Kranz On Copy: Insights and answers on copywriting and writing copy

The front page of today's Boston Globe features an article on the resurgence of direct mail, The offer's in the mail, by Jenn Abelson. She credits the substantial rise in mail to the effects of can-spam legislation and the Do Not Call registry.

While I don't dispute their influence, I suspect that an important third factor is in play as well: tangibility. In an age of bits and bytes, there's something inherently satisfying about ink and paper, about a message that's literally substantial, as opposed to virtual.

In my experience, I find that e-mail (for example) is a poor medium for introducing oneself to new prospects. If they don't know who you are, they hit "delete" and move on. Sure, direct mail response rates often struggle in the low single digits, but dollar for dollar, the mail package remains a powerful way to make that crucial first impression. In ink. On paper. In the customer's hands.

(By the way, I love e-mail as a way to sustain contact with customers you already have or prospects already familiar with you.)

Now an amusing story, culled once again from my trip to NYC last weekend to participate in the BookExpo America event. On Sunday, two hours before the Expo was to shut its doors, I was making my way towards the exit loaded with three bags of free books. As I made my way, I spied the American Girls booth and remembered that I couldn't return home to my girls empty handed. Could I score a goodie here?

There were three women at the otherwise empty booth. I raved about the American Girls dolls and their affiliated publications, the books and magazines that complement the dolls' stories. I told them, truthfully, that my daughters love the American Girls.

"How many do you have?" one woman asked.

I paused, putting my finger thoughtfully to my chin. "Let's see," I said aloud, counting in my mind the number of full-sized American Girls, the Bitty Baby, the Girls of Many Lands...

The women turned to each other in surprise, then looked at me in alarm. "You don't know how many you have?" one asked.

"Well," I said defensively. "There are so many!"

They laughed. "Typical man!" one said. "Doesn't even know how many kids he has."

"Kids?" I said. "I thought you meant dolls." I told them I had two daughters -- as far as I knew. They seemed relieved, then impressed when I was able to tell them exactly how many American Girls dolls resided in my home as well.