meet them. Folks who try, in their own way, to make me smarter about their offerings and the value that I can derive from them. Folks who are on the lookout for customers who seem confused and challenged so they can lend a helping hand.  And not finding many of these folks at IKEA I often got very frustrated.  Until I realized that it was all about me.  That in IKEA's model, I was not only the customer but also the customer service provider.  An apparently small price to pay for the chance to own relatively high-design (particle board) furniture at a very affordable price.

We win in business by being clear about our business model and the level of service than comes with it.  The challenge is to train the customer to be comfortable with it.  Or maybe to look for moments to be more helpful in surprisingly simple ways.  Is it possible that the IKEAs of the world could be even better? 

Cheers!