The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Email Week

In honor of everybody's least favorite season, let's take a guided tour of my inbox

Let me say this off the bat. I’m sure that there are multiple people reading this newsletter whose livelihoods are dependent—either directly or indirectly—on soliciting strangers for money on the Internet. I mean, my livelihood is largely dependent on soliciting strangers for money on the Internet (by the way, I’m not sure if this is true for other newsletter authors, but this stretch of the year is by far the leanest season for new/renewed subscriptions, likely because of how many other hands are outstretched simultaneously). Just to be immensely clear, I’m writing this newsletter from my glass home next to my large pile of stones.

None of what I’m about to say is an attack on the scores of beleaguered e-marketers who press send every day on millions of strained entreaties for our money. I’m sure each and every one of you wishes that there was a better way than this. It’s a classic tragedy of the common scenario—nobody wants to be here, but for all of us caught up in the Email Solicitation Industrial Complex, the cost of stepping away is just far too high.

But it’s a bummer, you all. Not the fact that our inboxes are full of junk. At least there are remedies for that (no need to write me an email about how you’ve unsubscribed from everything and/or have a fastidious filing/deletion system! I think that’s lovely and I’m earnestly happy for you).

The biggest reason why all of this is a tremendous bummer is that the cursed garbage mountain of emails you’re receiving right now—likely some unholy amalgamation of sales pitches from brands, earnest pleas from nonprofits and whatever it is that political campaigns are doing—is evidence of multiple broken systems ramming against one another, spraying more and more detritus with every collision. It’s a capitalism problem, to be clear, but with so many accents. There is the growth at all costs problem, the philanthropic-driven social safety net problem, and the our democracy is so severely decayed problem.

The second biggest bummer, though, is that whatever your feelings on email or text messaging as platforms, we can all agree about the opportunity cost here, right? We are in such desperate need for connection with one another—to see, to be seen, to receive evidence of our interconnectedness—but a lion’s share of the key tools that are theoretically supposed to aid that connection are overloaded with “click me, click me, click me” emotional manipulation tricks.

Do you know what I’m not doing when I’m unsubscribing from an email? Thinking about a friend who is going through a difficult time, or planning for the upcoming meeting at my kids’ school about a possible sixth grade expansion, or reaching out to the recent Barnraisers cohort members to whom I promised follow up resources. I’m not even considering the earnest pitches from nonprofits who likely do need my support right now. Instead, I'm just grumbling at the miasma of needy subject lines. “Garrett, for just five dollars…” “Garrett, we’re in trouble,” “Garrett, this holiday season, give the gift of bliss…”

What really gets me is how the flood of emails flattens everything into a lukewarm paste of false equivalence, the fact that, when faced with notification after notification, my brain starts processing an appeal from the trans mutual aid fund and the local safe streets initiative in the same way it would fend off an unwanted solicitation from Bed Bath and Beyond.

The problem isn’t clutter in our inboxes. It’s our subtly eroded ability to care for one another, the way our brains become trained to process all human contact as a threat to be navigated around, an over-presumption that everybody who wants our attention only truly cares about ripping us off.

To better demonstrate this mess, here’s a sampling of lines from emails that I received yesterday. It was Cyber Monday, I suppose, but the distinction between each of these days has long since stopped having any meaning. It feels like all the brands and all the nonprofits and (damnit) all the candidates are just going for it, every single day.

Some of these emails confused me. Some irritated me. A couple delighted me. None of them, however, inspired me to get to know my neighbors, organize for social change, or reflect on my impact on those around me.

“Your wallet will thank us later.”

I did not like this line. I am a parent of two children whose occupation can best be described as “a borderline unsustainable flight of fancy.” I care about saving money. But of all the objects in my life that I want anthropomorphized, my wallet would be last on the list. If my wallet could talk, it would not thank me. It would say “I’m pretty gross and also I hate that you literally sit on me.”

Subject Line: Vermin

“Sorry to call you vermin. But if you support Midwest Values PAC, I guess you are one of us.”

I did not know that Donald Trump gave a speech where he called leftists vermin. I honestly didn’t need to know that information. The only purpose of me knowing that information is to make me resentful and frightened, which is exactly what this email from a former U.S. Senator’s Super PAC wants me to feel. Presumably, after sending a recurring donation to the (oh jeez) “Midwest Values PAC” I will no longer feel like a vermin. I will feel like an empowered citizen. That’s how this works, right? Cripes.

There’s nothing offensive in this email from Delta. Goodness knows I’ve got no quibbles with that scarf or that sweater. It’s just that I’ve been staring at this picture for ten minutes now and I can’t figure out why the Premium Cabin seats are outside. Are these two stylish, cosmopolitan travelers just sitting in Delta Premium Cabin seats on the ground? Like on a deck? Or did their airplane’s top just fly off? If so, kudos to them for being so enraptured with each other that they haven’t noticed.

“Continue your wellness journey in our free meditation app”

The wellness app may be free, but the essential oils that this new age-y mindfulness company was hawking in this same email weren’t. Want to get well? Your wallet (which apparently is invested in having more money in it) is gonna hate you!

Oh, and speaking of feeling unwell and not-calm, I have never interacted with this company and do not know how I ended up on their email list, so suffice to say that when I received their email this morning my first emotion was not to reflect on the profound gift of oneness with all of humankind.

“Everyone knows there is a lot going around in the world right now.”

This was from Bernie Sanders. It was about climate change. It was a bit too kitchen sink-y (it’s interesting how “a lot going on in the world” has become a stand-in for “this email is not primarily about Gaza but I need to at least nod to the existence of that war so let’s see if this does the trick”) but it wasn’t too pushy about the whole “giving money to Bernie Sanders” thing. All in all, not bad.

“Did you miss Deal Season's biggest savings? You lucked out. You now have through tomorrow to redeem yourself and send FOMO to the bench.”

I have through tomorrow… to redeem myself? I’m in need of redemption? Because I missed Deal Season’s biggest savings? And I failed to, um, send FOMO to the bench? My friends, did you see Bernie’s message up above? I’m complicit in the literal destruction of our planet. My lapsed relationship to Deal Season is the least of my worries.

“So we’re begging you personally, because we still need 1 more gift from your ZIP code to hit our goal.”

It is with great regret that I inform you that the good people of 53212 let this PAC down. I could have knocked on some doors, I guess, but it was very cold, and also this message was creepy and weird.

“We think you'll want to open this.”

This email was from literal Walgreens. Their prediction proved to be incorrect.

“Got the Polling Blues? Let's Build a Gigantic Blue Wave!”

I am not an oceanographer, so I may not have a right to get huffy here, but I literally yelled “THAT’S NOT HOW WAVES WORK” at my inbox.

Ok, this one ruled. It's from one of Southeast Wisconsin’s three best Kringle bakeries and I will never unsubscribe from their emails because when I said all that high-minded stuff up above about craving connectivity with other human beings, what I really meant was “it’s legitimately cool when brands email me pictures of regional pastries.”

“As we shake off the long weekend together, we wanted to send a gentle reminder that our Gratitude Week Sale is entering its final hours.”

Would you be surprised if I told you that the company that sent me this “gentle reminder” about something called “Gratitude Week” is a particularly fussy (and Nestlé-owned!) artisan coffee roaster with locations in Hudson Yards, Palo Alto, Oakland and Santa Monica?

Namaste, brand.

Will you join us in building a global movement for transformative change?

I’m doing my best, earnest email from a nonprofit whose mailing list I definitely didn’t sign up for, but full disclosure: I wasn’t even able to finagle a single donation from my zip code for whatever PAC was bugging me. I’m not exactly on a hot streak for changing the world right now.

“I can't reach that goal without the actions and support of Milwaukee, Garrett.”

This was an email from my actual mayor, an above average American public servant, but one I wish was emailing me about, like, new traffic calming measures or increased recycling pickup rather than just asking me for money. I do think it was funny that he also sent a picture of himself from when he first ran for office a decade ago:

I think I was supposed to be like “whoa, that’s so wild Mr. Mayor. You look totally different now” except this is what he looks like now.

Is my mayor trying to tell me that it took him ten full years to shave? Because otherwise he is the only human being on the planet who did not age at all during the pandemic. In fact, did he get younger? I’m not angry at this email. Which is good news, because look what’s coming around the bend…

“Shop Thoughtful Gifts That Make Holiday Dreams Come True”

If this email had been sent by the Kringle company, I’d be overjoyed right now. Absolutely. Ring-shaped pastries for all. But would you like to know who is promising me “thoughtful gifts that make holiday dreams come true?” The Hewlett-Packard Electronics Company. You know, HP… fifteen time winners of the “printers you’d most like to throw out the window” award.

Listen, I’ve legitimately tried to live a good life, but I’m sure there are folks out there who don’t like me, and I’m also sure that every single one of them would love to send me an HP product this holiday season, just to really stick it to me. Other than that, I can not imagine an HP product ever being deployed for gift giving purposes.

“Um, wow, honey… what’s this? An HP M27fwa FWD external monitor? Oh, it’s for my spreadsheets? No…sorry, ignore my face… I, um, really like… it’s, um, going to be very practical.”

“Garrett, did you see Phyllis’s email yesterday?”

No, I did not. You know I did not. I’m not sure what makes me more frustrated, the casual use of my name or the casual use of Phyllis’s name. It infers that I have a relationship with Phyllis, that I look forward to Phillis’ emails, that I feel an ounce of guilt and shame at having missed Phyllis’ email.

And again, that’s what’s so bizarre here. This was an email from a climate change nonprofit! I do feel a lot of emotions about this issue. I would like to engage in more effective direct action to help our planet. If you were offering me that opportunity, I would jump at it. But you aren’t! You just want my money! And rather than just being straight with me about wanting my money, you’re doing this whole silly Phyllis thing! And the more I think about it, the more that annoys me, because I’m not thinking about climate change, I’m thinking about how I resent being on your email list, which means that I’m implicitly resenting that you’re working on climate change, and therefore I’m getting a little bit more cynical about this whole “working on climate change” thing in general, which is 100% not the feeling we should be engendering if we’re trying to build mass movements.

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And so, this is the dilemma. I don’t begrudge any of the individuals behind these emails, particularly the nonprofit ones. You’re all just trying to do your job, and I know first hand about the fear of not being able to keep the professional lights on. I’d love to build a world with you that feels less precarious for all of us. But that’s not how I’m feeling after a day of deleting and unsubscribing from your emails. I’m thinking the worst—about other people’s motivations, about my own loneliness (since every unsolicited solicitation is a reminder of the personal, connective message I’m neither sending nor receiving), about the overall state of our care for one another.

This is, of course, the definition of a privileged problem. “The emails are a bummer” is far from capitalism’s greatest sin. And I honestly can’t imagine that a world in which all the emails disappeared but everything else remained the same would be demonstrably more just or loving. So, if we’re stuck with the days of nonstop solicitation, my only plea is to pause to notice what’s happening. Notice your annoyance. Notice your anger. Notice where your energy is or isn’t being directed. And then, if you can, notice what you would rather be true: who you’d rather be writing, who you’d rather be talking to, what project you’d rather be working on together.

You’re likely feeling something today, and you already know that feeling won’t be satiated by clicks and consumption, but nor too will it be satiated merely by resentful unsubscribes. You would like a life that’s more human. I suspect. And that’s lovely. Far lovelier than anything on offer from the brands.

End notes:

All jokes aside, please know, as always, that I’m so grateful for all your support. Every week, a few more of you kindly choose to become free and paid subscribers, to share and comment, and (most gratifyingly) to pre-order The Right Kind of White. And that means a lot, because I know how many solicitations you receive. Oh goodness do I know.

Also, I’ve skipped out on the song of the week for way too long. But listen, all this anti-commercialism talk is giving off early aughts Adbusters vibes, so picture this. You’re a sophomore in college. Your roommate owns multiple Noam Chomsky books and is really fired up about the WTO. Before leaving for holiday break, they put a mix CD in your hands. There is at least a 60% chance that this song is on there. Enjoy!

Oh, I should probably properly introduce the song. It’s “And We Thought Nation States Were A Bad Idea” by Propagandhi and the video below should cue to a classic late ‘90s performance from back when John K. Samson was still on bass. Just feast your eyes on all those politicized Manitobans!

As always, the song of the week playlist is available on both Apple Music and Spotify.

Also: Want to see another picture from the Kringle company? This was from their Thanksgiving email. May Kringle be your claim to fame this year as well: