A Tale of Two Ocularists: Making Your Customers Feel Seen

Or, how to build fanatical customer loyalty when you listen to your customers

When I was blinded, something fundamental shifted inside of me. I couldn’t put a finger on it then, but I knew almost immediately that there was no going back to the Jessie I’d been before. 

I had no idea how to tell people this. Saying it aloud seemed to make people sad, but it didn’t particularly cause me distress. It was more a curious realization. A bit empowering, even, like I’d shed an identity and now got to remake myself. 

That strange tumble of feelings clicked into place for the first time when my plastic surgeon suggested I look into getting a scleral shell. Basically, it’s a thinner version of an acrylic prosthetic eye—it protects a damaged eye and fills out the eye socket a bit more, giving you a more natural look.

Scleral shells—like prosthetic eyes—are typically painted to match your remaining eye. But, it turns out, they can also be painted to look like anything you want. ;) 

“People get all kinds of crazy ones,” my plastic surgeon told me. “Check out this ocularist’s Instagram, she’s amazing.”

I went home, fired up Instagram, and discovered a whole world of one-eyed people living their best, most creative lives. They wore spiderweb eyes. Sparkly pink heart eyes. Glittery gold eyes that matched their party dresses. 

It was the first time I’d felt real hope since that windshield shattered. 

“You’ve been through enough already.”

So I made an appointment with a well-regarded ocularist in Portland to get a scleral shell.

This ocularist was great: very informative, professional, personable. He put me at ease all through the process of taking an impression of my eye. 

(Which was cold, wet, and weird. They use the same stuff that dentists use to make an impression of your teeth, but inject it into your eye socket. So . . . just imagine that, I guess.)

The only thing was, I already knew I didn’t want a realistic eye. I couldn’t tell you why, not exactly, but the idea of wearing a realistic eye—and trying to hide my injury—felt extremely uncomfortable. It was the opposite of the “no going back” energy that was taking hold of me more and more strongly. 

So I asked the ocularist about getting a “fun eye.” 

He shook his head.

“We don’t do those here,” he said. “And, frankly, you might think you want one, but you don’t. Clients I’ve had who got a fun eye realized it was even more traumatizing because it caused people to look at them funny.”

He gave me a kindly, patronizing smile.

“You’ve been through so much already; let’s just get you back to who you were before. Don’t put yourself through any more trauma by getting a fun eye.”

Neither my husband or I said anything then, but as we left the office my husband gave me a look. “Wow,” he said. “That guy has no idea who you are.” 

“Tell me what you want.”

Fortunately for me, my insurance wouldn’t cover the cost of getting an eye with that ocularist. When I learned this, I wasn’t particularly disappointed.  

I’d already made an appointment with the other ocularist in Portland—the person whose Instagram I’d been directed to by my plastic surgeon. The problem was, my appointment with her was almost a year out—that’s how booked up she was.

And when I finally got in to see her, I understood why.

As soon as I sat down at her desk, she said, “Tell me about yourself, and what you want to feel. How can I help you get there?”

I told her I wouldn’t mind a realistic eye—but I really wanted a fun eye, like the ones I’d seen her make for others. She studied me a second, then said, “You’re a sci-fi writer, right? There’s something I’ve been wanting to try.”

Here are the two reaction videos she posted on her page of me getting my first eyes. 

This video is of my first time seeing the traditional, normal eye she made me. It’s beautiful. It matches my other eye exactly—it’s a work of art.

Only . . . you can see on my face how hard I was trying to like it. I knew how much time and energy she put into it, and I didn’t want her to feel bad.

But it made me feel like an alien.

As my husband said when I came home wearing it later that day, “It looks like somebody stole my wife and replaced her with a robot. I hate it, I’m sorry.”

Here’s the second video.

This eye was a complete surprise—I had no idea what I was going to see when she put the mirror on the desk and had me open my eyes. 

This was the “sci-fi” thing she’d been wanting to try. My cyborg eye has a mirrored iris, embedded jewels, and painted details that make it look like a motherboard. 

It’s crazy and weird, and it made me feel like me.

You can see the pure joy in my face the first time I saw myself wearing it. 

When I came home to my husband, he just started laughing. “That one is way more you. I love it.”

That’s what it looks like to listen to your customers

The second ocularist, Christina King from the Center for Ocular Prosthetics, saw me. 

She saw that I wanted a non-traditional eye. She saw that I wanted to have fun. 

But most importantly, she saw that I was no longer the person that I used to be, and that I was ready to reinvent myself into somebody new. She didn’t try to talk me out of getting a fun eye, or explain to me how I should be feeling. She asked what I wanted, and helped me achieve it. 

If you want to know what customer loyalty looks like, it looks like going back again and again and again for amazing eyes that make me feel exactly like who I want to be.

I have eight fun eyes from Christina. Most I’ve paid for, several were pieces she gifted me. One was actually painted by my 9-year-old niece, who Christina taught to use the paints. 

Neither of these ocularists have lost eyes, so they don’t really understand the specific pain their clientele is going through. 

But they’ve both been in their jobs for years. They’ve seen enough clients to have a ton of experience with what people going through eye loss want and need.

—> Ocularist A decided that made him more of an expert in my own personal experience than I was. He said: “I know what’s best, and think you’ll be happiest trying to pretend we’ve restored you to your previous state.”

—> Ocularist B realized that every patient she’d seen had a unique story, and so she asked me for mine. She said: “You just told me there is no going back. I understand you. So, what’s next? Who do you want to be and how can I help?”

Becoming an expert in listening

No matter what you’re selling, you may be the expert in your field.

But you’re NOT the expert in the most important thing: what each specific customer wants. 

I may be an expert in writing books, but I am not the expert in the book my book coaching or ghostwriting clients want to write. 

I can guide them, I can offer suggestions. 

But if we’re going to be successful working together, I need to start by listening to what they want, what they’re trying to accomplish, and who they’re trying to become by taking on this project. Then my job is to use my expertise to help them achieve that. 

Christina King sells colorful, unique prosthetics. But her core offer is that she enables you to reclaim your identity as a person who’s gone through eye loss. She helps people express themselves on their own terms.

That’s the reason people flock to her—the reason she’s booked out for months. It’s because of that transformation, not just because of her skill, or the pieces of acrylic she paints. 

Are you acting as an expert who tells others what’s best? Or an expert who knows how to listen to what others want?

If you want wildly loyal customers, take the second path.