How Chicken Suits Taught Me Everything About Experiential Marketing
There's this guy who wears a chicken suit every day in Queen Street. Maybe you've seen him. He leaps, he shimmies, he sometimes just stares. He's holding a sign for some terrible lunch deal, I think. But here's the thing. I always notice him. I even talk about him at dinner.
And that, dear reader, is the dirty little secret of great experiential marketing. It's weird. It's memorable. And it sticks.
Some of our local campaigns have started to flirt with this energy. Think back to the inflatable couches on Waiheke ferries. Or the RTD brand that took over an entire train carriage with moss and damp forest sounds. These ideas don’t just get seen. They get lived. Real environments. Real reactions. Real snackable memory.
Not every brand needs a giant chicken. But they do need presence. Stop thinking about where audiences *see* you. Start thinking about how they *interact* with you. If your next campaign couldn't survive with a broken link or a muted speaker, ask yourself: did you really show up at all?
And that, dear reader, is the dirty little secret of great experiential marketing. It's weird. It's memorable. And it sticks.
Some of our local campaigns have started to flirt with this energy. Think back to the inflatable couches on Waiheke ferries. Or the RTD brand that took over an entire train carriage with moss and damp forest sounds. These ideas don’t just get seen. They get lived. Real environments. Real reactions. Real snackable memory.
Not every brand needs a giant chicken. But they do need presence. Stop thinking about where audiences *see* you. Start thinking about how they *interact* with you. If your next campaign couldn't survive with a broken link or a muted speaker, ask yourself: did you really show up at all?