I’ve said it before in these pages and I’ll say it again: I enjoy reading Vanity Fair, with its lengthy profiles of shallow celebrities.
What fabulous revelations: Direct quotes reveal that when she doesn’t have a script to help with the words, Cameron Diaz starts almost every sentence with “I’m, like” or “He was, like.” Wow! That makes time spent on this magazine worthwhile. I can hardly wait to have an intellectual discussion with her. Well…maybe I can wait until her mind catches up with her body.
(I’d be afraid to touch her, anyway. The “Credits” tell me “Cameron Diaz’s hair styled with Redken Soft Hold Undone, Traction, and Vinyl Glam sprays.” I’d get stuck at hair’s-length.)
And here’s world-class name-dropper Dominick Dunne, telling us how many people he knows. Oh, correction: Here’s world-class name-dropper Dominick Dunne, telling us how many people know him. What a stupendous corruption of a major writing talent!
But I’ve also said before and say again: Vanity Fair follows a peculiar pattern in subscription renewals. I really would rather have an intellectual discussion with the circulation manager…who, I assume, wouldn’t say, “I’m, like, sending you another tepid renewal message.”
Me? I’m, like, not at all sure I’ve, like, saved all the renewal notices from Vanity Fair. I have, like, 10 of them. Oh, that isn’t a record. I think, like, The Wall Street Journal has, like, exceeded that number. And every reader of DIRECT knows, like, you keep mailing and e-mailing until the results are, like, demonstrably unprofitable.
(Having, like, made my point, I’m, like, abandoning this conceit for the rest of this diatribe.)
The Wall Street Journal was doggedly consistent. A 13-week subscription was $51.94, including $2.94 sales tax. Does any government impose a tax on newspapers? My local papers don’t, and I assume states and municipalities are the usual sales tax villains.
Two of The Journal’s mailings, two weeks apart, increased the ante to not quite double: Six months for $94.34, including $5.34 sales tax. Only now, months later, do I realize why I didn’t renew The Wall Street Journal: I didn’t believe the actuality of the sales tax. How trivial can a motivation be?
For Vanity Fair, let’s start with basics. Early on, I didn’t pay much attention to the renewal notices…just filed them. I began to pay serious attention when a notice marked “Urgent” told me I had until Nov. 15 to respond to an offer labeled “Urgent” — Second Notice, one year for $12 “plus $3.00 postage & handling.” I regarded the p&h artifice as schlocky, not only because cards blown into the magazine extended the same offer to anybody out there but also because of the ampersand and the word “handling,” which I’ll jeer at later.
Did waiting pay? Maybe. Vanity Fair bestowed “Priority Status” on me. Proof? That’s the exact wording on the carrier envelope. Priority Status meant I could get a one-year subscription for $16…and order a second subscription for $12. I had to exercise this option by Nov. 18, three days after the “Urgent” one.
A database trap grabbed me before I could honor the deadline. Another mailing gave me a “Special Low Holiday Gift Rate” — $16 for the first subscription, $12 for a second one, reply due by Dec. 2. I’ve heard of the High Holidays, so a Low Holiday, with no change in rate, seemed comforting.
Hard on the heels of this was an envelope labeled “Red Alert!” I had to reply by Dec. 16 to take advantage of this one — $16 for the first subscription and $12 for a second subscription.
Now, wait just a minute: Here’s another “Urgent” Third Notice, and except for “Third” replacing “Second,” word for word the same as the one with a Nov. 15 deadline. This one asked me to reply before Dec. 13.
Uh-oh. Here’s an envelope marked “Last-Chance Savings!” And what are the savings? A year for $12 plus (buried) $3 postage & handling. Damn it, the same three objections: p&h is schlocky, the ampersand is a damaging instrument, and “handling” isn’t a bright incentive word for a subscription. This mailing said, “You must act now!” but didn’t suggest a deadline.
So I blew my last chance. Oh, did I? Hold it: Here’s another Last Chance. Good letter this time, headed, “I DIDN’T WANT TO WRITE THIS LETTER.” The offer? $16 for the first subscription, $12 for additional subscriptions.
Well, that’s what I get for not believing. A couple of weeks later, here’s an ice-cold mailing. The envelope says, simply, “Renewal Form Enclosed.” It’s one of those “Professional Discount Vouchers” that gives me a year for $12*. Hey, what’s the asterisk for? I’ll bet it’s for $3 p&h, but it just hangs there, unexplained.
So what to do? I certainly want to know whether other big-brain celebrities such as Cher or Keanu Reeves or Vin Diesel lard their troglodytic conversations with “I’m, like.” What if instead they’re “Y’know” addicts and I miss out?
And what if Dominick Dunne writes another article telling how many celebrities he knows, and I’m not on the inside? That would be a cross I might not be able to bear.
So by the time you read this, probably I’ll have re-subscribed at whatever rate the next Urgent or Last Chance offer proposes. Or maybe I’ll just go to a newsstand and shake one of those cards out of a copy. I do enjoy the magazine…almost as much as I enjoy tearing into its relentless subscription reminders.
HERSCHELL GORDON LEWIS is the principal of Lewis Enterprises in Fort Lauderdale, FL. He consults with and writes direct response copy for clients worldwide. Among his 26 books are “Marketing Mayhem” and the recently published “Effective E-mail Marketing.”
