This week, Civis received an email from a financial services company signed by a ‘‘Customer Success Specialist’’.
Apparently, CSS is a rapidly growing role in the modern subscription-based economy. The idea is that these ‘‘professionals’’ focus on ensuring customers achieve their desired outcomes — that is, get what they want.
It is extremely common in the Software as a Service (SaaS) and B2B technology sectors. By some miracle, Civis happened to know that B2B means business-to-business, as distinct from selling to the public.
The roles have been growing rapidly, and CSS is said to be one of the fastest-growing career paths. When it works well, it bridges the gap between sales and technical support, focusing on long-term relationships rather than reactive problem-solving.
Maybe. But has it just become a fancy, pretentious title for what might once have been called a customer service representative, an account manager or a client support adviser?
‘‘Success’’ is vague, abstract and self-congratulatory. It tells you almost nothing about what the person does. ‘‘Specialist’’ compounds the problem. It sounds technical and qualified, suggesting expertise in a defined field.
In practice, however, it could mean anything from a trained software consultant to someone answering phones. When everyone is a specialist, the word loses all meaning.
‘‘Customer Success’’ might also subtly imply that if you didn’t succeed, you didn’t engage properly with the specialist.
The title apparently first emerged in 1996, which means Civis’ abode must be a rather large boulder.
* * *
Now, for something completely different — a delightful expression that should be kept alive.
Two weeks ago, Civis discussed archaic language. Hopefully, ‘‘whoops-a-daisy’’ and its near equivalents are not yet doomed as such.
The Hugh Grant character in the 1999 film Notting Hill exclaims, ‘‘Whoops-a-daisies,’’ after failing to climb a fence and falling over. Julia Roberts responds: ‘‘No-one has said whoops-a-daisies for 50 years, and even then, it was purely little girls with blond ringlets’’.
Last month, Civis heard it spoken among adults. It fitted the circumstances perfectly — a minor mishap, surprise, and a touch of dismay at one’s own clumsiness.
One definition: ‘‘an informal exclamation used to acknowledge a minor mistake or accident, such as tripping, dropping something, or spilling a drink, often used in a gentle, reassuring way with children to keep the mood light after a small fall’’.
Civis tested the expression on a mother of young children. While she said whoops and oops were commonly used, the daisies had faded away.
Etymologists say there is considerable uncertainty about where the phrase comes from. Terms such as ‘‘upsi daisy’’ date back to the early 1700s, apparently a nonsense phrase intended to amuse small children and encourage them to get back up after a tumble.
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary suggests that ‘‘daisy’’ in this context is a ‘‘fanciful extension’’ of the word ‘‘day’’.
A modern expression with a roughly similar meaning might be the much less colourful ‘‘d’oh’’, a Homer Simpson catchphrase.
Thankfully, one source says whoops-a-daisy — or oops-a-daisy — ‘‘is not strictly considered archaic, but is often viewed as old-fashioned, twee or childish.’’
It must be hoped that those last three adjectives don’t apply to Civis!
It’s time for some child’s play.
A woman watched a preschooler pedal across a bridge in the Dunedin Botanic Garden. He handed the bike to his father, then ran back towards his grandma, who was pushing a buggy.
Dad settled himself on the bike.
‘‘Isn’t he silly?’’ Grandma said, laughing.
As the woman walked past, she joked, ‘‘He’s just a kid at heart’’.
Grandma smiled, pointed to herself and said, ‘‘We are Kidds — that’s our surname’’.
