Has it ever occurred to you that software salespeople get a bad rap? In the popular imagination, they have blood dripping from their fangs. But in my experience, that’s not what they’re like at all. don’t. The ones I know are pretty decent folk, live in the suburbs, maybe even coach soccer. Not one of them would actually throw their mothers under a bus in order to get the deal. At least, I don’t think they would.

So what accounts for this reputation? Well, in the course of writing this series of blogs on brittle apps, I think I’ve come up with an answer of sorts.

Start with a fact that you should know, but maybe haven’t paid much attention to. Good software salespeople don’t sell software. They sell benefits. They don’t try to confuse you with features or functions or architecture; they try to make you understand what those things will do for you.

This is what they should be doing. After all, the buyers of software don’t really know about or understand what the features do, and they don’t have the patience to figure out exactly how the features produce the benefits. You’re a CEO or CFO, you want to get to the point. What is the value that these products deliver?

Software salespeople have developed this reputation, I think, because people have discovered or heard or found that the benefits aren’t available. And they think the salesperson knew this all along and, like some snake-oil salesman was promising a cure for cancer in order to wrest the last dollar out of some old lady’s handbag.

But in my experience, that’s not what’s going on at all. The salespeople actually have a fairly rational, if optimistic view of their product. They know that the products are designed to achieve certain benefits; they can see themselves how the design could work; and they probably know of customers who have achieved the benefits they should achieve. At worst, they’re like a Ferrari or a Jaguar salesman, who focuses on the riding experience and doesn’t feel it is incumbent upon him to bring up the repair records.

People like Dennis Moore would go even further in the software salesman’s defense, and perhaps they’re right. They would say that the salesperson is more like a good physical trainer, who can genuinely promise to get you in better shape if you’ll work out. If after you buy, you don’t want to put in what it takes to get the benefits, that’s your problem not theirs.

So is Dennis right (assuming he would agree with the words I’m putting in his mouth); when somebody buys software and underutilizes or puts it on the shelf, is it entirely their problem. Well, no. I think it would be if they realized how brittle these applications really are. But in my experience, they rarely do. They buy this Ferrari, go out on a Sunday afternoon, and only when they find themselves riding back next to the tow truck driver, do they find out what they’ve bought.

So whose problem is it? Well, I’ve already gone on too long. You’ll have to wait until the next post.

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“Brittle” design isn’t limited to enterprise application software. You can find brittle design in cars, bridges, buildings, TVs, or even the vegetable bin. (What are those 1/2-pint boxes of $5.00 raspberries, 3/4 of which are moldy, but examples of brittle design?)

What do brittle designs have in common? The designer chose to accentuate high performance at the expense of other reasonable design parameters, like cost, reliability, usability, etc. A Ferrari goes very, very fast, and it feels good when it goes fast, and that’s a design choice. And it’s part of the design choice that the car requires a technician or two to keep it going fast for longer than an afternoon.

So why are most enterprise applications brittle? You can see this coming a mile away. It was a design choice. The enterprise applications in question were designed to be the Ferraris of their particular class of application. They were designed to do the most, have the most functionality, be the most strategic, appeal to the most advanced early adopters, be the most highly differentiated, etc.

To get Ferrari-like performance, they had to make the same design choices Ferrari did. They had to assume the application was perfectly tuned every time the key was turned, and they had to assume that the technicians were there to perform the tuning.

Enterprise applications, you see, were intended to run on the best, the highest-end machines (for their class). They were intended to be set up by experts. They were intended to be maintained by people who had the resources to do what was necessary. They were intended to satisfy the demands of good early-adopter customers who put a lot of pressure on them, with complex pricing schemes or intricate accounting, even if later on, it made setting the thing up complex, increased the chance that there were bugs, and made later upgrades expensive.

This wasn’t bad design; it was good design, especially from the marketing point of view. The applications that put the most pressure on every other design parameter got the highest ratings, attracted the earliest early adopters, recruited the most capable (and highest-cost) implementers, etc., etc. So they won in the marketplace and beat out other applications in their class that made different design choices.

I lived through this when I worked at QAD. At QAD, the founder (Pam Lopker) made different design choices. She built a simple app, one that was pretty easy to understand and pretty easy to set up and did the basics. And for about two years, shortly after I got there, she had the leading application in the marketplace. And then SAP and JDE and PeopleSoft came in and cleaned our clock with applications that promised to do more.

Now, none of the people who actually bought SAP instead of QAD back then or chose (later) to try to replace QAD with SAP did this because they really wanted high performance, per se. They wanted “value” and “flexibility” and “return on investment” and “marketable skills.” They literally didn’t realize that the value and flexibility came at a cost, that the cost was that the application was brittle and that therefore, the value or flexibility or whatever was only achievable if you did everything right.

If they had realized this, would they have made different choices?

I don’t know. I remember a company that made kilns in Pittsburgh that had been using QAD for many years. The company had been taken over by a European company that used SAP, and the CIO had been sent over from Germany to replace the QAD system with the one that was (admittedly) more powerful. He called me in (years after I had worked at QAD) to help him justify the project.

I looked at it pretty carefully, and I shook my head. Admittedly, the QAD product didn’t do what he wanted. But I didn’t like the fit with SAP. I was worried that the product designed for German kiln production just wasn’t going to work. I didn’t want to be right, and I was disappointed to find out that two years later, despite very disciplined and careful efforts, he was back in Germany and QAD was still running the company.

I’m glossing over a lot, of course. There are secondary effects. Very often, the first user of an application dominates its development, so the app will be tuned to the users strengths and weaknesses. It will turn out to be brittle for other users because they don’t have the same strengths. Stuff that was easy for the first user then turns out to be hard for others.

Two final points need to be made. First, when a brittle application works, it’s GREAT. It can make a huge difference to the user. Brian Sommer frequently points out that the first users of an application adopt it for the strategic benefit, but later users don’t. He thinks it’s because the benefit gets commoditized. But I think it’s at least partially because the first users are often the best equipped to get the strategic benefit, whereas later users are not. I think you see something of the same issue, too, in many of Vinnie Mirchandani’s comments about the value that vendors deliver (or don’t deliver).

Second, as to the cause of failure. Michael Krigsman often correctly says that projects are a three-legged stool and that the vendors are often blamed for errors that could just as easily be blamed on the customers. Dennis Moore often voices similar thoughts. With brittle systems, of course, they’re quite right; the failure point can come anywhere. But when they say this, I think they may be overlooking how much the underlying design has contributed.

It may be the technician’s fault that he dropped the beaker of nitrogycerin. But whose brilliant idea was it to move nitroglycerin around in a beaker?

In the last few posts, I’ve been talking about “brittle” applications, applications that just don’t work unless everything goes right. We all know lots of analogues for these apps in other areas: the Ferrari that coughs and chokes if it’s not tuned once a week or the souffle that falls if you just look at it funny. But it doesn’t occur to most people that many, if not most enterprise applications fall into the same category.

They don’t realize, that is, that ordinary, run of the mill, plain-vanilla enterprise apps are kind of like Ferraris: it takes a lot to get them to do what they’re supposed to do.

Here are some examples.

Consider, for instance, the homely CRM application. Many, if not most executive users go to the trouble of buying and putting one in because they want the system to give them an actionable view of the pipeline. Valuable stuff, if you can get it. When the pipeline is down, you can lay people off or try new marketing campaigns. When it’s up, you can redeploy resources.

Unfortunately, though, it takes a lot to get a CRM system to do this. If, for instance, the pipeline data is inaccurate, it won’t be actionable. Say a mere 10% of the salesforce is so good or so recalcitrant that their pipeline data just can’t be trusted. You just won’t be able to use your system for that purpose.

It’s kind of funny, really. Giving you actionable pipeline data is a huge selling point for these CRM systems. But when was the last time you personally encountered one that was 90% accurate.

Another example I ran into recently was workforce scheduling in retail. A lot of retailers buy these things. But it’s clear from looking at them that the scheduling can be very easily blown.

Finally, take the example I talked about before, MRP. When you run that calculation, you have to get all the data right, or the MRP calculation can’t help you be responsive to demand. If even 30% of the lead times are off, you won’t be able to trust much of the run. And when was the last time more than 70% of the lead times were right.

Notice that if you underutilize a brittle system, it can be somewhat serviceable. If you use the CRM system to follow the performance of the salespeople who use it and don’t try to use the totals, the inaccuracy doesn’t matter. If you just use MRP to generate purchase requisitions, the lead times don’t matter. But, as I said in the earlier post, if you do underutilize the system, the amount of the benefit available falls precipitously. And then the whole business case that justified this purchase and all this effort just crumples.

What makes me think that a lot of enterprise applications are brittle? Well, I have a lot of practical, personal experience. But setting that to one side, it’s always seemed to me that the notion of brittle application explains a lot of data that is otherwise very puzzling.

Take for instance all the stuff that Michael Krigsman tells us about project failures. He is constantly reminding us that the cause of failure is a three-legged stool, that it could be the vendor or the consultant or the company, and he is surely right. What ought to be puzzling about this, though, is why there is no redundancy, why the efforts of one group can’t be redoubled to make up for failings in another. If the apps themselves are brittle, however, it takes all three groups working at full capacity to make the project work.

Or, more generally, look at the huge number of project failures (what’s the number, 40%, are abandoned?). Given how embarrassing and awful it is to throw away the kind of money that enterprise app projects take, you’d think that most people would declare some level of victory and go home, unless the benefit they actually got was so far from what they were hoping for that the whole effort became pointless.

How can you tell whether the enterprise app you’re looking at is brittle? Well, look at the failure rate. If companies in your industry historically report a lot of trouble getting these things to work, or if the “reference” installations that you look at have a hard time explaining how they’re getting the benefits that the salesman is promising you, it’s probably a brittle app.

Two questions remain. When do you want to bite the bullet and put in a brittle app? And why would vendors create apps that are intrinsically brittle?

Next post.

This is one of a series of posts on the high cost of buying enterprise applications and the high cost of selling the products. This high cost, I’ve been arguing, is just plain bad for both sides and almost certainly unsustainable. So the question for the analyst is, “What can be done about it?”

In the background, I’ve had a lot of discussion with industry pundits and the Twitterati: Vinnie Mirchandani, of course, and Jason Busch and @dahowlett and Brian Sommer and Dennis Moore and many others who don’t regularly comment over the airwaves. What accounts for the high cost, I’ve been asking? Two answers seem to emerge.

1. Too many cooks.

2. Too little trust.

If you’ve ever been involved in buying applications, you’ve seen the first one happen over and over again. Too many people get involved with the decision, each with their own agendas, each more or less connected to one of the contenders, and getting all these parties to agree requires too much head-banging. It’s Congress trying to pass health care, writ small, and it’s just as pathetic.

The lack of trust. Well, I get why people don’t trust, and I get why they erect structures that are supposed to control the vendor. But in my experience, it’s always been a losing game. Buyers are nowhere near as devious, oops, I mean sophisticated, as sellers–how could they be, the sellers do it for a living? So if you go into a deal, it’s natural to feel skittish, but giving in to the feeling doesn’t really protect you and does slow you down.

So what’s to be done? In the long run, you can’t do much about either problem without cooperation from the other side. If you’re going to have lots of cooks, the cost of sales for the vendor is just plain going to be astronomical, and the cost of buying will rise accordingly. If the vendor behaves in what has become the normal fashion, alas, defensive (and expensive) buying will be only too appropriate.

Granting that, you have to start somewhere, and here are some suggestions for the buyer, suggestions that should save money. All of these will really help, even though the second sounds completely ridiculous.

1. Limit the scope of what you’re buying as much as possible. Look only at what you clearly need; prefer things that you’ll use immediately; go for immediate results; and don’t buy anything else. You can always buy the rest later. (This reduces the number of cooks.)

2. Use a tape recorder and a camcorder. Keep track of what the vendor says, in full, precisely. Look the transcripts over. If you have questions or don’t understand, follow up. In the long run, it saves a lot of time. (This can help you to get more trust–kind of trust, but verify.)

3. Prototype, prototype, prototype. Get a small team to set it up and try it out, rather than assembling a large team to review demos that were set up by the vendor. If you have to pay the vendor to help you with the prototype, do it. You’ll save in the long run. (This, too, reduces the number of cooks.)

Enough from me. Suggestions from the readership are welcome.

It stands to reason, doesn’t it. The more thorough and rational the buying process for enterprise applications, the better the outcome. For sure. Right?

Well, the other day, Dennis Moore, aka @dbmoore, a well-known figure in the industry, posted a query on Twitter asking for data that would show this is true. The more thorough the buying process, the more effective the implementation has to be true, doesn’t it. But no, the guy wants data. “Not anecdotes,” he said later, “but data.”

He isn’t going to get any. There are three reasons for this. First, there isn’t any reliable data of any kind on whether implementations were successful, at least none that I’ve seen in a career of nearly two decades. Second, most effort expended on pre-purchase analysis of software is misdirected, adding little to the quality or accuracy of the decision. And third, if you work backwards from failed implementations and identify the causes of the failures, it is very rare that the cause is the kind of thing that could have or should have been caught by a more thorough analysis.

The fact that there is little reliable data on whether an enterprise application product works is, of course, a scandal, but the fact remains and will continue to remain just so long as enterprise application companies want everybody to believe that the odds of success ar high and customers are embarrassed to admit failure.

I have been involved in at least two attempts by large, reputable companies to get a good analysis of what value, if any, has been gained after an enterprise app was implemented. The first interviewed only project managers and determined that the project managers found many, many soft benefits from the implementation. The second, a far larger effort, was eventually abandoned.

But let’s say that we had some rudimentary measure, like number of seats being actively used versus seats planned to be used two years after the initial projected go-live date. Would it show that thorough investigation really helps?

I don’t think so, and here’s why. The question of which software application to buy and/or whether one should buy one at all is usually a very simple question, one with a relatively clear right answer, at least to an objective observer. But it is rarely, if ever, treated as a simple question. People wrongly worry about a lot of irrelevant things; they are (usually) distracted by the salespeople, who naturally want the purchasing decision to be based on criteria most favorable to them, and because there’s a lot of risk (A LOT), people tend to create lengthy, rigorous, formal processes for getting to a decision, which do very, very little to improve the accuracy of the final decision.

Honestly, I can usually tell in an hour’s phone conversation what a company ought to do, and I often check back later — sorry Dennis, more anecdotal evidence — and I’d say I’m right at least 2/3 of the time, maybe more. And because of the way my business model works, I don’t even charge for these conversations.

What do you need to look at? Well, it’s a complex question, don’t get me wrong. But because the number of providers is limited, the capabilities are limited, and the likelihood of failure pretty high, there are usually only a few things that actually matter. And when there are only a few things, it shouldn’t take you that much time to figure them out.

Give a call, any time, if you want to test this out.

Those of us who have been in the business for a while feel it’s in the doldrums: there’s not much innovation, and every year, the apps get older.

Where will innovation come from? Well, the thing about innovation is that it has to change something that we think is fundamental and immutable: it has to be on a CD-ROM, it has to be typed from a phone keypad, etc. So you can’t look for innovation in the same old stuff.

That said, here are four areas that I think are wide open, wide open, wide, wide, wide open. An enterprise application (or an enterprise application company) can get an edge if they can do one of the following things:

Reduce the cost of sales by a factor of 10.

Reduce the risk of ownership by a factor of 2.

Increase the effectiveness of the application by a factor of 5. What’s a measure of effectiveness; well, let’s say it’s the number of users who use it seamlessly and easily.

Increase the speed of the application (usually by using a special-purpose database) by a factor of 50.

At least two of these aren’t impossible, because we’ve seen them happen.

Salesforce reduced the cost of sales for SMB customers by selling an enterprise-level application that you could test for free and buy with a credit card.

Workday and Qlikview both transformed applications in their area using special-purpose databases, and Hasso wants SAP to do the same.

And at least one large company, SAP, is trying for innovation in the third. Fumbling and clumsy as their effort to improve maintenance has been, the idea is to reduce the risk of owning SAP by making maintenance practices considerably more effective.

As for reduced risk of ownership or increased effectiveness (actually, maybe you’ve seen Qlikview do this), we’re still waiting.

Ideas on who’s done this or how it can be done?

In many previous posts, I have complained, bitterly, about the sales tactics that every enterprise application vendor uses, mostly to defend aging, poorly designed products. It’s one thing to put lipstick on the pig, I’ve essentially said, but it’s outrageous to charge admission, just to see the pig.

This is, of course, what happens in most sales situations. Companies big and small buy the software through a highly-paid salesperson, part psychologist and part snake-oil salesman, who listens to you, discusses your pain with you, and then arranges a long, long process that you and your team will go through: functionality requirements and demos and business cases and who knows what all.

Let me fill you in on a little secret. It’s mostly a waste of time. And money. Not just your time and your money. But also the software company’s. You are both driving up the cost of software, simply by accepting and perpetuating a system where rigmarole is the rule of the day.

In a time of economic growth, maybe both companies could afford it. So what if you use up a lot of IT hours compiling functionality lists and sleeping through demos. (Who could stay awake in them?) The IT guys like it well enough, and they like to be asked for input. So what if the software company wastes a lot of, er, resources flying in executives or taking the team out after all their hard work to a place where attractive women perform. (Happens, believe me.)

In a time of economic frailty and, not coincidentally, a time of doubt about the value and merits of enterprise software, no one can afford it any more. Not you, who has better things to do with your resources. Not the software companies, whose sales resources are being spread thin by companies that are insisting that the salesperson do more and more for them.

Wouldn’t it be better to use some of the resources squandered on these endless sales cycles for something else a little more worthwhile? LIke getting both parties to the right solution faster?