I loathe Tupperware parties. I feel that the integrity of the universe has somehow been violated when a person who claims to be my friend invites me to her house to socialize, ostensibly because she enjoys my company and wants me to have a good time, and then makes selling a product the principal focus of the interaction. I feel even more strongly when an ideology is being sold, or when a social engagement that was not previously billed as an attempt to convert me to a particular narrow religious belief turns into a revival meeting in disguise.
My aversion is greater, of course, if I disapprove of the product or ideology, but I’m not particularly happy with well-meaning efforts to use the trappings of friendship to sell things I would otherwise consider buying, or promote causes that I generally support. In my case, playing the friend card can end up backfiring on two counts – I am less likely to be attracted to something when it is being marketed deceptively, and I begin questioning the sincerity of friendships that smack too much of the marketplace.
The recent explosion in both electronic social networking and commercial and political promotion through those networks has made one vast virtual Tupperware party/Revival Meeting a ubiquitous feature of people’s lives. I participate in online social networks as a way to stay connected to younger people for whom this is a large segment of their communication spectrum. I find the networks are overwhelmed by the products of viral marketing – messages that have somehow caught the eye of one or another of my acquaintances, which that person promiscuously “likes” and “shares” and shoves under the nose of dozens or hundreds of other people, without giving much thought to the actual content of what is being posted.
Viral marketing campaigns have become a big business in their own right, with well-paid consultants who analyze how information spreads through the Internet and carefully design websites that entice these compulsive “likers” and “sharers” to disseminate the flashy packaging and ignore the payload.
By now most people are wary of emails telling them they have won lotteries that they have never entered, and would not dream of opening them even if they appear to come from a reputable source. Facebook (the social network with which I am most familiar) seems to be pretty good at weeding out actual viruses and outright scams, but it doesn’t vouch for the truth or accuracy of what people share. A discouraging proportion of what is shared is deceptive, designed to encourage people to act impulsively and against their own best long-term interests.
A virtue the Internet has over other media is the ease with which a person can obtain additional information about a product, issue, or political candidate before taking action based on that inflammatory poster from (for example) the “Americans for Truth, Justice and Apple Pie” website that a nodding acquaintance saw fit to “Like.” A little searching might reveal that the alarming statistic quoted dates from 1963 and that far from being a grassroots website, “Americans for Truth, Justice and Apple Pie” is maintained by Megaraptors Incorporated with funding from the Emir of Berzerkistan.
There is an old saying, “Let the buyer beware.” It applies as much if not more to the newest angles in electronic marketing. No matter how many compelling reasons the seller can come up with why you should buy the Brooklyn Bridge, you should still inquire closely whether those reasons are plausible, whether you can afford the asking price without going horribly bankrupt, and whether the Brooklyn Bridge is even his to sell. Otherwise, the transaction is not going to further the cause of Truth, Justice and Apple pie, although it may well benefit Megaraptors Inc. and the Emir of Berzerkistan.
Photo Credit
Brooklyn Bridge Web – Wikimedia Creative Commons
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