It’s ironic, really, that Chase Manhattan’s tagline is: “The right relationship is everything.” It seems Chase wants to strike up a relationship with my daughter. They wrote to ask if she’d like a credit card…with a $100,000 spending limit. That’s a pretty generous “hello,” and while credit card offers are one percent a dozen these days, this letter is extraordinary for one reason: Jaime is 10 years old.
It’s illegal to issue a credit card to anyone under 18 (in Alabama and Nebraska, it’s 19). Call me naïve, but I was surprised that Chase even had her name. They spelled it right, too, which unnerves me even more.
My more sophisticated friends say their kids get outlandish pitches all the time — financial seminars, travel offers, even mortgage refinancing deals. Most assume it’s because their kids have frequent-flier accounts. That puzzles me; Jaime has nothing more than a savings account and a few magazine subscriptions. She should be invisible to direct marketers. For Chase, she’s the wrong relationship altogether.
I called Chase to ask why they were writing to my 10-year-old. They were gracious and apologetic, and traced Jaime back through their database. Turns out Chase got her name from a Scholastic at Home book club that Jaime joined through a classroom handout. (Ahem.) Scholastic — like all Chase’s list suppliers — was supposed to drop everyone under 18 before giving the list to Chase, whose list processor matches names against a demographic database for a second screening, dropping anyone under 18 whose age is available. Apparently Scholastic told Chase that this was a list of adults, says a chagrined Chase spokesperson.
Jaime’s name could have gotten to Chase through a subscription, frequent-flier account, club membership — “someplace where she sure looks like an adult,” says Steven Kietz, senior VP-Chase cardmember services. “We use general consumer databases to eliminate children’s names. It’s very, very rare for kids to get through.”
It’s doubly ironic — and irritating — that Scholastic sold a name they got through a fifth-grade classroom, where “insidious” and “marketing” shouldn’t even be on the vocabulary list, never mind in the desks.
What if she actually got the credit card? She’d spend her college tuition before I could even earn it.
But what if she just filled out the application? Having her Social Security number, date of birth, and mother’s maiden name all in the hands of some stranger makes me shudder. She’d be fair game. The mailbox would explode.
Of course, I know better, especially after reporting this month’s feature, “Perfect Profile.” Chase wouldn’t give her a credit card — an “invitation” and approval are miles apart. Travel companies won’t book cruises for preschoolers. Mortgage formulas don’t work with infantile incomes. That’s the point of direct marketing: Make the right offer to the right consumer.
But target my kids and my hackles go up. Two years ago I berated a sales rep from Highlights Magazine for asking too many questions about my kids after I cancelled our subscription. Highlights Magazine, for cripes sake, that faithful companion from the dentist offices of our youth. Home to Goofus and Gallant, curator of classic hidden-picture puzzles. How menacing is Highlights?
I’m not the only mom playing lioness against marketers’ advances. Some parents won’t admit to marketers that they have kids in the household, especially in big cities. We’re told to keep our kids’ names off jackets and backpacks so strangers can’t pretend to know them. So our guard goes up against marketers as part of our general concern for our kids’ safety. After all, Chase is right: The right relationship — between parent and child, not marketer and child — is everything.
Now I need to talk to the principal about those Scholastic handouts.
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