“Social Proof the Musical” — How Marketing Makes The Audience Perform

I slid upwards through the gloom, smoke behind me and the hum of the crowd. Above, bright lights poured down. Everywhere, excitement and a galaxy of stars. But this wasn’t the stage, and I’m not an actor. It was 07:45, and I was on the Tube.

It has always struck me as peculiar that theatres advertise themselves so eagerly on the Underground. Perhaps it makes sense. The appeal of make-believe is certainly enhanced by the Monday morning commute. There are other reasons, too, for this flood of subterranean advertising. The Tube is one of the few occasions in the modern world where busy and overworked adults are brought together (begrudgingly) in crowds. But why the stars? There are hundreds of them, all arranged in neat rows of five.

If stars were a natural resource, the theatre industry would the world’s least sustainable industry. When I first started learning about marketing, I was assured that every product needed a Unique Selling Point. And yet, every one of the plays advertised within the Underground’s winding miles seems to feature the same cast of testimonials and reviews.

Stars, testimonials and reviews are part of a marketing strategy called “Social Proof” (a term first coined by Robert Cialdini in his 1984 best-seller Influence). The strategy works by showing you how popular something is and trusting that your imagination will fill in the blanks. A waiting list, a five-star rating and a snappy quote: suddenly, that new play looks unmissable. And, once you start looking for it, you can see the machinery of Social Proof everywhere…

The mechanics of Social Proof are particularly visible within the theatre industry. First, there are the pre-runs. Critics are invited to exclusive shows, months before the public premiere. These events are used to collect the reviews that will be printed, plastered and published weeks later.

Closer to the performance, ticketing is organised to make sure demand outgrows supply. This strangulation puts a lower ceiling on the first month’s receipts, but it also ensures that each new play wins the most valuable accolade in the industry: a “Sold Out” banner. And then there is the show itself…

Have you ever seen a crowd gathering outside a theatre? It must have been a popular play. Or, maybe, it was because the managers allowed a queue to form around the entrance. This trick was perfected by nightclub owners in the disco era, and street-performers still use the same trick. If you can create a small crowd, you are one good performance away from a frenzy.

The same principle applies to the crowd that spills out of the exit. Foyer music and smiling staff ensure that you leave the theatre with a smile. Before you even reach the steps you will have been offered branded merchandise and free goodies. As you stumble into the street, a dazed grin on your face, you become a walking advert for the title that is written above your head and in your hands.

So, what is it about theatre that binds it so closely to the psychology of Social Proof? Other industries also rely on collective instinct and the best guesses of the public. Even the world of online shopping is driven by group consensus. Social Proof is not a new idea, nor is it unique to the stage, so why is the stage obsessed with stars?

The answer, as any actor will tell you, is buried in the audience. Unlike most other industries, show business only ever gives us half of what we buy. The rest is made up of gasps and sighs, sound and fury - coming, not from the stage, but from the seats beside us. Every performance is a conversation between actor and audience, with enthusiasm fed back and forth between the two. Because of this, momentum is essential to any theatre production.

It’s a little-known secret that theatre companies use plants to cue an audience during early performances. Like the laughter-track on a TV show, these stooges have an important job; they make sure the laughs, claps and standing-ovations happen when they’re supposed to. The effect of Social Proof is so powerful that our experience of a play often says as much about the audience we occupy as the performance we are watching.

Which, at 7:55 this morning, led me to one final question: why the Underground? What explains this improbable triangle of stage, publicity and transport?

My journey was taking me towards the city; a few more stops and I would be in the heart of the West End. Location is certainly one reason for the unbroken wall of advertising, but there’s something else as well.

There aren’t many situations that bring large groups of strangers together. Sport can form a crowd, but not the same kind of crowd as Mamma Mia. Moving and thinking as part of a group, blinking into the light on a Monday morning, the Underground turns commuters into one enormous audience. Maybe that’s why I can’t help looking at the stars on the wall…