N obody wants to stand in a returns queue. I’d rather have a root canal, which at least affords a lie down. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Fifteen minutes in, and the line has barely moved. I should have brought snacks. And a deckchair.
Why are so many people queuing at 11am on an average Tuesday? Answer: because it’s Zara, whose customer service, let’s just say, leaves a lot more to be desired than its clothes do. I love Zara. My teenagers love Zara. As a family, we spend more in there than in any other fashion chain. But if my teens weren’t so obsessed with its perfume, and I wasn’t so easily seduced by its deployment of midlife models tricking me into thinking I, too, will look like Carmen Kass in its jeans, we’d happily never give Zara another penny again. My worst Zara customer-service story? Being sent two left shoes and trying to get a refund via WhatsApp. A year on, I’m still owed £35.99.
How can I help? Mollie Sugden as Mrs Slocombe in Are You Being Served?
Zara, however, is not alone in its woeful customer service. January’s UK Customer Satisfaction Index (UKCSI), a twice-yearly survey of over 15,000 adult consumers, showed that satisfaction was at 76.1 points out of 100, just 0.3 points better than its previous score in July – the worst since 2010. Of these findings, Jo Causon, CEO of the Institute of Customer Service, which conducts the survey, said, ‘Unfortunately, the current outlook isn’t where we need it to be, despite research showing that higher customer satisfaction correlates with financial growth.’ She added that 21 per cent of respondents said they had increased their spend with the organisations they rated highly for customer service, as a direct result of that service.
Which begs the question: whatever happened to service with a smile? Long gone are the days immortalised in Are You Being Served?, the 1970s TV sitcom about fictitious department store Grace Brothers, featuring Captain Peacock, Mr Humphries and Mrs Slocombe as the quintessence of helpful salespeople. The show’s double entendres might not have aged well, but viewers who remember it can only feel wistful about its customer service.
For centuries, ‘service’ was the privilege of the elite; those with the money to employ others to serve their needs. While in the West, the Industrial Revolution changed this, making it simpler to provide good service by replacing human endeavour with labour-saving devices, our idea of good service is still tethered to the pre-industrial age. When we picture excellent service, it’s rarely listening to on-hold music while being told we’re 25th in the queue. As for many brands’ erroneously named ‘live chat’ facility, it’s often staffed by nothing more sentient than a bot.
Technology might have lowered costs for retailers, but it’s a blunt instrument that can’t provide the sort of nuanced, attentive customer service that will keep us coming back. Nor is it confined to the online shopping experience – tech is increasingly encroaching on the real one. Those who struggle with the self-service tills at the supermarket would do well to avoid fashion stores, including H&M, where automated checkouts may cut down on queuing time, but woe betide those who can’t wrestle (or forget to remove) the security tag from the garment. What’s that noise?
Oh, just you, setting off the security alarm.
This technology is particularly intimidating for older customers, many of whom have sight and hearing issues, or arthritic fingers. And those are just the practical ramifications. Of greater concern, arguably, are the emotional ones. While it’s not a retailer’s job to function as some sort of emotional support animal, in an era when loneliness levels are high, the human touch feels even more important. Having a conversation with a real person – someone who is helpful and seems to care about your needs – can turn shopping from a chore into a pleasure. Shouldn’t that be what in-store shopping is all about?
After the pandemic, there was much talk about ‘the theatre of shopping’, and how retailers needed to go the extra mile with exciting in-store experiences to entice us away from our laptops. The truth is probably simpler: most shoppers don’t need excitement; they’d settle for a helping hand. ‘I dread going into some shops now,’ says my mother, who is 91. ‘I feel invisible. It’s as if they avoid my eye. They don’t seem able to answer the simplest questions.’
It’s not rocket science that we’ll be more inclined to return to shops where we are treated well. As for which stores are getting it right, a straw poll of friends and relatives (ages: 18 to 91) revealed John Lewis and Marks & Spencer as heroes. The nation agrees: January’s UKCSI poll placed John Lewis as the fifth highest rated organisation in the UK (the brand cleverly opened a School of Service in 2021), while M&S was fourth.
The rudest service I’ve ever experienced was at a world-famous, upmarket department store in London, where the sales assistant made it patently clear she didn’t think I was the sort of customer worth bothering about. First, she upbraided me for touching the display, then she tutted when I failed to fold a jumper properly (I’d been trying to help her – my first job as a teenager was on the shop floor at Miss Selfridge, giving me a lifelong solidarity with sales assistants). Life hack: if you don’t like interacting with people and helping them, you probably shouldn’t work in retail.
When I started shopping in high-end boutiques in the 90s (strictly browsing: I was a fashion student at the time), the sales staff were almost universally snooty, a fact I put down to my looking like I had about two pence to my name. Designer store Browns, on London’s South Molton Street, was particularly terrifying: it was almost as though the staff relished embarrassing you. ‘I don’t think you can afford that,’ I recall one muttering when I touched a Gucci jacket – true, but no need to rub it in. ‘You and me both,’ is the comeback I’d give some 30 years later.
By contrast, I remember luxury mono-brand boutiques such as Prada, Burberry and Mulberry were always friendly, maybe because staff were clued-up enough to know that the wealthiest people often dress as though they’ve fallen out of a skip.
That said, most shoppers would likely agree they’re treated more favourably when they’re dressed up. If I want stellar service, I’ll always carry my Chanel bag, a dog whistle that semaphores I’m rich, even when I’m not. The notion that service should improve when a customer looks as though they have money to spend is reprehensible, yet it’s not a fanciful one. Prejudice exists on the shop floor just as it does anywhere else: ask anyone who’s been racially profiled in a retail setting whether consumer racism is real.
Bad sales assistants can be encountered anywhere, from Balenciaga to Bershka.
As can bad customers, of course: like her mother before her, my elder daughter never truly experienced human nature in the raw until she worked in a public-facing retail role. I will always have a soft spot for my local Superdrug: no matter how busy, the staff make me feel like I’m shopping in Cartier. Baskets are offered as unfailingly as help: the merest hint of a furrowed brow and they’ll whiz over as though I’m Kylie Jenner about to drop a grand, not a middle-aged woman after a cheap face scrub. Wherever we shop, whoever we are, all most of us want is service with a smile. It really shouldn’t be too much to ask for.
John Lewis knows how to keep its customers happy
John Lewis Unfailingly helpful staff, particularly with older customers.
Marks & Spencer Always friendly and courteous, even when stores are busy.
Coach Staff are super-knowledgeable about the products.
Burberry A luxury brand where the staff aren’t intimidating.
Superdrug Staff say ‘sorry for the wait’ even when there hasn’t been one.
Zara Heinously long returns queues, chaotic fitting rooms, uninterested staff.
Brandy Melville My teenagers say the staff are condescending and snooty.
Yves Saint Laurent It feels as if staff are sizing up your bank balance when you walk through the door.
Primark Horrifically long queues for the tills and fitting rooms, and rarely any staff to help on the shop floor.
Sandro They say bonjour, but always look as though they want to kill you.