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Don’t Buy This Ad

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Photo Christopher Michel/Flickr

Flip an axis, make millions

Vietnam, hippies, and the civil rights movement all fomented into a powerful decade: the 60s. Flowery colors exalted a message of happiness and love over war. The Baby Boomer generation entered the workforce in droves.

Profits were to be made, and companies were eager to snatch even small portions of this new market. The continued growth of suburbs spawned a movement towards independence via cars. At this time of great economic and scientific potential, one auto company, VW (Volkswagen), created one of the most iconic advertisements ever made.

Printed in black, bold lettering was the word, “Lemon.” And above the text was a classic VW Beetle. Lemons were unreliable cars, and the VW ad suggested that the company carefully screened out those cars. Only perfection would be accepted; or, as they stated, “We pluck the lemons; you get the plums.”

Turning a word on its axis and daring readers to read on was risky. The advertisement had the potential to make consumers think, “VW Beetle is a lemon.” If they stayed for the explanation, the ad became clear; subtly, they were suggesting that other companies don’t care about reliability as much. By using “lemon,” they capitalized and succeeded in selling significantly more cars. It worked.

How “don’t buy” becomes “buy more”

In 2012, another company took a big risk: Patagonia. The corporate and marketing teams noted that there was a growing movement towards sustainability. Encompassed in this trend were simple living aficionados, minimalists, and value-oriented consumers. These careful consumers wanted great quality in responsible packages.

This Patagonia’s niche for quite some time. They advertised fair-trade, organic, and environmentally friendly products. Sales were growing, but then they decided to bet the farm on one massive ad in The New York Times. With bombastic, bold text, they wrote, “Don’t buy this jacket.” Behind the text was a Patagonia jacket.

Underneath the ad, the company focused on five key words: reduce, repair, reuse, recycle, and reimagine. Every word was paired with a communal pronoun of “We.” It took everyone to reduce the carbon footprint, make the garments last, and find good homes for them after use. Patagonia seemed to be advertising that consumers take good care of the goods, and consider repairing them before throwing them away. All solid virtues.

These value-laden terms were inspirational to those who had suffered through The Great Recession. Because the company struck a chord with the current market demands, the company profited royally. After that advertising campaign, the company saw double-digit growth.

Ironically, that’s unsustainable. Double-digit growth, compounded repeatedly, would make the company larger than Apple in a few years. And never mind the horrible environmental costs that would be necessary to produce these garments.

Your values can become a manipulation tool

Nefarious. That’s the word that comes to mind when companies manipulate us through our values. The trick is subtle, and if you blink you’ll miss it.

For the aspirational types, there’s Gucci, Coach, and Louis Vuitton. For the trend setters, there’s H&M and Express. For the recreational, there’s The North Face, Columbia, and even Patagonia. Each brand is shaped by its consumers, but also shapes their consumers – the effect is bidirectional. In other words, we affect brands and they affect us.

If our values center on sustainability, kindness to the Earth, and repairing over ridding, a chicanery of sorts can be used against us. Without the brand awareness and heavy advertising, we could go to Goodwill or any other secondhand store for options. The clothing would be in fine shape or could even be repaired to return to like-new status. But we don’t, and there’s a reason why.

Corporations are powerful. Even the kindest ones can sway us from choosing another, more affordable option because they espouse “our” values. We like when we see our values portrayed in mission statements. We like that connection and feeling of being a part of something larger than ourselves. The brands fill that void. They provide a home for values.

So, should I buy that shirt?

Patagonia plainly states “Don’t buy this shirt.” Unfortunately, to those that connect with anti-consumption, anti-materialism, and minimalism, it’s hard not to foam at the mouth with lust for this company’s ad.

I love it! That’s the ad for me. It speaks to my heart. Despite the clear declaration to avoid purchasing their clothing, I can’t help but be intrigued and want to support them.

Subtly, the company is able to supplant a more frugal choice when the time comes to buy something. Goodwill doesn’t have the marketing budget of Patagonia, so the first reaction isn’t to shop there. But it’s more sustainable, frugal, and creates jobs for some of the most disenfranchised in the community. That’s a win-win-win, and it doesn’t cost us $80, $90, or $100.

To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with supporting companies that share your values. But know that this is a marketing trick, and when you choose VW or Patagonia after seeing that advertisement, it’s worked. They got you.

Homelessness Is Everyone’s Problem

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Snowplow Street

I stood there, harboring a chip on my shoulder and feeling like I was carrying a burden in my chest. School was entering the toughest part of the year, and I was still trudging along in sub-zero, arctic-like temperatures of Iowa. Stressed out and pissed off, the snow pummeled and angled for my eyes.

Over a foot of snow accumulated in two hours. I couldn’t see the concrete. Roads and pedestrian paths disintegrated. Cars revved and swerved with each degree shift of the wheel. I feared I’d be the accidental recipient of an absentminded or reckless driver.

A face mask crystallized my condensed breath. I blinked and shards seemed to puncture my eyelids. Although, without it, my nose would likely fall off. I could barely breathe – artificially choked by the restrictive layer like an asthmatic marathoner.

Snow drifts and plows lined the sidewalks. My momentum couldn’t carry me over the hills, so I looked like a football player running through tires. The tendons in my knees stretched and torqued under the trot. I could tell they weren’t happy with me — every time I stopped they screamed and ached.

What was I running to? My place of work: the homeless shelter. A beacon and bastion of hope – the warm solace where my weathered feet might warm. Even more, I was motivated by the fact that my brief discomfort was another’s quotidian life. The punishing cold and snow was an unfortunate norm to the population I came to serve. The homeless were suffering far more at the worst part of the season. I needed to get there and try to make a difference.

An academic year — summer to summer — passed since I started working at the shelter. I saw the seasons change, turnover in residents, and demographic shifts. People with pennies to their name would come in and seek shelter — some would be turned away for lack of room. Some would be paired with case managers, find work, and a fresh start in a new apartment. Sometimes the system worked, and sometimes it failed. Some homeless people were self-starters, and others needed additional help.

As a white guy from a middle-class neighborhood in the Denver area, my experience in life seemed to differ from many of the residents of the shelter. My parents worked hard, but also made time for me. They are still married after 30 years. And they consciously decided on neighborhoods with strong schools. Many residents came from broken families and piss poor educations.

I was born white, and with it, I gained an unearned privilege. Police would pay less attention to me. Teachers would pay more attention to me. Honors and advanced placement (AP) courses were always available, and I was encouraged to take them. Life was easy in these respects. I had difficulties growing up – often feeling like an outsider – but these paled in comparison to systemic racism, segregation, and lost opportunities.

In many ways, I grew to appreciate that shelters are society’s measly attempt at righting systemic wrongs. They focus on the bare necessities usually: a place to sleep and a daily meal. Occasionally, there’s a pair of shoes or gloves that will prevent frostbite.

How do we let people ever get this low? How do we fail to provide for those in need of greater assistance? Unfortunately, answers are complex. It requires changing the dialogues we have with others and in our own heads about poverty, income/wealth inequality, and homelessness.

On my last day, I hugged the staff goodbye and shook the hands of some residents I had gotten to know. My eyes welled up with sadness. A year of counseling and communication with one of the most vulnerable populations… It was overwhelming. I had continuously reached my limits as a counselor – newly defined due to this experience. Sometimes I couldn’t help as much as I wanted because basic needs were unmet. My role at that point became to assist in whatever way I could.

Today, I write about this experience in the hope that you’ll listen and advocate for those in need. The financial burdens of people without homes is great, but the systemic problems that lead to this place are even greater. Advocacy is the only option, and it goes beyond serving food at a soup kitchen or counseling. Change necessitates sociopolitical involvement, which requires us to write, vote, and get upset about it.

We live in a perplexing time of great wealth with horrific poverty. How the two exist and continue is a consequence of systemic, legal, and political action. To change it, we must use the same tools.

In Salt Lake City, there’s a movement afoot to change this paradigm. It’s called, “housing first.” Instead of judging people and calling them “lazy addicts,” Salt Lake provides housing to the homeless. Radically simple, isn’t it? They provide housing, which clears and cleans the streets, and it turns out that it’s cheaper than letting people freeze to death and/or suffering horrific injuries that need the emergency department as a primary means of care.

When you provide housing first, you stop judging someone for all their faults, and start seeing a person that is from a community – who had varying opportunities to succeed. And best of all, it’s affordable.

The sun is beaming down and a breeze passes through my hair. It’s pleasant. And then I think, what will it be like for those out there on the streets tonight? I never used to think that, but now I do almost every day.

Shatter Your Definition Of Success

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McMansions

Tell me about successful people and you might be inclined to rattle off resumes. Perhaps these people work hard and make sizable sums of money. Maybe they are moving into multiple-thousand square foot homes with ample room. They could even have the prestigious title of doctor or chief executive.

In our highly individualistic society that hails “hard work” and “grit” and “responsibility” and “choice,” we learn early on what success looks like. Different cultures have variations of vocational prestigiousness, but many share in the desire to own land, property, and make more money than most. To be accomplished, one must follow this tattered path.

The ability to captivate through material possessions and titles is dangerous. Real success and accomplishment seems lost amidst this cavalcade of crap. Worse, these measures of success are not afforded to everyone. Minorities and those from disenfranchised backgrounds are not offered the same opportunities to “succeed” in these traditional ways. For example, faculty at institutions of higher learning are overwhelmingly white men, and that’s a problem for everyone.

Our ideas and definitions of success are decrepit. We need new measures, and we’re long overdue. If success cannot be afforded with greater equality, why do we continue to allow these narrow ideas to continue? What exactly are we doing with these antiquated ideals? Why do we trumpet individual achievement that only goes to consume and perpetuate inequities?

Society benefits in the propagation of materialism and consumption. And current measures of success conveniently fit this modality. Buy the home, buy a bigger one. Buy the car, buy a more luxurious one.

We need better, less financially dependent measures of successes. Education is out of reach for many. Material possessions are tired and tried methods of achievement. Income disparities are nearing Gilded Age levels again. Larger homes consume more fossil fuels to heat and cool. Luxury vehicles tend to burn through gasoline. And prestigious titles seem reserved for those born and ascribed status.

Just because “success” works for capitalism doesn’t mean it works for the collective. Let’s craft something a little different. Perhaps we can live in a world that defines success flexibly. Perhaps we can see success in the helping hand, time, and dollar given to anyone/someone in need. Perhaps we can see success in the mother that raises children who respect the planet and find ways to help others. Perhaps we need to break out from formal strictures that rule over our lives, and consider that consumption cannot equal achievement.

Disbanding this present thinking provides for a future with hope for the masses. Achievements needn’t be through prescribed methods and lists of prestigious professions. We need a world with janitors, plumbers, assistant to the assistant managers, and everything in between. We need a world where someone making $35,000 per year, retiring with little, but helping find foster homes for children is seen as a hero (and heck, would it hurt to pay that person a little more?).

Humans are incredibly creative; yet, we have allowed these to persist. We are flawed, but have great potential. It’s time to shed archaic messages. They were convenient for marketers, but harbored horrific messages to those who couldn’t meet the prescribed rules.

How would you define success? Who are your role models? What do you think about income, vocation, and education as measures of success?

Think You Can Trust Credit Card Reviews? Think Again.

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Advertising in New York City. Flickr photo by Pascal Subtil

These ads are everywhere!

The multinational, multibillion-dollar bank, JP Morgan & Chase, spent about $1.9 billion on advertising in 2013. That was down from a peak of $2.35 billion in 2011, but still one of the largest amounts by any bank. With that kind of money, you should be curious what they get in return.

Advertisements for companies like Chase, Citigroup, Barclays, and others are plastered over billboards, magazines, newspapers, and websites. You’ve likely passed by one of their ads today if you live in a modest size city. Heck, there could be one next to this article, due to the Google ads running on Frugaling!

That money is spent to attract new “customers” of credit. Their hope is to entice people with signup bonus offers, and keep them for life. After they click an ad, sign up online, and begin to swipe, the banks begin to profit. From credit card transaction fees to late payment fees to cash advance fees to interest rate fees, companies enjoy lucrative profits. For every new customer, banks trust they’ll make hundreds of dollars over the next few years – if not more.

Personal finance writers are easily influenced

Those advertising pressures and interests can trickle down. Websites that aim to address personal finance concerns and offer advice might succumb to the fire hose of potential profit available to them. With my hat in hand, I must admit I was one of them.

I made thousands of dollars in about 1.5 years by marketing credit cards. By placing links to select offers, I was able to make $50, $75, and even $150 per person who signed up. The affiliate money helped me radically change my life and pay off my debt. But as it helped me pay off my debt, I began to see how I had been duped.

In financially unsound and uncertain situations, people do things they’d rather not do. Frankly, society sometimes encourages us to put our heads down and work through the pain and ethical dilemmas – ignore your internal compass for the good of the company, profit, and revenue. I had become one of those people.

When reviews are really advertisements

Reviews aim to feature both the pros and cons of certain products. Readers want honest feedback and advice from authors, but they weren’t getting it. Visitors to my site were coming droves to see my “reviews.” But that’s not what they were really getting.

Unfortunately, moneyed interests in banking have a tremendous sway on the rating of products. Look through many websites that market credit and banking products, and you’ll begin to notice an overwhelming pattern of 4- and 5-star reviews – across the board. With this positivity, you’d expect credit cards to wash your dishes, clean your laundry, and chauffeur you to work.

How could any company’s product be rated this highly? There’s a reason for optimism and it all comes down to money. Those advertising dollars – billions from banks – trickle down to the simplest of bloggers, directly influence the content, favorability, and overall reviews.

Visitors who are interested in honest, open advice might be shocked to know that when they click that link to sign up, they are crediting that blogger hundreds of dollars in the process. Even more, that the entire review was fabricated to drive more clicks to the bank’s site. When I wrote these articles, I suppressed the negatives to encourage clicks. I was advertising products, and framing them as reviews.

Credit cards aren’t the devil, but they’re not for everyone

We live in a world where big banks spend billions to get at us. Their money travels onto TV, print, and diverse digital media. Eventually, it even lands into the pockets of personal finance websites. That’s when the magical influence occurs, and people end up following the manipulated “advice” of trusted sources.

With revenue pouring over the Internet from companies, my real advice is simple: be skeptical. My hope is that no one gets tricked into thinking that a writer completely – and out of his or her own volition and without profit motive – decides to write a credit card review.

Here are 9 important questions you should ask yourself before following any credit card review:

  1. Do the reviews link directly to the bank’s sign up forms?
  2. Are there affiliate tags embedded in the links?
  3. What makes the writer optimistic about the company and card?
  4. Do they personally use all of these cards that they recommend?
  5. What income bracket is the reviewer in?
  6. What’s their credit score?
  7. What was their experience with customer service representatives?
  8. How long has the reviewer been providing advice?
  9. What makes them an expert in credit cards?
  10. How might incentives influence the quality of this review?

Credit cards aren’t the devil, and they don’t tend to be the sole contributor to debt. Usually, it’s a lifestyle of spending more than you can afford, with little income to pay the bills. That doesn’t mean excessive purchases at Burberry and Hermes; rather, that any amount over what you take in will lead to debt (groceries included). Credit cards just facilitate that process – faster – as the fees quickly compound.

When personal finance writers begin to weigh in, it’s vital that their advice be accurate, fair, and balanced. Unfortunately, it’s frequently manipulated by advertising revenue potential. I learned how the money could influence what I ultimately write, and I no longer want to lobby for an industry that sometimes preys off of people that genuinely need help. If you see a review article from me, it’s my hope to be as analytical as possible.

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