Email Campaigns: For the Weak

This is hard for me to talk about.

I lived for 2 years in Brattleboro, Vermont. In the woods.

Now, before my East-ward adventure, I had prided myself on being sartorially authentic. My style was original, my apparel inimitable, my influences well-researched and varied. My vintage was actually vintage. I spent hours at the Goodwill Bins, and my look was inspired by cast-offs that charities could not even find it in their hearts to take. I confused a lot of people, but good art is like that: confusing. I got a lot of pleasure out of blurring the line in people’s minds between cutting edge and legally blind.

So, when I got to Vermont, I was somewhat perplexed. There was no…shopping. One could not simply go to the Bins and procure an ensemble for $1.29 per pound; in fact, one could not simply go anywhere. If one were in possession of a little extra money, one was expected to spend it on handmade crafts by local artisans, or maple syrup, or autumnal foliage, or whatever. Textbooks? I don’t know. I studied zines. Anyway. Point is, I was used to a full wardrobe rotation on a weekly basis, and about a month into the semester I’d completely tapped out the paltry offerings of the local thrift store.

I was desperate. The circumstances were foreign and bizarre. I did something that could never be undone.

I received, in my MacMail Inbox, a free shipping offer from Urban Outfitters. Yes, they had my email address. Yes, I had ordered clothing from them once or twice before. But this time, it went beyond the discounted underwear and quirky accessories that had tempted me in the past. I answered the call of Pre-Fabricated Hipsters everywhere, ordered several, pre-fabricated hipster outfits, and when I was asked where I had gotten them, I lied.

Actually I Just Use MacMail for Everything

When I was a young lady, I left Portland to attend an outrageously expensive liberal arts college. It was very scenic, and I had some wonderful professors, and I smoked a lot of cigarettes and learned how to play BroomBall. But on Graduation Day, I walked away with more than a plastic cup of champagne and a dress made out of streamers. As a token of gratitude for my $60,000+ of tuition, the college informed me that I could keep my school email address for life. I was, needless to say, underwhelmed.

The weird thing is that almost two years have passed, and I still use the stupid thing. “At Marlboro.edu,” I tell people. “Like the cigarette.” I also use my Portland State account, and have TWO gmail accounts – one for business (school, this blog, harassing people about giving me internships), one for pleasure (porn. I mean, newsletters).

But more and more, I’ve been letting Google take over my life, and lately I’ve been using their GoogleDocs a lot (check them out, it’s so fun!). Eventually, I want to streamline everything into one technology which is then surgically implanted into my wrist, but for now, because I check all of my accounts between five and 100 times per day, I like to make the process as time-consuming and complicated as possible (This creates an illusion of being busy and productive. Try it!).