Every American Indian tribe (and every Texan and Mexican) feared the Comanches in the 1800s.

Their rise to dominance is in part a story of positioning strategy. I’m just finishing Sam Gwynne’s recent book, Empire of the Summer Moon – a riveting narrative on the rise and fall of one of the most feared tribes in American history. Only the Sioux on the northern plains come close to the Comanches’ ferocity.

The Comanches’ ascent can be traced clearly to their expertise in raising, breaking, and riding horses. Over the course of about 200 years, the tribe developed a specialty in handling horses. Consequently, the Comanches made their living by hunting buffalo and warring against other tribes (stealing their horses) and, eventually, killing the white man. The tribe had no patience for subsistence farming.

At a young age, Comanche boys had a horse to ride. By the time they were in their teens, a young brave could sweep up off the ground a wounded comrade at full gallop. For years, the Comanches raided and slaughtered the frontier settlers, including the Army and even the early Texas Rangers. For example, when chasing and then engaging the Comanches after a raid on a settlement, pursing soldiers would dismount their plodding Army horses to shoot their muskets. It took a minute or so to reload the rifle.

But the Comanches would stay on their mustangs, which were much leaner and faster than the those of the soldiers, and charge into a line of standing soldiers. By the time it took to reload a musket, a Comanche brave could shoot a dozen or more arrows while hanging on to the side of a horse at breakneck speed.

Eventually, the inexorable advance of the white man pushed out the Comanches. The white man slowly learned to ride more like a Comanche warrior – on a fast horse. And then came the game-changer: the Walker Colt, the repeating revolver. Then it was the white man’s turn to slaughter the Indians.

The simple point is that power comes from being really good at something. Ergo, one thing. Consequently, you develop a reputation (and a messaging strategy) for that one thing.

The specialist position is really the only tenable marketing strategy in today’s explosion of organizations, services, and products.

It may be a “good” idea—but will it stick?

According to Chip and Dan Heath, only “sticky” ideas will have lasting impact. In Made to Stick, the Heaths provide six qualities that make an idea stick—and transform the way people think and act.

B&S: Your formula for a successful idea is a “Simple Unexpected Concrete Credentialed Emotional Story”—but “Simple” and “Emotional” seem contradictory. How do they relate?

Chip and Dan Heath: When we say “simple,” we mean focused. It means you’ve whittled your message down to its core.

There’s only tension if “simple” means “short.” It’s possible to express a core idea through a long story. Consider Aesop’s “The Boy Who Cried Wolf.” It’s a long story that expresses the message, “You shouldn’t deceive people or it might come back to haunt you.” If it was delivered in its short, abstract form, it wouldn’t stick. Because the story offers concrete images and emotional overtones, it has stuck for centuries.

Often, the best idea in a meeting goes unrecognized because the boss is threatened by it. How can the principles of stickiness help?

The boss might say, “Our new mission statement is that we’ll be the highest-quality provider in the industry.” You should respond, “That’s not concrete enough. People will not share a common mental image of what we’re trying to achieve.” It won’t be a judgment call or an opinion—you’ll be right.

You talk about the “archvillain” of sticky ideas: the Curse of Knowledge. How do you root it out?

The Curse of Knowledge says that once we know something, it becomes hard to remember what it was like not to know it. As a result, we communicate like speakers of a foreign language—and forget to translate.

Think of the IT guy in the office who speaks in jargon and abstractions you can’t follow. We’re the “IT guy” in our areas of expertise—our knowledge complicates our communication. We can avoid the Curse of Knowledge by using the principles of stickiness. A sticky idea crosses boundaries of knowledge, experience, and even culture.

In today’s world, the consumer decides the identity of a product or service means, not you. Should you adapt the message once you get feedback from your market, or is it then too late?

Audiences typically make ideas simpler—for example, scientific studies are inevitably boiled down to statements like, “Eating fiber cures cancer!” Audiences also tend to make things more unexpected, as with Leo Durocher’s quote, “Nice guys finish last.”

But sticky ideas are already simple and surprising. They require a lot less adaptation in the idea marketplace. This is because the forces you apply to make your idea sticky—i.e., simplicity, concreteness, and unexpectedness—are the same forces the idea marketplace would apply if you hadn’t.

How does the increased competition and clutter in the market affect the need for sticky ideas? For example, how would a consulting firm formulate a sticky idea?

Use your differentiation point—the reason someone should hire you instead of the other guys. Communicate it clearly and concretely. Don’t try too hard to make the language sound “professional”—e.g., “Our world-class team of expert consultants have a combined 114 years of experience across diverse industries.”

Here’s a test of clarity: A lot of customers should see your marketing message and think, “That is definitely not for me.” This is evidence the customers you do want will recognize themselves in your messaging.

Have you sold yourself lately?

According to Harry and Christine Beckwith, you are the most important product of all. In their new book, You, Inc., the Beckwiths provide invaluable lessons on improving yourself, making a good impression, and relating to people.

B&S: How does even the structure of your book—the short chapters with the summary points at the end—communicate your message about marketing one’s self?

Harry Beckwith: The way we wrote the book is how I discipline myself to not just write for the sake of writing, but to deliver a message. In this book, we’re trying to teach a lesson, so we need to deliver it clearly or not say anything at all.

Limiting yourself to two paragraphs or 50 words in a section forces you to say what you need in the most powerful way possible. If you give people unlimited time and space, their point gets lost in all the verbiage.

Why do we often resist selling ourselves?

Christine Beckwith: People don’t verbally sell themselves because they don’t want to brag or appear that they’re patting themselves on the back. Or they might not have the confidence to toot their own horn.

People might not grow themselves because they fear achieving too much success—or the work and risk that comes with it. They don’t want to invest the extra time, effort, and resources it requires. And they don’t want to risk changing everything they’ve ever known.

Harry Beckwith: The phrase “beware of what you wish for” applies. It’s not entirely irrational to have some fear of success—sometimes it isn’t what you hoped it would be.

How can we sabotage our own success?

Christine Beckwith: I once lost a client because I didn’t invest in myself. The entire marketing department of Bristol-Squibb was anxious to meet me and see all of my products, but I decided to save $115 on a cab fare, and consequently I missed my appointment. I learned that, if you believe in yourself, you should invest in yourself. If you don’t, no one is going to get excited and jump on the bandwagon with you.

You write about the importance of working on our weaknesses. Aren’t we supposed to focus more on our strengths?

Harry Beckwith: It’s important to discover the one weakness that is hampering your career and find people who will help you improve. It’s key to maximize your strengths, but be sure you’re not undermined by your greatest weaknesses.

Often, we don’t have enough friends who give us “tough love,” who tell us what to work on. In the book, we write about a man who has the courage to talk to people about his one disabling weakness. I really admire him for that.

Your book is extremely relevant to someone just getting out of college. But it also has a great message for those in mid-life. What would you recommend to a 45- or 55-year-old leader who needs to “re-brand” him or herself?

Christine Beckwith: I would tell both groups of people not to ask, “What do I want to do for the rest of my life?” Instead, ask, “What do I want to do at this time in my life?” How on earth do young people just out of college know what they’ll be doing 20-30 years from now? They don’t!

Harry Beckwith: Their chosen profession might not even exist today. Imagine someone 50 years ago saying, “When I grow up, I want to be a web designer.” Impossible, of course.

Whatever direction you take in your career, move in the direction of your genuine passion. It has to be authentic—if you’re not passionate about your work, that will ultimately come through.