Hob-Nobbing Goblins: a Letter to the FT

To: The Financial Times, London

Attn.: Lucy Kellaway, Management Columnist

Dear Ms Kellaway,

I have been a faithful and much-amused reader of your columns, as well as a listener, in more recent times, to your World Service broadcasts. These have the non-soothing effect of waking me up to the new work week, early on a Monday morning. I suspect no one has ever told you that the wake-up calls you issue to the corporate masses are, from time to time, quite literal.

I wanted to alert you to a recent occurrence involving your very own esteemed company (the FT), which I personally found so perfidious that it seemed worthy of a larger audience. In any case, I thought, ‘this is one for Lucy’. Here is the story.

My firm is involved in private equity and advisory activities in the financial sector of emerging markets. Networking and hob-nobbing is an important occupational affliction in this sort of business, and last month I signed-up for a promising-looking Africa event in London sponsored by one of the private equity associations, together with the FT’s conference unit. It was in any case FT-branded, and the FT people did all the promotion and organising. I learnt about it by seeing a whopping great advertisement in the newspaper itself. A ‘select’ attendance was promised, and an illustrious roster of presenters. This was a must-attend do, and the reassuringly highbrow image of the FT lent a certain rose-coloured aura of professionalism to the event. So I bit the bullet for a 1200-pound admission charge (for a one-day event, mind you), and marked my calendar.

The first inkling that something was amiss came when my online registration was bungled. First I received an automated email thanking me for my registration and payment, followed by a mail from someone at FT Conferences telling me I was too late and alas, there was no room at the inn. When I sent back a stroppy reply saying that my registration had just been accepted and my Amex charged at the highest possible rate, an apology rapidly materialised. ‘One of the last places’ was mine after all.

On the day of the conference, I bustled into the venue a bit late as usual, grabbed my badge and bag and went into the welcome session. Listening with half an ear to a DFID under-minister welcoming everyone, I emptied the sponsor bag, but didn’t find the only item normally of any interest (well, except for the pens, which the kids sometimes like): there was no list of attendees – neither the institutions nor the individuals attending. Now, realise please that one of primary reasons for attending these things is to scrutinise the attendance list. The whole point of hob-nobbing events is to buttonhole the right people, and to get your targeting calibrated early in the day. I looked out, aghast, at the sea of grey and balding heads in the hall. This was going to be like spin-the-bottle in a dark, haunted house.

In the first break, I cornered an FT-badged lady and asked her if a mistake had been made, and where the attendees list was to be found. She shuffled a bit uncomfortably and said, ‘Erm, that’s a bit difficult, actually. You see, we don’t distribute the list. The stodgy old FT’s privacy regulations are just dreadful. We’re not allowed to pass it round.’ I stared at her quietly, letting her shift her weight a bit back and forth. ‘So,’ I began, ‘this is about privacy? You know, this is a networking event. I promise you that people don’t pay 1200 pounds for a private equity mailing list. This whole event is about getting people together. Now we’re all flying blind – that’s bizarre.’ ‘Well, I know its awkward, but you’ll just have to rush around reading everyone’s badges and do your best.’ She plied me with a hopeful smile, eyebrows raised. ‘You know, we print the names REALLY BIG, so you can spot someone at least 5 yards off.’

Later in the day, I moaned about this to one of the other participants. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘they told us we could have the list if we sponsored the tea-breaks. I told them to bugger off.’ ‘Hang on,’ I said, ‘what about this vaunted “privacy policy” then? You mean to say you can buy an indulgence?’ My new friend shrugged, ‘guess so.’ So I trotted off to find the FT girl of the morning session again. Cornering a colleague, I said that I was so happy with the event that I was considering recommending that my firm talk to the FT about sponsoring a follow-on version. But there was a problem… it really would help to know who was attending, so as to be able to assess the impact.

I had my list in a jiffy. The FT’s “privacy policy” appears to be something of a movable feast. If there are good reasons to prevent people from finding eachother at specialised networking events, OK. But if what is at work is a nasty and brutish display of corporate clout, call it by another name.

With kind regards,

Jan Cherim

Amsterdam, 2nd December, 2010