Adventures In Permission Marketing: The Anthro Card

I don't know about you, but I'm dying to find out.

Somehow, I have become a person who buys clothing at Anthropologie. I cannot say that I ever thought this would happen. I have a pretty strict no-extraneous-fabric-flowers-on-clothing rule, and I’m not into flowy skirts or embroidered tights. But as we move out of the Naughts and the remainders of the unfortunate sartorial period hallmarked by the experimental ostentatious femininity of Sex and the City, I’m finding that Anthropologie stocks clothing reliably that is appropriate for my career as a mother (i.e. washable) and as a lazy bum (i.e. comfortable) but that I can still go outside in (i.e. not sweat pants). Plus, they offer some more intriguing takes on what are, basically, outfits comprised wholly of t-shirts and jeans.

Whatever.

I suppose it was only a matter of time: you cannot keep shopping at Urban Outfitters for much longer after you hit 35, unless you are very very specific in your choices, or refuse to let age force you to quit smoking hash. When they started stocking the Cute Overload book I knew I had moved out of their target demographic. Then, of course, there’s Banana Republic et al., but if you shop there for too long, well . . . how many oxfords and khakis can one have, really?

I was buying my pants yesterday, and the Anthropologie guy said, “Do you have an Anthro card?” And after I realized he was not talking about something for which a terror alert might be issued or that might require me to wear rubber gloves whilst sorting mail, I decided to listen to his pitch. I’ve talked about permission marketing here before, but I mostly don’t participate with companies in it (Daily Candy being the one notable exception) since my thought is that it’s rare that a company is going to offer me marketing materials that I actually want to read. I have to feel like I’m getting something out of the deal that is worhtwhile in order to sign up, and most opportunities just aren’t worth it for the occasional 20% off coupon or whatever. (And don’t get me started with the companies that require you to intentionally opt-out of these kinds of programs . . . drugstore.com, I’m scowling in your general direction.)

Besides, the Anthropologie guy assured me that this mysterious Anthro card would welcome me into the world of all things Antropologie. And all at once my mind started racing, because like I just admitted, I have apparently become somebody who shops at Anthropologie. Would I get the inside scoop on sales? New products and trends? An at-length explanation for why they have added an -ie suffix onto an English word that should end in -y? Who knew? I decided to sign up and see what happened.

I’ve only been an Anthro cardholder for one day, but already I’ve acquired several new things. Take this membership kit wrapped in a gratuitous felt bag made out of the kind of fabric one might happen upon, as if by magic, at a French flea market! Do the French even have fleas? I don’t know!

Hey look! Gratuitous packaging!

I have to wonder at this inclusion, since it’s precisely the kind of thing I don’t like to deal with at home (superfluous packaging that forces me to either feel guilty about throwing away or find some kind of alternative use for). On the other hand, it’s kind of nice to get something pretty to take home, for “free,” even when it’s useless. And I have to assume the Anthro Card team knows that customers might feel this way.

I wonder if this will get me past some kind of velveteen rope somewhere.

The inside of the fabric bag is filled with equally superfluous and expensive material. The card itself is nothing to write home about, but the pull-out flyer does a good job of creating the illusion of something handmade that is actually mass-produced. I have to assume that this cost quite a bit to produce. Which must have a little something to do with what “we” hold dear:

I don't know about you, but I'm dying to find out.

I’m still a little skeptical about whether or not this permission marketing will turn out well for me. The offerings seem a little paltry for me. From me, they will learn things about my buying and returning habits, which products sell well in what geographical area, what kinds of people are among their repeat clientele.

Yes. Yes. I hold this dear. I do! I do! Pick me!

I might get some discounts here and there. Some tips on cool ideas for Commodity Fetishism. Probably some fabric bags or something, too. And If I need to take stuff back and I’ve lost my receipt, no problem.

Old-fashioned service. Yes. What ever happened to that? Wait. Are you saying I'm old?

On the other hand, I want to encourage this kind of marketing. I like it so much more than the interuption format. At least I know this is something I signed up for, from a retailer that has products I tend to like. That alone is revolutionary. And I’d like to see more companies doing it, so I’ll sign up. One thing about the Anthro card that might be a good feature, though, is for those times when you get home and are confronted by this:

This is some newfangled version of a security tag they didn't have back in the olden days when I worked retail.

Maybe add a feature where a guy drives to your house with a security tag remover and fixes it for you? Just throwing out ideas for both of us to grow, Anthropologie.

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