American Express Loves Me. American Express Loves Me Not.

Dear American Express,

Which is it? Do you want me or not?

It seems like every other day you send me pre-approved credit card applications. It's so striking because other than your non-stop solicitations that go straight from my mailbox to the shredder, the stream is dry. Credit just doesn't flow like it use to.

Maybe this is why you sent me an email yesterday stating that you reduced the credit line of the one card of yours I already have. I heard about credit card companies doing this, and even if it is becoming commonplace, I nevertheless took offense. My credit is SPOTLESS, and since I haven't used your card in years, I don't think you should treat me like a credit risk.

So I canceled my card. I was rather impressed with how easy it was to do. It's all handled through the robo-system, no need to talk to an actual human being.

(Personally, I almost always think it's best to handle any kind of cancellation in person. At the very least, you should want to know why people are leaving. That's business intelligence. It's customer insight that can help you manage and improve retention. If I was a high-value customer, then you'd want a person there to convince me to stay. Perhaps there is no such thing as a high-value customer in the credit card business anymore...)

So farewell, at least until Monday, when you'll send more offers–and ultimately more direct mail money and recycling–my way.

-joanie

REI made me into an advocate

Dear REI,

Wow. I'm impressed. I'm going to convince every one of my friends who are even remotely outdoorsy to become members.

Last week I received your annual report of sorts. It was great: one part dividend (yay!), one part community-building (yes, I feel like I'm part of you!), and one part catalog (for planning that next purchase!). I felt elation, belonging, and even thrill. I immediately took the thing to my husband and said something like, "I can't believe what we get for being members!"

There's a lot to learn in your recent gesture about what I call affective customer experiences:

One. Notice the present tense in my reaction. "Get," not "got." My elation is due in part to the included dividend and 20% off coupon, but also to the fact that REI membership seems to keep giving. I know there will be more goodness down the line, and it keeps me expectantly excited.

Two. The good feeling is combined with an annual report that is rather transparent about your profit and outlook. The report is fascinating to me but also inclusive of me. In my spending and receiving, I feel like I'm a part of a different kind of capitalism altogether. It seems human and makes me feel good about how I'm spending my money. (This is a very different feeling than the one I got from AT&T, which declared me part of its family but has yet to give me a reason to believe.)

Three. I'm not sure you're giving me anything that other companies don't already give in one way or another. In the end, you're simply handing out a few discounts and rebates. What works is how you consistently position those rewards to make me feel excited, special, and engaged in something different and valuable.

Here's how your rewards have worked for me so far:

1) Last fall, I paid a one-time fee of $20 to be a lifetime member. I'm not sure if it was a special, but when I did it, I immediately got to take 20% off an item. I happened to be in REI to buy a couple Therm-a-Rest LuxuryCamp Sleeping Pads (oh yeah!), so I saved about $28 on one. In my case, the discount paid for the membership. I felt great.

2) At the end of the year, I got a 20% coupon. I had been contemplating buying a Yakima SkyBox Pro 18 Roof Box, and the 20% discount was the tipping point. I saved a bundle and felt great.

3) This month, you gave me a dividend, which was roughly 10% of my purchases (excluding the discounted items). You also gave me a 20% coupon. I'm excited to use them!

The difference between REI and the average company is that you consistently–even regularly–deliver what Zappos has called a WOW experience. Delivering this experience over time is what Brandon Schauer calls The Long Wow. "Wow" seems like the right word to me.

I'm not an active person so to me you're like Obama. I'm still learning what to expect, but if you run your company like you run your campaigns, then you will make me more than a lifetime member. I will truly be a lifetime advocate.

-joanie

Payless ShoeSource makes me feel like a (phone) number

Dear Payless ShoeSource,

I didn't expect you to call me last week. We just don't have that kind of relationship. So imagine my surprise when I checked my voicemail and there you were, eagerly confusing, annoying, and alienating me with your announcement of a "bogo" sale.

First, let me be honest with you. I'm a little embarrassed to be writing you this open letter. I don't exactly get pride in announcing to everyone on the Internet that I shop for shoes at your store. In fact, I feel compelled to explain straightaway that I don't buy shoes for myself there. I only buy shoes for my kids because they outgrow them in days, if not hours. And in fact, I go to your store only after I've exhausted my other options.

I hope you don't take that the wrong way. I'm not trying to put you down. After all, I'm a customer. I just want you to know that I'm not a loyal customer. I know there are Payless diehards out there, but I would hazard a guess that many more of your customers (me included) are actually cheap chic freaks. It's a subtle distinction, but one that recognizes that there's nothing sacred in our relationship. In other words, you don't have anything I can't get from Target, among other companies that promise I'll "pay less."

Customer relationships can be tenuous and fragile, like Humpty Dumpty. Perhaps you know that. Maybe that's why you called me like a desperate boyfriend. But robocalling me and using industry acronyms I don't recognize are hardly the ways to nurture a relationship and transform casual customers into loyal advocates, or at least repeat customers.

Instead, here's what robocalling me did for me: it made me see you less like Target (which I *heart*) and more like those dirty telemarketers and pollsters that I loathe. Your associative set just got a lot uglier.

At a time when human touches are vital ways companies can differentiate themselves in a competitive market during an economic recession, you became a lot less human and a lot more desperate in my eyes, which isn't a good look.

These days I'm watching my dollars. I'm thinking twice before I spend them, and these thoughtless encounters are making me think twice about you. I doubt I'm alone. For every robocall you make, you risk sacrificing tomorrow's customers for a buck today. The gains, if any, are short-lived and hardly inline with the zeitgeist of the moment.

-joanie