I confess. Yesterday I partook in the dirty discounted world of Black Friday. I frivolously went to all of my favorite sites to see how much I could get off on things I don’t need to survive, but will make the mundanity of every other day just a little better, because I’m in red leather ankle boots.
I cheered when things I’d been eyeing for some time were 60% cheaper (said boots), rethought how much I really needed other things even when they were 80% cheaper (a velvet embroidery jacket, will I look cool or like your granny?) And, I lived in hope that things like the five-star hotels, Jonathan Adler dining chairs and Balenciaga would somehow also be discounted. (They were not, but I felt positively patriotic participating in what is coined as the “Super Bowl” of shopping days.)
But today I’m paying full price for it.
Today, my inbox is filled with messages like, “Hey SUSAN we were just getting started!” , “URGENT this deal will expire in 2 days (with fire emoticon)” and “You left something in your cart….” I’m being asked to rate my experiences and I’ve received thinly veiled marketing compliments with mails like “You’ve got great taste…are you sure you don’t want to buy our shoes?”
It’s like I was drunk, filling carts and leaving them scattered across the interwebs, and every brand felt the need to tell me today what I did. Like it was actually Black Out Friday and they want to help me piece it all back together. And sure, I may have left a sooty trail of Black Friday prints across the virtual mall, but that doesn’t mean they can follow me, jump in my inbox and start calling me SUSAN like we’re all friends. BTW, only my mother calls me SUSAN and it’s when I‘ve done something wrong so your attempt at personalization – taken from my credit card – rings deeply insincere and makes me just a little scared because SUSAN is usually followed by a scolding of some sort. (Hi Mom. I know I should have been writing yesterday instead of shopping. I’m a bad girl and I won’t do it again, please don’t make me return the boots).
The irony is when I go online (and especially on Black Friday) it’s because I’m trying to avoid any kind of personal attention. I don’t want to hear someone saying “You’re welcome!” too often. I don’t want to followed around the store, I don’t want to explain that I’m just looking, thanks, followed by yet another, “You’re welcome”. I go online to pull a Garbo – to be alone with couches and boots, new bed sheets, potential dog walkers and Gwyneth Paltrow putting on face masks because I can. And too many brands are ruining that. They are turning from well-meaning acquaintances, to the boyfriend I had a one-night stand with and is stalking me with a seating guide to our wedding, and his grandma’s engagement ring.
Now, most of you may know I’m aware of how marketing works. Maintaining good relationships, offering additional suggestions, talking casually “like a friend would” is all part of building a brand. But I fear it’s having the opposite effect on me. That one time I visited a site doesn’t warrant a mail from my “friends at…” That quick price comparison I did on flights doesn’t warrant a reminder mail. I have all my senses. I did not black out and forget I was trying to fly to Johannesburg.
And maybe the real reason this all annoys me is because it’s all a trail of my indecision. My distraction. My unfulfilled wanderlust. The mundanity of life. A reminder of my need for boring things like sheets but really just wanting to go out in my new boots and get three sheets to the wind. Maybe I just really hate the misuse of the word ‘URGENT’. Unless there’s a fire, a puppy or good wine that needs saving, it’s not URGENT.
Of course I can unsubscribe from these mails – and I do – but even that leads to a trail of desperate boyfriend questions – Why? Can we try again? Come back!!!
Surely there’s some kind of happy medium here. Some way brands can back off just a little, like when I’m a first time visitor to a site. Perhaps they can drop using my name because I know they don’t know me. Perhaps if I’m always looking at the same thing they can tell me if it’s going to run out, and put the level of urgency required for me to act a little further away from DEFCON 1. Or maybe they can be really clear that they’d like to come home with me, and ask politely, rather assume they will see what kind of sheets I have. In short, I like to walk around the beautiful virtual mall without hearing their footsteps pitter-pattering behind me. Thanks. You’re welcome. PS: Thanks Zara from not stalking me. I will visit you again because, you know, sometimes new shoes are urgent.
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