On November 19, USPS Business Alliance Manager Mike Naples broached a subject many of us new-media-obsessed marketers don’t think about very much: direct mail. Direct mail, Naples asserted, is the work horse of direct marketing. It has measurable results, it’s affordable, and it’s easy to target your best customers.
Lest you think that snail mail has gone the way of the dinosaur and eight track player, consider the numbers: we spend 47 billion dollars annually on direct mail marketing—about 9% the of GDP. Compare that to the 6 billion dollars spent on internet marketing.
Closer to home, think about how direct mail affects you. I, for instance, am a Web developer. I haven’t had a printer hooked up to my computer in at least two years. I tweet. I also have one Harry and David’s catalog, two Coldwater Creek catalogs, and a brochure for the AMA Face to Face training series on my coffee table. A kitchen drawer is crammed with 20% off coupons from Bed, Bath, and Beyond. So even the techiest of the techies are touched by good old-fashioned hard copy, especially when it is targeted precisely to our needs and wants.
Direct mail also has a much longer shelf life than, say, a marketing email, which drops like a rock into the abyss of the overcrowded in-box in a matter of days. (How long have those catalogs been sitting on my coffee table? You don’t wanna know.)
The age of mass media advertising is over. Today’s marketing must be personalized and non-intrusive to break through the barriers of spam filters, TIVO, and our general self-trained indifference to advertising. Direct mail, though massive in scope, is not the same as general advertising, said Naples.
General advertising, such as a sign on the side of a bus, sells a product. Direct mail sells offers. General advertising creates sales. Direct mail creates customers—whom you can learn about and collect data from for better CRM and future marketing efforts. General advertising is short, appeals to the emotions, and maybe even tries to make you laugh. Direct mail can use lengthy copy that focuses on facts, and, Naples, says, it makes you money.

As seen on TV, well-known pitchman Billy Mays, the “yell-and-sell OxiClean guy,” recently passed away. At this point, we’d already been mourning Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson, who had both passed away just two days before. Mays, like Jackson, was only fifty when he died—becoming the third celebrity to die within two days.
Many in my generation grew up loathing the Sunday morning infomercials that just stunk compared to Saturday’s glorious proliferation of cartoons. Whenever Billy Mays hogged the airwaves, we rolled our eyes (and covered our ears) at “Orange-Glo guy.” But hate him or love him, we all knew who he was. And he was always there year after year, still managing to stay in our TVs—because his infomercials worked. Mays knew about direct response marketing, and until only recently, I didn’t realize how brilliant he really was.
My ad internship boss gave me the first eye-opener, mentioning in passing one day how much she loves Billy Mays.
“Really?” I’d said, floored by my bewilderment.
“Yeah! I love his show Pitchmen. Did you know these people actually study pitching as a career?” (I didn’t.)
“Being a pitchman is a difficult craft. People work hard finding out the best way to do it and crafting their style and personal brand.”
“Wow,” the brilliantly eloquent intern had replied.
How strange. The anti-entertainment guy was entertaining—and even admirable—to some people. All these years, I’d asked the TV in irritation: “does he really have to talk that way?” and it turns out that the answer is yes—a boisterously loud and Billy-Mays-style “yes!”
If you ever catch a glimpse of Mays’ show Pitchmen, you’ll find out that he actually isn’t always on loudspeaker-mode. Suddenly, you begin to see him as a businessman: impressively engrossed in his work, dedicated and decisive. And an expert at branding (yes, branding) and a pioneer in the realm of direct response marketing.
And ultimately, didn’t it all work? These fledgling products were able to enter a mature market (and countless household cabinets country-wide). Chances are, you or someone close to you has purchased one of those green-and-purple bottles of Kaboom, and it’s sitting under your very own kitchen sink right now.
You’d never compare Mays’ bearded smile to Fawcett’s pin-up poster smile, nor his shows to Jackson’s chart-topping music videos. But if Mays’ kind of kitchen-sink appeal doesn’t make an average guy like him just as much of an American icon, then I don’t know what does.
Joanne Hung, originally from Sugar Land, Texas, is currently interning at Steel Advertising & Interactive in Austin. She will be a fourth-year student in the fall at the University of Texas, where she will continue completing her Plan II and Adverting degrees, as well as her portfolio in the Texas Creative sequence. She can be reached by email at jyhung220@yahoo.com.