GOODBYE AND GOOD riddance, summer. The Northeast was locked into a heat-and-humidity wave for much of the season. Weather reports teased blessed relief in the form of potential thunderstorms. When the rains came, they didn't cool.
In short, it was a time of perspiration. According to the traditional formula, every one measure of inspiration should be followed by 99 measures of perspiration. It's not unreasonable to expect the reverse to hold true.
But it didn't, if my mailbox was any indication.
The credit card companies — far and away the most aggressive mailers — persisted in sending envelopes uniform in thickness and outer design. These fell into two categories: Those that touted interest rates with large numerals that fall off the sides of the envelopes, and those that implored recipients “Please do not discard.”
Whether they differentiate themselves on the inside, I couldn't say: I wasn't inspired enough to open the envelopes before shredding and dumping them. Outer envelopes reduced to begging recipients not to throw them away haven't done their job. These are prospects receiving them, not almsgivers.
This is a far cry from the intriguing packages of yesteryear, which featured tokens, pennies, intriguing questions, and enough variation in size and heft that they didn't have to beg not to be thrown away. These were mailings that immediately titillated — Why do I close the bathroom door, even when nobody else is home? What's the one food item never to order on an airline? — instead of cajoled.
(You know that these efforts are from times past. When was the last time one had a meal, much less a choice, on an airplane? The only reason I know that British Airways still serves food is because for a brief period in August, they weren't. Oh, and one is not supposed to eat scrambled eggs offered on an airplane — the crew adds newly reconstituted egg mix to pre-created old eggs. As for the bathroom, that's a matter of personal pathology.)
The closest thing to clever I saw over the summer was a primary-season mailing from would-be Manhattan borough president Carlos Manzano. His postcard touting a fundraiser featured a few apple icons, reflecting his name — the Spanish word for “apple tree” — as well as New York City, “The Big Apple” itself. C'mon, Carlos, not even a special apple martini at the fundraiser's cash bar? Someone was asleep at the word processor.
Friends, prove me wrong. Is there perspiration in the direct mail mills? I know these are not terrifically comfortable economic times. Do any of you have evidence that a direct mailer has stepped beyond the boundaries of tried-and-true this summer to break through mailbox clutter? If so, please share 'em: Fall is upon us. I'd like to think all the perspiration and precipitation of summer has brought at least a little inspiration.
