Trust me, this is about marketing

Why stories do what credentials never can

It was Saturday morning and I was on my way to tick off one of the biggest tasks on my ‘to do’ list that has been on top of the list for weeks – buy a car.

I’d done my research and I’d found a car I really liked – a small VW Fox. It had everything I wanted in a car, and from what I could deduce from the description, this particular Fox was perfect.

Of course, the description is not enough, and it’s why this morning I was on my way to the dealer to see the car and, hopefully, buy it.

As I was approaching the dealership, a knot tightened in my stomach and my palms got sweaty. I stopped to take a breath. You’ve done your research and you know what to check, I told myself. You’ve got this.

For a brief moment I did consider turning around, and coming back later – perhaps with one of my male friends for moral support and better car knowledge – but before I could make up my mind I was surprised by a question:

‘What can I do for you?’ asked the salesman walking out of his office.

No turning back now.

‘I’m interested in one of your cars,’ I replied, ‘the silver Fox.’

‘Let me grab a key,’ he answered.

So far so good, I thought to myself.

The salesman came back and started to show me the car. He pointed out that it was in good condition, had recently been serviced, and showed me the interior. I asked him about the tyres, he answered confidently and with conviction. He was polite and patient, and you really couldn’t fault him, but then he said something that got my hackles up.

‘Trust me. You’ll like it.’

Two words. That’s all it took to freeze me. Not a pushy sales tactic, not even a lie. Just two words I had no way to verify.

Up to this point, he’d done everything right: He’d answered my questions, he gave me time to think, he hadn’t patronised me, and still, something in me wouldn’t budge. I had no reason not to trust him, but I also didn’t have a reason to trust him either.

And then I got it. “Trust me” is almost always said by the person who needs you to; never by the person you already do. Nobody has ever had to ask me to trust my best friend.

That’s the tricky part about trust. Talking about it doesn’t encourage it. And yet, you’ve got to earn it to make a sale.

So how do you earn trust?

Especially if you’re not standing in a car park with someone, answering their questions face to face?

There’s a reason marketing experts keep talking about origin stories. Sometimes, it’s because your backstory is inherently fascinating, but most of the time, it’s because people buy from people. And before anyone buys from you, they’re running a quiet background check. Not such much on your credentials, but on you. Would I go for a pint with this person? If I met them in real life, would we have anything to talk about? Essentially: do I like them?

Think about the last time a friend recommended something to you. A restaurant, a book, a service provider, or a recipe. You probably didn’t ask for their qualifications. You just... trusted them, because you knew them. Because of a hundred small moments: stories they’d told you, opinions they’d shared, the way they’d reacted to things. Through all of that, you’d built up a picture of who they are, and that picture made their word matter.

That’s why word of mouth still beats every algorithm. It’s the trust that was already there, doing the selling in the background.

We often assume trust is built through authority. Certifications, credentials, years of experience, the letters after your name. And sure, those things help – they signal expertise. But authority alone is a cold foundation.

Think about your friends. You trust them across a wildly uneven range of qualifications and accomplishments. You trust your friend who never went to university just as much as the one with a PhD. Sometimes more. Because trust is more about who you are than what you know.

Which brings us to stories

Cast your mind back to the last conversation you had with someone you really trust. I’d put good money on the fact that it was full of stories. A terrible day at work, a ridiculous thing that happened on the way to get the kids, an amazing bargain they found on their lunch break, an accidental discovery of an amazing takeaway place... Stories are how we share ourselves, our opinions, and our way of seeing the world, our values, our humour, and our blind spots. Stories show the texture of who we actually are.

And that is exactly why stories are one of the most powerful tools in marketing.

Especially if what you sell is personal. If you’re a coach, a consultant, a course creator, a personal trainer – anyone where the relationship is part of the product – your audience needs to know you before they can trust you. And the fastest route to being known isn’t a credentials page. It’s a story.

I can already hear your objection: I don’t want to be too personal. I want to keep it professional. Here’s my opinion. Stories and professionalism aren’t opposites. You don’t have to share your therapy notes. You can tell stories about your work, about how your thinking evolved, about a client situation that changed how you do things, about the moment your offer came to exist. Professional stories are still stories, they still show who you are, they still build trust.

What stories should you tell?

Honestly? It depends. (I know. Everyone’s least favourite answer, but bear with me.)

It depends because we are all different. What you sell is different, the people you’re selling to are different, there’s no universal story template that works for every business, every audience, and every offer.

Nevertheless, here’s a tip simple enough to use today:

Start with your offer – what you sell, and what changes for someone after they’ve bought it. And then ask the harder question: why you? Why should someone buy this particular thing from you and not someone else?

The stories that answer those two questions are the ones worth telling. They help your reader see the value in what you offer, and they help them see the value in getting it from you. Both matter.

It sounds simple, it’s not necessarily easy, but it’s a start.

And if you’re sitting there thinking, I could explain all of this perfectly if someone just asked me the right questions. It’s the writing it down part that’s the problem; you’re not alone. Many people find this tricky.

I’m an introvert, so I would always rather write a thing than say it out loud. It’s probably why I ended up here, sending words into the world instead of standing in rooms talking at people. Writing suits me. It’s how I think. But I know that even for people who are brilliant in conversation, writing it down feels like a different game entirely – and it is.

Knowing what stories to tell is one thing. Getting them out of your head and onto a page – in a way that actually sounds like you, and makes a connection with your audience – is another thing entirely. If that’s where you’re stuck, I’d love to know.

Your turn

Comment and tell me if it would help to go deeper on the craft of writing stories that build trust? That’s a topic that deserves its own article (or two) entirely.

Let me know, and I’ll get writing.

Until next time,
Dot