Members are not Customers
Dear Club-Preneur,
I take great glee in reminding you that the infamous “socialite” who was a guest of New York high society’s who’s who (and of Uncle Sam, in orange tie), branded herself a club-preneur of sorts. Not a strong start to begin with. But Anna Delvey understood something that many of you do not, having spent your time pitching prospective investors and donors alike: your members are not your customers.
Imagine walking into a clothing boutique and being told off by the designer and the manager for being inappropriately attired or wanting something that is deemed unacceptable (even though it’s available across the street, legally). Or having fellow “customers” remind you of the rules of engagement and dress codes and appropriate and inappropriate topics of conversation.
What I am asking you to imagine, then, is a world where the following mantra applies in every possible situation: your members are not customers.
It is ridiculous to imagine that your members are your customers. If you treat them as such, they will leave, straight out the front door, and spread the word that you, parvenu club-preneur, ought to be a pariah. Did you nickel and dime them for a soda or pour a drink that was less than two ounces of spirit? Out. Out. Out. The ease with which one can become a social pariah as someone who runs an establishment is underestimated by most: you may run the place today, but, like Ward McAllister found out, you can be on the outs rather quickly.
Your members will expect not to be nickel and dimed. They are paying for the privilege to be there. Most wise club managers dream of the day that their fixed costs are entirely offset by the dues that members bring in, reducing the pressure on food and beverage service to create much-needed revenue.
Members know that they are paying for the privilege of using the space, and denying them that—whether it is through overcrowding the bar or running a lackluster dinner service or being middling and mediocre—will result in mass departures and member revolts. Many gold-standard clubs survive these due to their venerable antiquity, or, at least, the perception thereof. You can’t save yourself from member revolts by hiding behind antiquity because you are the new act in town, so your only option is unrelenting excellence.
Customers can choose to come and go. Members, on the other hand, financially and socially tie themselves to their clubs. You must remember that the very hoary orations of this curmudgeon may hold some value, partly because the club chair is hallowed ground for yours truly. Members “belong” to establishments, to clubs, whilst customers merely shop there. Quite garish, if I might add, the whole latter part.
Don’t feel the need to acquire as many customers as possible. An undesirable customer may be avoided, but a frustrating member who sledgehammers his way into every conversation is unavoidable. Picking and choosing your members wisely will be imperative to the success of your establishment. Discretion and good judgement in this regard will help you immensely, and you must avoid the urge to find the wastrel descendant of a once-illustrious family to bolster the social appearance of your club (trust me, you’ll regret it). Once you find the glue of your social fabric—these tend to be a handful of members—do everything you can to keep them on your side.
There is a flip side to this mantra. The customer is always right, but members are not customers. Members are more than mere customers, which means you can also tell them no. Unreasonable requests, unbecoming conduct, and the like can be easily stamped out by a clear and simultaneously polite exercise of authority. You can tell members no in a way that you cannot tell your customers, but, like always, your virtue as a club-preneur lies in moderation and good judgement, not in money-grubbing.
Some of the hardest things you’ll ever do as a club-preneur will involve telling people “no”, especially some of your most important members. There will come a time when you must, and, in doing so, you must always do it behind closed doors. You have a position of temporary authority over them, and no one responds well to being embarrassed. The history of Clubland is full of instances where slighted members have branched off and founded illustrious clubs of their own. A member revolt is the first step to increased competition, and today, even if they won’t build another club, they’ll probably join a competitor and spite will propel them to advertise their vengeful departure and their warm reception elsewhere.
You must remain cordial to all your members. You cannot play favourites openly, even if you have favourites (ask any teacher!). Your customers won’t care if you play favourites—after all, who are your fellow customers to them—but your members will, and they will remember it. The aura of impartiality is what is needed, not impartiality itself, which only saints in their holiness and demons in their depravations can exercise.
I’ve gone on long enough. Remember the first rule of running a private club: your members are not your customers, in all its ways, shapes, and forms.
Yours, begrudgingly,
Ishaan