In Mary Shelley’s classic novel we see young Victor Frankenstein, a boy intrigued by science, stumbling onto an ancient book. It promises to teach a pathway to eternal life, and the transmutation of metals. It sure sounded scientific and promising enough, so young Victor started his studies. Eventually, he figured out that it was all nonsense. He’d been teaching himself alchemy. He was drawn in by its big promises, and had wasted his time. When he went to university, his professors explained as much. One laughed at him, the other showed him a little more sympathy. Of course, traditional science couldn’t match what alchemy had promised him, and we all know what happened next.
When I reflect on some of the nonsense I fell for, I see the similarity of being drawn in by big promises, and everything seeming legitimate at first sight. Here’s a book I read back then. It’s called Making Ads Pay. It’s written by John Caples, famous for writing the roaring 1920s ad “They Laughed When I Sat Down At The Piano – But When I Started To Play!” The ad tells the story of a man called Jack, sitting down at the piano, his friends eagerly watching him. They wonder aloud if he even knows how to play, practically laughing in his face. Then, you’ve guessed it, he plays Liszt’s Liebesträume, and they’re blown away. They congratulate him and ask how he became so good. He explains he bought a correspondence course from the US Music School. One friend insists he must’ve been practicing for years. Jack replies that he’d only been learning to play the piano for a short while.
It reads like fiction, because that’s precisely what it is. John Caples explains as much in his book – he made the whole thing up. While it’s not downright deceptive, in that it doesn’t try to hide it’s fiction, it overpromises. It makes the reader think that learning to play the piano is far easier than it actually is. But when it comes to direct response, this kind of overpromising would be considered tame. There are plenty of ads out there with bogus stories, intended to convince the reader that what they’re reading is real, for far inferior products than a course on how to play the piano.
Back to Caples. John didn’t stay in his old job selling correspondence courses forever. He eventually joined BBDO, an advertising agency that’s legitimate and is still around today. There’s more than some disillusionment when he talks of switching employers, and I didn’t get that the first time through.
Reflecting on the past, I was under a spell for a while. Once I broke out of it, my eyes opened and I saw it everywhere. Some years back, I’d finished a substitute teaching job in some fancy school, and saw how they’d invited a former student to give a presentation on day trading. They’d booked a classroom after school hours. I didn’t have to see the talk to know what he’d say. He’d show some charts and graphs, pretend that he’d mastered some complicated money-making system, and that he could show them how to do likewise. They Laughed When I Sat Down At My Stock Charts – But When I Drew These Lines!
That’s not all. A former colleague, a maths teacher, invited her female colleagues to a Tupperware party. If you’re not aware, Tupperware is a multi-level marketing scheme. I already knew this when I talked to her and she mentioned the whole affair. Her colleagues tried to be nice about it, and I pretended I didn’t know what was going on. Perhaps they later bought a few plastic pots out of pity, who knows. But I know she’s not raking in the dough. Another colleague, also a maths teacher, talked to me about how she was learning something psychology-related. I already knew what she was talking about. Much like alchemy, it had been debunked years ago. Again, all of it is sold on the basis of promising the heavens. And it’s never pretty when it eventually all comes crashing down. Take the wave, not the bait. That’s some food for thought, right there.
Kind regards
Vincent J. Dancet