Really, Condé-Nast?

Really? Immediate attention required? Condé-Nast, can you please take it down a notch? What would happen if we all acted as if there were other things going on in this world other than just the stuff we’re doing and we care about? Can we put things into context here? Think about what might be important in someone else’s life, not just in your own little sphere. This piece of correspondence might be important to Condé-Nast, but it’s probably not as important to the recipient as they’re making it out to be.

When seeing this letter, the recipient is to be compelled to open this immediately. But it can wait. It has to do with a magazine subscription, probably. It’s not that important. If the recipient cares a lot about their magazine subscriptions, they will open the letter in due time. But this is presented as very important correspondence. Here are some examples of actually important correspondence: Tax-related documents; letters containing checks, credit cards, or other money; a social security card; wedding certificate. Magazine subscription notices are not as important.

Why do I care about this? Well, if the ante keeps getting upped, how will we know what’s actually important? Will the IRS have to send letters with blinking LEDs attached to get our attention? If Condé-Nast recognized it’s place on the importance scale, they would just send a letter with a to: address and a return address. Simple. I’ll get to it, eventually. It’s just that I feel like we’re living in a world where companies are interested our attention so much that they are all competing to get it, no matter what it takes. I get sick of all the ads in my face all the time and this feels like the same kind of attention-invasion. Maybe I shouldn’t worry about it. But then, again, maybe Condé-Nast will send their next letter in a hot-pink envelope with stinging nettles on it, so I really take notice, and “ow!”-activated glue on the outside, so I can’t put it down. Then it will automatically open and a picture of a naked lady will emerge, singing a jolly jingle about the benefits of some kind of magazine arriving at my mailbox on a monthly basis.


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