You've got (too much) mail!

I’m old enough to remember the upbeat-but-grandfatherly voice that used to announce, “YOU’VE GOT MAIL!” every time a new email hit my inbox. And I sincerely mean it when I say that I can still feel the sweet, sweet wave of adrenaline that those words used to bring. Someone sent something to me?! It was a glorious feeling.

It’s hard to imagine how that feature might be received today. That poor voice on repeat. Like a glitching Alexa. Just interrupting itself. You’ve got mai— you’ve got— you’ve— you’ve got mail.

I’d want to murder it.

But the 90’s were a different time for email. A different time for all mail, actually!

Remember when you liked getting mail?! Rushing to the mailbox after school. Unnecessarily excited to see what’s inside. Despite only knowing three people on the planet who might actually write you a letter. That was a magical time to be alive.

You know how many people still feel that way about mail today? 0.01%.

And it’s not because we got older!

You might be tempted to make that argument… the magic dies as we get older! It turns into too much mail! It goes from birthday-cards-with-$2-bills to nothing-but-bills.” Blah blah blah.

You’re wrong.

Because it’s not our journey with mail that kills the magic. We go from fun stuff that we eagerly welcome (like birthday cards, pen pal letters, and Highlights magazine) to useful life stuff that we actually need (like bank statements, bills, and W-2s) to somewhat-uninvited-but-still-relatively-qualified outreach from people we know (like holiday cards and alumni donation requests). But all of that stuff is still for us. It still makes us feel special or important.

The real culprit here— the magic killer, imo— was marketing.

Video Marketing killed the radio emailing star. Pictures A/B-testing came and broke your heart.

(This headline feels very dramatic. It also dates me. But let’s not dwell on it.)

The turning point for mail came in 2005 for me. When a wildlife NGO that I had never donated to sent me a customized stationery set— a pad of paper, some address labels, maybe a pencil— each with my name and address on it. A gift for you!

This was strategic. Cold outreach cloaked in seemingly-personalized thoughtfulness. An act of generosity meant to inspire generosity in return.

That felt gross. But the bigger problem for them was that my entire stationery set featured the wrong name! Instead of “Tyler Riewer,” every single item in that neat little kit read, “From the desk of Ryler Riewer.” None of it felt like a gift.

(Truth be told, I thought the typo was absolutely hilarious and proudly used the stationery. But that’s not the point here.)

The scatter shot approach to acquiring new donors? Desperate.
The manipulative nature of giving something so I’d give in return? Dirty.
A typo that made the whole thing feel less personal? Awkwaaaard.
The collective wastefulness? Shameful.

It was a huge turn off. Far from the, “Someone sent something to me?!” elation that used to come with mail. I felt more annoyed. Why would they send this to me? How’d they even get my address?

And mail has only been more exploited since then.

Mostly by thirsty marketers pushing new strategies to manipulate you into opening, reading, or taking action. It’s not just unwanted credit card applications today; it’s also tricky labels on the envelope— “information about your account” or “important documents enclosed.” It’s fake handwriting. Digital signatures. Coupons. Discounts. “You’re approved!” “Last chance to save!” “Our CEO wrote this letter just for you, Ryler!”

It’s a different form of phishing. And the worst part is that 90% of it is garbage. Just pure waste— that we’re responsible for throwing away or recycling— with no power to make it stop.

(The American people are also paying for USPS’s billions of dollars in debt. But I’ll save that fury for another email.)

Where there’s smoke…

All of this should feel like a very resounding Lord of the Rings-style warning horn for email marketers. Because even if we don’t have to worry about the physical-waste aspect of email, we’re still vulnerable to the emotional-hate aspect of email.

My email address used to feel like a phone number. A private way to get in touch with me. Something I welcomed you into. But now I’m not the only one sharing it. Anything I sign up for or order online can land my email address (and data attached to it) in third party hands. You want proof? Make a donation to your favorite political campaign. I gave to Obama back in 2007 and still get emails from democratic candidates I’ve never heard of to this day. The system is broken! Optimized for email senders; not email recipients.

On top of that, even the brands that I invite into my inbox are more invested in what’s in it for them than what’s in it for me. Adding me to multiple lists so if I unsubscribe from one, I might still receive another. Tracking my opens and clicks. Learning what email subject lines are more likely to get me to read.

If you work in marketing (hand-raised-emoji), none of this is unfamiliar. In fact, it’s a mandatory part of the job. Email isn’t about communication; it’s about conversion. You’re the R in the DRACI, and your KPI is ROI. You don’t need to care what’s in the e-book; you just need to care about the CTA that’s gonna drive CTOR. A/B testing is life, baaaaaby!

But I think it’s a risky game. Not just because we gamble the attention/investment of our audiences when we make it about us instead of them. But because indexing on past performance can limit you to what-perviously-performed! Suddenly every email begins to follow the same formula. Subject lines start to look the same. Content stays right there in the safe zone.

We (marketers) don’t do this part on purpose. It happens over time as we try to add new segments and send more emails. We give ourselves less and less time for brave new ideas. And we get farther and farther away from “what if we tried XYZ?!”

But what if I did try XYZ?!

That exact thought was the inspiration for this newsletter.

What if I didn’t care about what works?! What if I just carved out a weird little space to write what I want to write? To process outlandish opinions— about marketing and brand strategy, media and storytelling, work culture and leadership. To explore bizarre and unexpected questions— about déjà vu and why we see beauty differently and if animals are capable of hitting their funny bone (seriously though… are they?!). To recap my latest trip to IKEA in the form of a captain’s log. Or to recount my best poop story.

(Now you see why it’s called No One Asked For This.)

So that’s the plan.

This newsletter isn’t going to be about what performs well. Or what’s clickable. I’m not trying to build a subscription product. (You will never have to pay for this content.) I’m not tracking your actions. I’m not selling your information.

This is uncompromisable space! Meant to inspire conversation, ideas, and wonder. For humans— not consumers. And the hope is that maybe… just maybe… you’ll see it in your inbox and think, “oooh I’ve got mail!”