It was Thanksgiving weekend. Six thousand miles from home, while others enjoyed turkey, mashed potatoes, and football, I was in Slovenia with my husband, Michael. Strolling the quaint, damp cobblestone streets of Ljubljana, I felt profoundly grateful—not just for this fairy-tale city, but for witnessing one of the most compelling sales stories of my career.
Stories are my expertise. As a professional storyteller, I've crafted narratives since age 11, and today I advise businesses on their strategic power. They drew me to Slovenia, where I spoke to nearly 1,000 marketing, brand, media, and ad leaders from Eastern Europe about storytelling's business impact.
Related: How to tell your story
The magic unfolded that festive November evening amid Ljubljana's tree-lighting celebration. Crowds savored mulled wine and roasted chestnuts under twinkling lights and carols. Storefronts beckoned—me, at least. Michael avoids shopping like the plague; his underwear's elastic wears out before he replaces them.
Our European trip highlighted this divide:
Me: 'Oh, local designers! Let's browse!'
Michael: [Ignores, walks on.]
And so it went—until dazzling silver sequined shoes in a boutique window stopped me cold. Wine-fueled, I dragged him inside.
The eclectic shop brimmed with watches, jewelry, art, and clothes. The shoes disappointed up close, so I sought Michael, hiding behind perfume towers. Enter a sharp young Slovenian salesman: 'Excuse me, sir. Looking for perfume?'
Michael? Cologne? Never. But the clerk ignored protests, retrieving a navy-and-white striped box. 'Our bestseller: Eight & Bob.'
'In 1937, a young American student vacationed on the French Riviera. Charismatic, he caught the scent of a Parisian aristocrat, Albert Fouquet—a perfume connoisseur. Fouquet shared a sample, irresistible.
Back home, friends raved. The student wrote: eight more samples 'and one for Bob.' Bob was his brother; the student? John F. Kennedy. JFK's cologne, smuggled past Nazis hidden in books.'
The clerk revealed the box's secret: a book concealing a crystal bottle. Michael, transfixed, uttered the impossible: 'I'll take it.'
(Image credit: Hulton Archive/Getty Images)
My non-shopper, unsniffed, bought cologne via story. This isn't anomaly—it's science. Stories hijack brains, forging emotional bonds that logic can't.
Stories transform: customers to advocates, employees to champions, leaders to visionaries. They redefine marketing and self-perception.
We couldn't buy it—the sample was all they had—but Michael buzzed, plotting North American distribution. The next day, a different clerk's flat pitch: 'Five scents, French plants, nice packaging.' Night-and-day difference.
In my consulting, I see this daily: teams fumble stories, eroding impact. The fix? Masterful storytelling—no Slovenia trip required.
Excerpted from Stories That Stick by Kindra Hall. Copyright © 2019 by Kindra Hall. Used with permission from HarperCollins Leadership.
