The Hardware Store That Turned Saturday Into Show Time
At 9.07am last Saturday, the sausages were already snapping and the queue for the tile-cutting demo was five deep. Not at a festival. Not at Fieldays. At a regional hardware chain called Hammer & Fern, which has quietly turned its weekly demo day into the best piece of experiential marketing in the country.
Here is what they understand. People do not want products. They want progress. Every Saturday, one aisle becomes a stage. Retired builders show first-home buyers how to hang a door without swearing. A local gardener runs a clinic on stubborn clay soil, bringing in a bucket from her own backyard like evidence in a trial. Kids get a tiny apron and learn how to safely sand a birdhouse. No slick slogans. Just competence, shared generously.
The genius is in the choreography. The paint team times their colour-mixing theatrics for late morning when the light hits the concrete just right. The power tool rep keeps his loudest demo for 11.30am, when the coffee cart has peaked and the crowd is loose. Staff float, not pounce. They remember your deck from last month. They ask how the lemon tree is coping. This is CRM without the creepiness. It is memory as a service.
Marketing people love to talk about community, usually from a boardroom. Hammer & Fern built it with sawdust on the floor. In 2026, when attention is shredded and loyalty is thin, the most radical move might be teaching someone how to fix a hinge. Make it useful. Make it human. Then do it again next Saturday. I went in for potting mix. I left plotting my pergola and, annoyingly, looking forward to the next demo.
Here is what they understand. People do not want products. They want progress. Every Saturday, one aisle becomes a stage. Retired builders show first-home buyers how to hang a door without swearing. A local gardener runs a clinic on stubborn clay soil, bringing in a bucket from her own backyard like evidence in a trial. Kids get a tiny apron and learn how to safely sand a birdhouse. No slick slogans. Just competence, shared generously.
The genius is in the choreography. The paint team times their colour-mixing theatrics for late morning when the light hits the concrete just right. The power tool rep keeps his loudest demo for 11.30am, when the coffee cart has peaked and the crowd is loose. Staff float, not pounce. They remember your deck from last month. They ask how the lemon tree is coping. This is CRM without the creepiness. It is memory as a service.
Marketing people love to talk about community, usually from a boardroom. Hammer & Fern built it with sawdust on the floor. In 2026, when attention is shredded and loyalty is thin, the most radical move might be teaching someone how to fix a hinge. Make it useful. Make it human. Then do it again next Saturday. I went in for potting mix. I left plotting my pergola and, annoyingly, looking forward to the next demo.