Emails

My unflattering email critique to my earlier self

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[I gave myself a harsh email critique recently. It’s for an email I wrote exactly two years ago, which gets a “C” at best. If you want to see why, here’s the original email in bold, along with my comments in brackets:]

SUBJECT: The email that broke the camel’s back

[I’ve found that “play on a popular phrase” rarely works as a subject line, at least to my personal newsletter list. So I would say, force yourself to come up with 10 new subject lines, and use the best of those. But if you insist on the subject line above, then make it more specific and intriguing. Something like, “The sticky sweet email that broke this camel’s back.”]

A while back, I subscribed to the Farnam Street email newsletter.

I’d seen a headline in the New York Times about Shane Parrish, the guy who writes Farnam Street. The headline read:

“How a Former Canadian Spy Helps Wall Street Mavens Think Smarter”

Interesting.

So I subscribed, without knowing too much about what the content I would be getting.

[Only people who really love you will read past this opening. Everybody else will leave. As James Altucher says, you have to bleed in the first line. Options:

– “How a Former Canadian Spy Helps Wall Street Mavens Think Smarter.” Lead off with this and then explain what it’s all about.

– “And that’s when I unsubscribed.” Lead off with the end of the story (below) and then work your way back to explain how it all went wrong.

– Make it into a metaphor. “I only dated the Farnam Street newsletter for a few weeks. In that short time, we had several nasty fights…”]

The first email arrived with a ton of links to important, helpful articles on the Farnam Street blog. I scanned through, but I didn’t read anything.

A second email hit me a few days later, with more helpful content.

Then a third.

And a fourth.

There was nothing wrong with any of these emails. And the content was apparently good — after all, Shane Parrish got a feature written about him in the New York Times.

But none of it clicked with me. It was too earnest, too virtuous, too positive.

[Ideally, make this section more concrete. Give examples of specific emails, and make each example funny or stupid. If you can’t do that for any reason… then make this section shorter. Your copy should never be both abstract and long, which is what’s happening here.]

Finally, I got an email with the headline “Introducing your new favorite holiday tradition” (it was around Christmastime).

I opened it up. It was about a “charming Icelandic holiday tradition” to exchange books and then spend the evening reading them together with friends and family.

That’s when I unsubscribed.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got no beef with Farnam Street or their email newsletter. I personally didn’t find the content interesting. On the other hand, a lot of other people obviously get a lot out of the same emails that I unsubscribed from.

[This is a missed opportunity to be a bit funny. You can make fun of the Icelanders and their nerdy tradition… of Shane Parrish and his virtue signalling… or of yourself and your cold Grinch heart, two sizes too small.]

I only bring up my experience with Farnam Street emails to illustrate a point:

It wasn’t that last email that made me unsubscribe.

That was just the straw, or the email, that broke the camel’s back.

All the previous emails had already primed me to open up the “charming Icelandic holiday tradition” email and say to myself, “Oh, hell no.”

This is something to remember in case you do a lot of email marketing.

It’s very hard to assign blame (or praise) to an individual email.

Odds are, it’s the entire email sequence that’s driving readers away — or winning them over.

[This point is worthwhile. But it could be developed further. An easy way to do this would be with another, positive example. “I was on Ben Settle’s list in two separate bursts, for 3 years in total, before I subscribed to his paid newsletter. The last email I read before I subscribed had the subject, “The Myth of Security”… but you can be sure it wasn’t that email alone that made me subscribe. It was those 3 years of cumulative reading.”]

Of course, there are things (unvirtuous and unearnest things) you can do to stack things in your favor early on in the relationship, while you still have your reader’s attention and good will.

If you’d like to find out what some of those unvirtuous ways are, you might be interested in my upcoming book on email marketing for the health space. For more info or to sign up to get a free copy (once it’s out), here’s where to go:

[A couple of points to wrap this up for you and for myself both:

1. Even though this email is weak from a copywriting standpoint, that’s ok. Sometimes these daily emails come out a little undercooked, other times they are dry and flavorless. But the more you write, the more of them turn out fine.

But even if not, so what? A weak daily email still has value. It strengthens your relationship with your list… it cements the central idea in your mind… and it can form fodder for your future emails, two years down the line. So keep writing, or if you haven’t started yet, then start.

2. When you tease something at the end of your email, make sure you write down what you had in mind for the payoff. I’d like to know now what info I was teasing back then… but two years later, I have no idea any more. Time to head over to Farnam Street and see what advice Shane has about improving my failing memory.]

Look at your copy… it should make you cringe

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“‘Bild’ car tester Peter Glodschey compared the new Panda to a ‘shoe box.’ But shoe boxes look nicer.”

In 1999, Italian designer Giorgetto Giugiaro was named “Car Designer of the Century.” Giugiaro designed such icons as the 1961 Aston Martin DB4… the 1966 Maserati Ghibli… and the 1981 DeLorean, which would time-travel once it reached speeds of 88 miles an hour.

But Giugiaro also designed some ugly ducklings. There was the 1988 Yugo Florida… the 1985 Hyundai Excel… and the initial Fiat Panda.

Back in 1980, when the Panda came out, Giugiaro called it the “most enchanting work in my life.” But reviewers weren’t buying it. German magazine Der Spiegel likened the Panda to a “tin gnome,” while Bild called it a “shoe box” (quote above).

You can’t win ’em all, right? But you can learn from your flops, and see how you can improve.

I don’t know if Giorgetto Giugiaro ever did this. But I decided it was a good idea for myself. Because I remember hearing somewhere that if you look at your copy from a few years earlier, it should make you cringe. That means you’re improving.

So I just went through an email I wrote exactly two years ago. My face didn’t lock up from cringing… but the email could definitely be better. So I wrote up a cold and nasty critique to myself, about what needs to be changed, cut, or made sexy instead of grandmotherly.

It was a good exercise. And if you’re interested, I’ll share my results with you tomorrow. Maybe these insights, which come after 2+ years of non-stop daily emails, can help shorten your own learning curve. Maybe they can help you get from “shoe box” to “enchanting work” a bit more quickly.

This bit of advice made an A-lister’s career

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During a recent interview, A-list copywriter Parris Lampropolous shared a story from early in his career.

Back then, Parris was writing his first magalog.

A magalog, as you might know, is a format for sales copy that mimics a magazine. It was a popular way to sell newsletter subscriptions back in the 90s and 2000s, before the Internet started to have its finest hour.

A typical magalog had a main “message from the editor” that ran the length of the “magazine.” It also had a dozen sidebar articles on individual topics.

How to write all this shit? It seems like a huge amount of work, and it’s hard to know where to even start. And that’s how it seemed to Parris back when he had to write his first magalog.

So Parris asked his mentor, Clayton Makepeace, for advice. And Clayton told Parris writing a magalog was simple:

You start by writing a bunch of fascinations, aka bullets, based on the content you are selling.

Some of these fascinations will have weak payoffs. In other words, there’s a good chance the reader will be disappointed when he finds out the “secret.”

So those weak fascinations stay “blind” fascinations, and just go into the sales pitch that is the message from the editor.

But some fascinations will have great payoffs, real forehead-slapping stuff. Those fascinations become sidebar articles, and reveal the secret.

And Clayton also told Parris the following:

The first few pages of the magalog are all good content… then it shifts to being 50/50 sales and content… and by the end it’s all sales pitch.

That’s all it takes to write a magalog.

So that’s what Parris started to do, with great success. He went on to have magalog controls at major publishers like Boardroom… and some of those magalogs earned him $1M+ in royalties. In the interview, Parris said this bit of advice on how to write a magalog made his career.

“Great for Parris,” you might say. “But how am I supposed to use this info with today’s copy formats?”

I’m glad you ask. Because it seems to me the magalog advice maps neatly to writing emails to promote an information product.

​​Start with fascinations… write an email for each fascination… reveal the rare good payoff… keep the fascination with a weak payoff blind.

And if you run a campaign that’s got a deadline (and why wouldn’t you), you can even follow the magalog structure of keeping the first part of the sequence all good content… then 50/50 content and selling… and finally all teasing and pitch.

But that’s not all. You might be able to use this magalog advice for other copy formats too.

For example, tomorrow I’ll share how you can use it in a sales medium you’ve probably never heard about… the rare and elusive kindlealog.

If you’d like to read that article, you might like to sign up for my email list. It’s where my articles appear first, and with no fascinations kept blind, even the most underwhelming stuff. Click here if you’d like to sign up.

Yet another clickbait subject line

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“I was furious…”

“Did you get a chance to see this?”

“I almost forgot to tell you!”

I’ve seen an uptick recently in flat-out clickbait subject lines like these. And by “clickbait,” I mean subject lines that have little (or nothing) to do with the actual content of the email. They are simply tacked on as an afterthought, and could work just as well with any other content.

But what’s the problem? The more the merrier, right? People can’t read your message unless they click on it, and if a subject line gets them to click, then it’s done its job.

Perhaps. But like salt, curiosity rarely makes a filling meal on its own. That’s not my conclusion. Instead, it comes from one of the greatest copywriters of the last century, John Caples, who wrote about headlines:

“Avoid headlines that merely provoke curiosity. Curiosity combined with news or self-interest is an excellent aid to the pulling power of your headline, but curiosity by itself is seldom enough. This fundamental rule is violated more often than any other.”

And then then we get to the very other extreme. You might call this “the fewer the merrier.” It’s an idea promoted by the likes of marketing expert Travis Sago, who has made himself and his clients millions of dollars, often solely through email. Travis advises that you “write your subject lines like you have to pay for every open.”

So what to do? Who’s right?

Well, I think there’s actually no single right answer. There might be situations where clickbait headlines (“Whoa!”) make sense and make sales. Cold emails to businesses might be one example. Personally, I don’t like these kinds of subject lines, but that’s just a matter of artisanal pride.

I also think that if you’re looking to play the long game with your marketing, meaning you want an ongoing relationship with your readers, then it makes sense not to piss those readers off. Will they click on your email and feel like they’ve been scammed into reading something irrelevant? Then maybe it’s time to consider making your subject line less clickbaity, more transparent, and more specific.