Stupid Creative Watch: Black-Card Pitch Misses Mark

Whenever I receive an unusual direct-mail prospecting piece, I invariably wonder what list I must be on in order to have been selected by the marketer as a target.

For example, a credit-card pitch arrived recently indicating someone thinks I’m really well off—I’m not; I’m moderately well off, but my credit score is good—and that I’m elitist and superficial.

The pitch arrived in an invitation-sized matte black envelope. The part of the envelope that normally carries a return address said simply BLACK CARD in 16-point, bold, sans serif gold lettering. The back of the envelope said: “INVITATION ENCLOSED.”

“Ooh. Look how cool you are,” said my wife. “I’ve never received one of these.”

Opening the envelope revealed a simple postcard.

“Dear Ken Magill,” it said.

“By invitation, you have been PRE-SELECTED to receive the exclusive Visa Black Card. Limited to only 1% of U.S. residents, Black Card members are ensured the highest caliber of personal service. Cardmembers enjoy a 24-hour Concierge Assistant, Exclusive Rewards Program, and Luxury Gifts from some of the world’s top brands. Made with carbon, the Visa Black Card is guaranteed to get you noticed.”

The pitch also included a three-panel application on glossy card stock:

“GET YOUR EXCLUSIVE BLACK CARD NOW, THE WORLD’S MOST PRESTIGEOUS AND VERSATILE CREDIT CARD” said the headline and subhead.

Under the headline and subhead were bullet points laying out the card’s benefits once again.

But there was an extra bullet point at the end—a decidedly non-benefit-oriented bullet point.

“Annual fee $495,” it said.

$495 annually? What the heck could this card possibly offer worth $495 per year?

Oh. Wait a minute. It’s made of carbon and will get me noticed, remember? Plus it offers 24-hour concierge service.

First, the only time I ever get noticed in public is when I’m being tossed out of a tavern for forgetting, once again, that no one wants to see a drunk, fat, middle-aged man dance on the bar while swinging his shirt over his head.

Second, I don’t want the kid behind the counter at the mall noticing what a cool credit card I have. It’s an invitation to getting a bunch of fraudulent Game Stop charges on it.

But what about the concierge service? Would it be worth $495 a year?

Some questions are in order:

Will they arrange pizza, Chinese-food, beer and vodka deliveries? At 2 a.m.?

Will they handle morning phone calls from my boss when my head is in the toilet?

Will they apologize to my wife on my behalf and promise I won’t do it—whatever it was this time—again?

Every weekend?

Probably not.

Now, if Visa’s database profilers were doing a proper job, they could have easily tailored an offer just for me: The Visa Blackout Card.

“In Your Grandfather’s Day, You’d Have Been Considered a Cigar-Chomping, Hard-Drinking He Man,” the headline could read.

“In the 21^st Century, You’re Considered a Pathetic, Unenlightened, High-Functioning Alcoholic. Get the Exclusive Visa Blackout Card,” would make a good subhead.

Benefits could include all of the above, plus:

*A bar locator indicating places it’s almost impossible to get thrown out of.

*A feature that blocks online porn purchases between midnight and 4 a.m.

*A friendly customer service rep on call 24-hours a day ready to explain to my wife that I stumbled upon those sites accidentally.

*A pressure sensor and GPS locator that could tell when I’ve fallen on my ass, and where, so Visa could call me a cab.

*A bed-spin sensor that would trip an ear-piercing alarm along with a loud warning voice yelling at me to get up and get to the bathroom.

*Points with every purchase that could be used against trips to rehab.

The Visa Blackout Card: It’s Everywhere You Can’t Remember You’ve Been.