Marketing mail kudos: Firestone’s romantic gift card practically drove me to them.

Write yourself into your customer’s personal story in a support role.

Why not? They give Oscars for supporting actors, too, you know.

My car says she loves me!

This is genius marketing. This is also “clever” marketing, it’s true, and I always get up on a soapbox and tirade on about how a clever gimmick actually distracts your reader from a strong connection with your appeal. But in this case, the strategy overcomes its clever framework and grabs me. From my Swipe File, a round of applause for Firestone’s mushy love note…

I got this greeting-card sized mail piece one day. It turned out to be… a greeting card. Sort of. There was a poem right where you’d expect one. Five stanzas of paired rhyming couplets, very much in the traditional Hallmark style. I knew this was not a card from a personal friend–my name was printed, not hand-written. So my eye flicked down to the close:

Signed “Love, Your 1997 Jetta GL”

In fact, I already knew this was Firestone’s collateral, from the outer panel. I’d have got that quick enough, since the poem is all about how my sweet ride appreciates that I take her to Firestone Complete Auto Care for everything. But a big part of me does not mind this corny approach. Why? Several reasons–

The real marketing “story” here is a relationship, true love between a boy and his car. Firestone shines as a key reason for the extra warm feelings, but stars in a supporting role. Gets mentioned once early on, then it’s all about the happy couple.

The marketing appeal comes from within the relationship. Firestone isn’t wooing me… my Jetta is gushing on me for being so gosh-darned sweet and caring, so protective. Okay, I know better–but the mood is set.

The empty space is where my gift card was... before I redeemed it.

The mood is not broken with a conflicting offer. This is a thank-you card, even once I turn it over. Firestone did not pitch a sales event or invite me to rush in for a small discount on some “specialty service.” They just included a gift card for dollars off any old service I might need next time I came in. I don’t recall the amount, but I’m never impressed with paltry payback. A gift card should amount to something when I use it. In this case, my best guess the card was worth $15-25. And yep, I redeemed that sucker.

Mind you, this piece is not absolutely perfect. I still read the third stanza of the poem and wonder how I’m not supposed to feel somewhat besmirched: “I thought you were lying, I’ll be the first to admit. You just didn’t look like the type that was ready to commit.” But while I defend myself–to my own car, no less–Firestone strokes my ego, suggesting that I CAN commit (to them).

They did take one chance at a residual sale. I never have held a Firestone credit card, but it’s not because they dared bring it up on the back of this piece.

By the way, I always get top-notch service from my Firestone shops. That’s why I was loyal in the first place. And no marketing strategy, clever OR genius, will ever fix what’s broken if you can’t do that part right. Please, work hard to “wow” your customer.

Have a great week!

Ken

P.S. Hypothetical scenario: Firestone, how much added emotional “traction” would this card get if you asked your customers their car’s name (mine has been Allegra for several VW Jetta models now), and integrated that name into personalized mailings like this one? Just sayin’.