A rough sum looks like this:
On my profile on a recent post this works out to:
Ideally, one would need to work this out over a month, or even three months, to get a fair estimate of an account’s performance, but that is quite labour-intensive. Luckily, there are loads of engagement calculator websites, where you simply enter the account handle and they squeeze the metrics for you.
Below 1% is considered low, while 1% to 3% is considered a fairly good engagement rate. Between 3% and 6% is very high and over 6% is huge. Over the last 30 days, mine has been sitting at 3.99%, which is fairly healthy considering that I’ve had a book to write.
Comedians who really flex their comedic talent on social media tend to boast great engagement rates because comedians spend most of their time on stage telling us things we know about ourselves and each other. Yes, comedians often boast exceptional comedic timing, great charisma and some measure of stage presence. But what really sets great comedians apart is their ability to study people and distil our varied and unique experiences down to a few entertaining, universal notions.
Sharing in laughter makes us feel heard and recognised as we hear and recognise others. This is also why some sitcoms use what is called “canned applause” or “canned laughter”. The script and performances are timed around a few seconds of applause after key punchlines. I’m sure you’ve wondered why you are able to hear the audience laughing, yet this mysterious audience is never shown? Yes, some sitcoms do actually record their shows in front of a live audience, which means that you are hearing the real reactions of that audience, but even then producers sometimes edit the laughter to make it continue for longer or start sooner – whatever is required to ensure maximum comedic effect.
This is a simple technique, but it works. Even when you know that the track is simply a recording of people laughing, you still laugh. Your brain is tricked into it. Producers rely on the chameleon effect to make sure you find their show funny enough to watch the next episode – and the following season as well.
Similarly, social media platforms make comment sections public. Haven’t you wondered why these platforms don’t just send the comments that people leave below your posts to you directly? After all, you are the person who created the post. Why show other consumers the comments made by your friends, the in-joke left by your colleague or if anyone liked your post at all? Even if you take the total number of likes away (as Instagram is doing), the mere suggestion that other people enjoy something or find it valuable enough to engage with it is often exactly why we take a second look. If you walk past a group of people crowded around something on a pavement (especially if you don’t know what it is), chances are that you’ll crane your neck to get a glimpse or ask a bystander about what is going on. This is no different to how social media works, and how hashtags and trending topics work.
But this is only half of the equation: it is a transactional relationship that needs to start with you. When you study and then cover the topics, ideas, concepts and trends your ideal followers care about, they will find your content easier to like (both virtual and actual likes).
What is it that they like? Pay attention: they’ll tell you, one way or another.
People follow people
Influencer marketing exists because we have more faith in each other than we do in brands. This didn’t happen overnight, though.
The earliest advertising can be traced back to Ancient Greece, Rome, Arabia and China. Of course, industrialisation really ramped up production and distribution, then television and radio changed the game during the twentieth century and, finally, the Internet came about.
What remained consistent throughout this time, however, was that brands traditionally created advertising featuring relatable-looking placeholder people. These placeholder people were using or consuming the products and services promoted. They all looked or sounded like you, your friends or your family. The scenarios were familiar and real; the products offered real solutions. But the people involved were clearly paid to do this.
Even when film stars, athletes and models first endorsed products under their own names, consumers accepted that this was an acting or a modelling job, much like their last movie, stadium billboard or advertising campaign; in other words, a commercial transaction.
Then, when social media kicked off, an exceptionally effective but rather limited kind of marketing exploded, almost overnight. The reach of our experiences with products and services became instantly shareable and searchable. We no longer had to take a company or advertising agency’s word for anything. We didn’t need to rely on celebrities in foreign countries or hand-picked, polished testimonials from one or two Satisfied Sallys to tell us that “this washing powder/moisturiser/car polish really works”.
“Social proof” was easy to find and, before we knew it, it was all around us. Dr Robert Cialdini coined the nifty term “social proof” in his book Influence, where he went a step further than the “chameleon effect”.
He found that we do not merely copy each other without realising it. He said that we copy each other particularly when:
• We are unsure of ourselves
and
• The people we observe seem similar to us.
He wrote this in 1984, so the basic concept that underpins influencer marketing dates back to long before social media.
When I am not sure about what to do, I am probably going to default back to people who seem sure. Of all the people who seem sure, I’ll probably copy the one who seems the most like me.
So, let’s say that I am in the market for a new brand of mascara. I am unsure of which one to choose and I’m faced with four
