Today I received an email from a fellow whose pleasure it was “…to inform you that you have been selected by the nomination committee to represent your industry in the Top 100 Business Leaders of 2010.” Odd that a personal note informing me of such a singular honor would say “your industry” instead of being more specific with, say, “marketing” or “advertising.” Perish the thought, but it was almost as if this were a generic email sent willy-nilly to masses of people. And here is an odd thing: they want me to send them my bio and my company name. I am very impressed that the nominating committee was able to select me without that information.
This is just one version of many Who’s Who-type scams out there. The kind where you pay through the nose to have your name buried in a book whose pages are brushed with genuine gold-like leaf, a display case or stand for the book, a bookmark holding the book open to your page, a certificate, a certificate frame, extra books for your relatives and associates and their pets, directional signs to the shrine you build around the book, a kit and instructions for building the shrine, etc., etc.
As you doubtless have surmised, the book and accessories are not really what’s for sale. What’s for sale is ego gratification.
I once worked in a company where the boss bought into such a scam. He proudly displayed his book in the office on a pedestal the publisher sold him, open to the page where his name appeared in minuscule type among the names of a hundred thousand other dupes. He was fully convinced that Who’s Who had chosen him from among myriad, mega-qualified, daunting contenders. In reality, his name was on a mailing list of potential marks, and he bit. One helluva an egomaniac, my boss, perhaps he was the publisher’s rightful prey.
But I have also known innocent people who, receiving such an invitation, genuinely believed that they — or, even sadder, that their child — had been singled out for a bona fide honor. Humble and grateful, they were ready to hand over their credit card number. It is not easy breaking the truth to them.
Despite my use of the word “scam,” what these folks do is not illegal. They deliver exactly what they promise: they print your name in a fancy book. But the greatness of this so-called honor is entirely manufactured and vastly exaggerated. Which in my view makes their sales pitch look a lot like what ordinary people call “lying.”
I am a direct marketer. I enjoy the craft. But I wish only practitioners with integrity would avail themselves of it.
—Steve Cuno
This is just one version of many Who’s Who-type scams out there. The kind where you pay through the nose to have your name buried in a book whose pages are brushed with genuine gold-like leaf, a display case or stand for the book, a bookmark holding the book open to your page, a certificate, a certificate frame, extra books for your relatives and associates and their pets, directional signs to the shrine you build around the book, a kit and instructions for building the shrine, etc., etc.
As you doubtless have surmised, the book and accessories are not really what’s for sale. What’s for sale is ego gratification.
I once worked in a company where the boss bought into such a scam. He proudly displayed his book in the office on a pedestal the publisher sold him, open to the page where his name appeared in minuscule type among the names of a hundred thousand other dupes. He was fully convinced that Who’s Who had chosen him from among myriad, mega-qualified, daunting contenders. In reality, his name was on a mailing list of potential marks, and he bit. One helluva an egomaniac, my boss, perhaps he was the publisher’s rightful prey.
But I have also known innocent people who, receiving such an invitation, genuinely believed that they — or, even sadder, that their child — had been singled out for a bona fide honor. Humble and grateful, they were ready to hand over their credit card number. It is not easy breaking the truth to them.
Despite my use of the word “scam,” what these folks do is not illegal. They deliver exactly what they promise: they print your name in a fancy book. But the greatness of this so-called honor is entirely manufactured and vastly exaggerated. Which in my view makes their sales pitch look a lot like what ordinary people call “lying.”
I am a direct marketer. I enjoy the craft. But I wish only practitioners with integrity would avail themselves of it.
—Steve Cuno
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