I received a credit card solicitation yesterday with the words "Chase Freedom" printed on the front. It's a funny phrase when you think about it.
Showing posts with label Marketing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marketing. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Saturday, March 14, 2009
I was settling my father's estate in the assistant manager's office at the Chinatown branch of the very big bank. The assistant manager was scrupulous and cheerful. Resting on his credenza were a number of framed certificates from marathons he'd run: Atlanta. Philadelphia. Three hours and forty-seven minutes something. Signed by Mayor Street.
There was also a pile of pamphlets promoting the very big bank's credit card customer loyalty program. There were three messages in italics on the front of the pamphlets:
Shop online and watch as your savings add up.
Save automatically as you spend.
Use your credit card to earn cash back.
I was struck by the oxymoronic nature of these commands. We like to think we've come a long way, baby, since advertisers told us cigarettes were healthy. We like to think we once were treated like children - or worse, rubes - but that now they'd better all watch what they're doing, boy. In fact, we might've regressed to a yet more infantile state. They once had the gall to lie to us about what we didn't know - that smoking kills. Now they have the audacity to lie to us about what any child would know.
Shop online and watch as your savings add up.
Now they realize they can dispense with such subtleties as the spurious argument, the logical fallacy, the bogus expert. No more straining, no more unseemly exertions: someone had the bright idea that it'll all go better if they boldly, unblinkingly tell us the craziest nonsense they can.
Save automatically as you spend.
This, somehow, is what we're can't resist. Try to reason with us in bad faith and we'll shame you, scold you, ride you out of town on a rail. But tell us something crazy, something obviously totally fucking wrong and we're suddenly mesmerized, slack-jawed and drooling.
Use your credit card to earn cash back.
For Christ's sake.
There was also a pile of pamphlets promoting the very big bank's credit card customer loyalty program. There were three messages in italics on the front of the pamphlets:
Shop online and watch as your savings add up.
Save automatically as you spend.
Use your credit card to earn cash back.
I was struck by the oxymoronic nature of these commands. We like to think we've come a long way, baby, since advertisers told us cigarettes were healthy. We like to think we once were treated like children - or worse, rubes - but that now they'd better all watch what they're doing, boy. In fact, we might've regressed to a yet more infantile state. They once had the gall to lie to us about what we didn't know - that smoking kills. Now they have the audacity to lie to us about what any child would know.
Shop online and watch as your savings add up.
Now they realize they can dispense with such subtleties as the spurious argument, the logical fallacy, the bogus expert. No more straining, no more unseemly exertions: someone had the bright idea that it'll all go better if they boldly, unblinkingly tell us the craziest nonsense they can.
Save automatically as you spend.
This, somehow, is what we're can't resist. Try to reason with us in bad faith and we'll shame you, scold you, ride you out of town on a rail. But tell us something crazy, something obviously totally fucking wrong and we're suddenly mesmerized, slack-jawed and drooling.
Use your credit card to earn cash back.
For Christ's sake.
Labels:
Marketing
Thursday, February 12, 2009
April 23rd, 1985
The era in which we now live began on April 23rd, 1985. On that morning, word of a momentous event spread through the halls and classes of my high school like a virus: New Coke was here.
It was a Tuesday - how could it not be? And April - of course. And it had to be 1985. The day, month and year bespeak a radical mundanity. April 23rd, 1985 is a date that wanted to be forgotten even as it loomed. It's a date we all might have skipped by accident. Tuesday. Nothing day. Neither Monday nor Wednesday, neither fish nor fowl. The day of low blood sugar. A day not to be lived so much as endured. April. The month of cold, gray rain; of ambiguous, uncertain spring. The doldrums in every pupil's odyssey to recess. 1985. A year in which it might well be said that nothing whatsoever happened. April 23rd, 1985 was the sort of date that was in danger of falling off the calendar. And such dates, of course, are ideal for mass exposure and response to a seismic event, be it glorious or cataclysmic.
The news itself hung in the air like a vaporous mist - it seemed we began to talk about it before we'd even heard. "Hey, New Coke." "Did you try New Coke?" "I heard Mark had some already." "Some what, New Coke?" "New Coke." The marketing really was brilliant, if it wasn't completely disastrous. New! Coke! What melodious and sunny syllables to set upon the lips of a nation.
There was another aspect of our reaction to the event, and this is why I know it was the moment in our history that became now: we didn't really care. Even as we chirped the brand message, there was a wryness in our voices, sly smiles on our faces. For this virus had a second, unintended component: irony. Perhaps it was a product of the phrase itself: New Coke. Or perhaps it just happened to be hanging in the air that morning too, also waiting for this non-day when there'd be a break in our defenses. In any case, we now knew two things: New Coke was here, and New Coke was here. These two truths were antagonistic but not incompatible; they were the manifestation of a nascent reality. Yes, we bought it; yes, we drank it. But not the way we did before. Not automatically, but knowingly. Not with alacrity, but nonchalantly. Coca-Cola thought they were the mama bird and we would be her babies, letting her belch into our eager gullets. In the past, we'd given every indication we would play that role. But not on April 23rd, 1985.
It was a Tuesday - how could it not be? And April - of course. And it had to be 1985. The day, month and year bespeak a radical mundanity. April 23rd, 1985 is a date that wanted to be forgotten even as it loomed. It's a date we all might have skipped by accident. Tuesday. Nothing day. Neither Monday nor Wednesday, neither fish nor fowl. The day of low blood sugar. A day not to be lived so much as endured. April. The month of cold, gray rain; of ambiguous, uncertain spring. The doldrums in every pupil's odyssey to recess. 1985. A year in which it might well be said that nothing whatsoever happened. April 23rd, 1985 was the sort of date that was in danger of falling off the calendar. And such dates, of course, are ideal for mass exposure and response to a seismic event, be it glorious or cataclysmic.
The news itself hung in the air like a vaporous mist - it seemed we began to talk about it before we'd even heard. "Hey, New Coke." "Did you try New Coke?" "I heard Mark had some already." "Some what, New Coke?" "New Coke." The marketing really was brilliant, if it wasn't completely disastrous. New! Coke! What melodious and sunny syllables to set upon the lips of a nation.
There was another aspect of our reaction to the event, and this is why I know it was the moment in our history that became now: we didn't really care. Even as we chirped the brand message, there was a wryness in our voices, sly smiles on our faces. For this virus had a second, unintended component: irony. Perhaps it was a product of the phrase itself: New Coke. Or perhaps it just happened to be hanging in the air that morning too, also waiting for this non-day when there'd be a break in our defenses. In any case, we now knew two things: New Coke was here, and New Coke was here. These two truths were antagonistic but not incompatible; they were the manifestation of a nascent reality. Yes, we bought it; yes, we drank it. But not the way we did before. Not automatically, but knowingly. Not with alacrity, but nonchalantly. Coca-Cola thought they were the mama bird and we would be her babies, letting her belch into our eager gullets. In the past, we'd given every indication we would play that role. But not on April 23rd, 1985.
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