At What Price?
| August 12, 2020The missing ads meant lives were crumbling. How could we enjoy that?
A few months ago, deep in the coronavirus shutdown, a reader sent in a comment: “I’m enjoying the new Mishpacha, thanks to the True Editor — Hashem sent us COVID and wiped out all those terrible luxury advertisements.”
A few weeks later, I received an email from a former teacher: “I have at times (actually often) been critical of the advertisements in frum publications. It seems to me that often advertising‘ creates needs.’ It is my impression that of late Mishpacha has taken a step back. Is that because of COVID or purposefully?”
The unfortunate answer to her question is that our ads decreased for several weeks because of COVID. But unlike the first commenter, we who work at the magazine did not find any joy in the downturn.
Ads are the primary “fuel” providing us with the resources to keep upping our game and give our readers more and better content. More ad pages mean more content pages for you to enjoy. But that wasn’t the primary reason for our distress when so many ads went missing. The real reason was the human subtext: The missing ads meant that fellow Jews who work hard every month to support their families honorably were now struggling. Some had put their businesses on hold. Many feared their businesses would never reopen.
The missing ads meant that lives were crumbling. How could we enjoy that? How could anyone?
Everyone knows the witty quote: “Advertising is the art of convincing people to spend money they don’t have on something they don’t need.” There’s a lot of truth to it; a good advertising campaign (and the frum advertising agencies have been getting ever savvier) will leave readers feeling that they want or need an item or service.
It’s also true that many of the businesses advertising in our pages cater to a luxury standard — be it in clothing, food, vacations, or simchah spending. The constant exposure to their products or services can subliminally encourage a high standard for everyone.
I think this trend is exacerbated in our particular market because unlike many niche magazines, what unites our readership is values rather than socioeconomic level. A magazine like Better Homes & Gardens or Bon Appetit or American Motorcyclist draws a very particular readership. Correspondingly, it also draws a certain type of advertiser. So the odds are good that the buying power of the reader is well matched to the price points of the items advertised inside.
That principle doesn’t hold true for our magazine. If you buy Mishpacha, you likely have a certain value system, you likely revere certain leaders, you likely ascribe to certain hashkafos — but the jury is out when it comes to your income level. So advertisements for high-end products won’t get the same casual reception that they might get in Better Homes & Gardens; for many of our readers they will hit a decidedly wrong note.
Can advertisers be more sensitive? Can they do a better job of making a refined pitch that isn’t grossly materialistic? Can they avoid messages like “this is a must have” or “if you don’t get this you’re so last year”? I would say the answer is “yes, but.”
When necessary, we will turn down ads entirely because they feel egregiously out of place for our readership. More often, we work with our advertisers and will ask them to tone down language, switch photos, or reconsider a message. But we also have to respect what advertising is and isn’t. At heart, an advertisement is not just about informing readers that a store exists; it’s about getting them to want to step inside.
During the COVID-19 lockdown, a cousin marveled at how low her expenditures had dropped. “The kids weren’t with their friends anymore, so suddenly they just didn’t need all that stuff. I feel like Hashem took away our usual focus on buy-buy-buy, and it was so liberating. I just wonder, once the opportunity comes back — will we jump right back in?”
A friend from the office said something similar: “With all the stores closed, it wasn’t an option to buy the kids summer Shabbos shoes before Pesach. Then Pesach was over and I wondered, do I really need them at all?”
The cousin doesn’t have much money to spare, the friend can definitely afford the shoes. Regardless of budget, many parents found it a relief and a treat not to have to purchase full spring ensembles for every child before Pesach. But if you passed those empty stores on bedikas chometz evening and realized how many ambitious, hardworking parents were losing the businesses they’d built with sweat, faith, and tears, how many families were relying on government handouts or tzedakah instead of gladly working until midnight during a frantically busy season so they could set a Yom Tov table with pride — then your relief was surely tinged with pain.
We all need to find our backbones and figure out how to process and react to ads that promote items inappropriate for our values or budgets. We need to be confident in our personal ground rules and develop a firm understanding of what we need, what we want, when to splurge, and when to hold back. We need that mental and hashkafic clarity for ourselves, and we need it in order to relay the right messages to our children.
And when an ad hits a wrong note, we’re perfectly entitled to write in to the publication to complain. We can and should hold frum advertisers to different standards, because their markets are different and their ads should reflect that.
But to herald those missing ads as an improvement, knowing that they mean so many businesses are crumbling and families struggling — is that what you really want?
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 823)
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