Giving television viewers the ability to buy products they see on their screens with a click of a remote control — say the Manolo Blahniks on Carrie Bradshaw’s feet or Ross’s sweater on “Friends” — has been talked about by advertisers for years without much success.
Delivery Agent
Some viewers of the History Channel will be able to buy items offered during shows.
A new service being introduced this week to Verizon FiOS customers, however, will allow viewers to do just that — for items like bicycles, radios and coins — directly from shows on the History Channel, owned by A&E Network. The idea is to put products from brands like Schwinn, Crosley Radio and the Franklin Mint in front of consumers at the moment they see a similar item on shows like “American Pickers” and “Pawn Stars.”
The products will be “contextual to what you are watching on television,” said Rachelle Zoffer, director of content acquisition and programming for FiOS TV at Verizon. “Our goal is to put things on the television that enhance the programming and create value for our subscribers.”
A small icon in the upper right corner of the screen will signal that an item is available, and with the touch of a button on a remote control, the screen will split in two, with items for purchase on the right. After setting up a user account on TVWallet.com, viewers can complete their transaction by entering their phone number and four-digit PIN.
The service will be available to nearly four million Verizon FiOS subscribers primarily in the Northeast, California, Texas and Florida, Ms. Zoffer said. Verizon will promote the service with 30-second spots during History Channel programming. She said the company had plans to include the service in other networks soon.
Mark Garner, senior vice president for distribution at A&E Networks, said the service’s success would be measured by how much consumers use it and whether they buy anything. The History Channel already has “a very healthy commerce engine” on its Web site, Mr. Garner said, and if 5 percent of the people who see the new feature make a purchase, that would be considered an initial success.
Men ages 25 to 54 make up the primary audience of the History Channel, and these men are the ones meant to be served by the new feature. In deciding which shows will add the shopping feature, Mr. Garner said: “We look at it from a network level. Which programs are more likely to have engaged customers?”
Shows on the Lifetime network like “Project Runway,” “Drop Dead Diva” and “Army Wives” may eventually adopt it, Mr. Garner said. The data collected on buyers will help the network decide “how we market, how we program, how we develop our promotions,” he said, adding that there were no plans to share that data with advertisers directly.
The brands in the introduction are optimistic about the exposure, even if results are not immediate.
“When you sell jukeboxes, turntables and old radios, you’ve got to be patient,” said Bo LeMastus, the president of Crosley Radio, whose company has been selling products through the History Channel Web site for more than a month. Mr. LeMastus said the company became interested in doing business with the History Channel after an episode of “American Pickers,” where the show’s stars came across old Crosley radios in a barn.
“This is going to take some time to develop and for the consumer to catch on,” Mr. LeMastus said. “It’s more about the long-term picture.”
It is Schwinn’s first time working with the History Channel. “There are a lot of people who are very nostalgic about Schwinn,” said Lori Peters, the company’s director of consumer activation for North America. “Now they have the opportunity to act very impulsively. Kind of like buying a memory through your TV screen.”
Those memories have the potential to be quite lucrative, according to projections provided by Mike Fitzsimmons, chief executive of Delivery Agent, the company that is providing the technology that powers the transactions.
In trials, Mr. Fitzsimmons said, the value of the average order placed by viewers was $75, which could mean $285 million in revenue in the first year if all FiOS households made one purchase during that time. “It doesn’t take much for this business to end up with too many zeros to count,” he said.
Donatella Versace meets shoppers at the Versace for H&M launch in Regent Street. Photograph: Nick Harvey/WireImage
Yes, I know I said on FB that I lusted for the leather jacket and chinoiserie style dress with matching leggings, but alas I am too lazy.
It's a rainy Friday night for goodness sake. Time to kick back before the fire with a tall glass of Sicilian red while the kiddies play Wii with some pals from down the street.
Besides, my Lanvin H & M dress ripped down the back recently, which makes me not too fond of the idea of standing in line for a repeat.
To wait on Post Street, San Francisco, I'd need to get there in the cold hard dark at least by five am.
Did I mention it's raining?
Cest la vie and all that crazy jazz. Now I hear that fights broke out in Shanghai about it. Hissy fits and cat fights.
Anthropologie's $2,175 book set -- and how to get it for $250
November 2, 2011 | 6:32 am
What do six books in a custom-made wooden case add up to? A $2,175 price tag at Anthropologie. Just six books. And that's not all -- here's the catalog copy:
A one-of-a-kind set in a custom-made case, curated by Kinsey Marable, who left his job as an investment banker to deal with a more exotic commodity: rare and out-of-print books. His passion to create distinctive libraries led him to select these books; the mahogany-stained Baltic birch bookshelf is custom built for the custom collection.
That's right, the creator of this book set left his job as an investment banker to create a set of books with a small wooden shelf that costs so much it would take a minimum-wage worker almost two months to earn enough to buy it.
Because the set is custom-made for the books included, and the books are used, Anthropologie has just a handful available; each is organized by theme. The $2,175 "society" set is the most expensive. The "drinks" set is several hundred dollars cheaper -- at $1,400, the buyer can afford a few bottles of special edition Dom Perignon, 40-some 12-packs of Pabst Blue Ribbon, or anything in between.
After the jump: what those "rare and out-of-print books" are, and how to find them for much, much less. Build your own version of Anthropologie's custom book sets for less than $250!
All the books are "rare and out-of-print" -- in other words, old. In each case, Jacket Copy found first editions with dust jackets that are being sold by used-book sellers through the aggregator sites Alibris or Abebooks, although you might get lucky and find a copy at a local yard sale.
The "society" set:
"The Face of the World" by Cecil Beaton (1957) -- from this seller for $25 "The Spirit of Paris" by Paul Cohen-Portheim (1937) -- including shipping from Britain, $33 "The Best of Beaton" by Cecil Beaton and Truman Capote (1968) -- from this seller for $33 "The World in Vogue" by Katharine Tweed, Bryan Holme, Jessica Daves and Alexander Liberman (1963) -- from this seller for $40 "The Blessing" by Nancy Mitford (1951) -- the jacket is designed by Cecil Beaton. Sense a theme? Just $8 "The Artist in His Studio" by Alexander Liberman (1988) -- if you would prefer the original edition, published in 1960, it's less expensive. The 1988 edition is $69
And then there are the supplies to make the case for the set.
Baltic birch plywood: I'd say one 1/2-inch thick, 12-inch wide, 60-inch sheet should cover it: $14 8-ounce bottle of Titebond Professional Wood Glue, $3 One quart of Minwax mahogany stain, $8
You'll also need some basic tools, like a ruler, saw, sandpaper, a couple of clamps and/or a vice grip, and someone who knows how to use them. Measure the wood to create book-sized slots. Cut, stain and glue the pieces together -- or if you prefer, cut, glue the pieces together, then stain -- and voila! You're in the society set for just $233. And you've saved $1,942.
Who would have thought drinking would cost you more than society? It's true. The books in the "drinks" set are far more valuable than the "society" set.
The "drinks" set:
"Esquire Drink Book" by Frederic A. Birmingham (1956) -- the original with dust jacket: $77 "The Official Mixer's Manual" by Patrick Gavin Duffy (1940) -- also not cheap: $50 "Drinks: How to Make and How to Serve Them" by Bill Edwards (1936) -- with dust jacket, it's $500 "Ninety Dozen Glasses" by Marguerite Cullman (1960) -- this is more like it: just $4 "Drinking in Vogue" by Henry McNulty (1979) -- a reasonable $10
Adding in the cost of materials to make the wooden case, the do-it-yourself cost of the "drinks" set is $666. You'll save $734, and sure, that means you could make a second "drinks" set with room to spare, but the difference is nowhere near that of the "society" set. It looks like a bargain -- comparatively.
Thanks to Alison Devers who posted a link to the Anthropologie book sets on Twitter. If you build your own version, please let us know how it goes -- and send a photo, of course.
Stuart Wilber, a gay Seattle man, started an online petition when he learned about Charity Giveback Group.
A handful of advocates, armed with nothing more than their keyboards, have put many of the country’s largest retailers, including Apple, Microsoft, Netflix and Wal-Mart, on the spot over their indirect and, until recently, unnoticed roles in funneling money to Christian groups that are vocal in opposing homosexuality.
The advocates are demanding that the retailers end their association with an Internet marketer that gets a commission from the retailers for each online customer it gives them. It is a routine arrangement on hundreds of e-commerce sites, but with a twist here: a share of the commission that retailers pay is donated to a Christian charity of the buyer’s choice, from a list that includes prominent conservative evangelical groups like the Family Research Council and Focus on the Family.
The marketer and the Christian groups are fighting back, saying that the hundred or so companies that have dropped the marketer were misled and that the charities are being slandered for their religious beliefs.
The national battle was ignited in July by Stuart Wilber, a 73-year-old gay man in Seattle. He was astonished, he said, when he learned that people who bought Microsoft products through a Christian-oriented Internet marketer known as Charity Giveback Group, or CGBG, could channel a donation to evangelical organizations that call homosexual behavior a threat to the moral and social fabric.
“I said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding, Microsoft,’ ” he recalled, noting that the software giant — like many other corporations accessible through the commerce site, including Apple and Netflix — was known as friendly to gay causes.
In July, Mr. Wilber went to a Web site that helps groups and individuals circulate petitions, called Change.org, and started one, asking Microsoft to end its association with what he called “hate groups.” By that night, 520 people had signed, with their ire copied to Microsoft officials — and Microsoft had quietly dropped out of the donation plan. Much to Mr. Wilber’s surprise, this would be the start of an electronic conflict that has put hundreds of well-known companies in an unwelcome glare.
On one side are angry gay-rights advocates and bloggers, wielding the club of the gay community’s purchasing power.
On the other side are conservative Christian groups that say they are being attacked for their legitimate biblical views of sex and marriage, as well as a Web marketing firm that feels trampled for providing consumers with free choice.
Caught in the middle are companies, including such giants as Macy’s, Expedia and Delta Air Lines, which have the dual aims of avoiding politics but not offending any consumers. In this case, they have been pressured to make a choice that may involve little money either way but that could offend large blocs of consumers.
“This is economic terrorism,” said Mike Huckabee, the former pastor, governor and presidential contender, who is a paid CGBG consultant. “To try to destroy a business because you don’t like some of the customers is, to me, unbelievably un-American,” he said in an interview.
CGBG, a for-profit company formerly called the Christian Values Network, resembles hundreds of so-called affiliate marketers, which retailers use to bring customers to their own Web sites. The affiliate receives a commission on any sales, and CGBG allows buyers to send half that commission to any of the Christian charities on its list.
In July, as word of Mr. Wilber’s victory spread virally, Ben Crowther, a college student in Bellingham, Wash., started a similar Internet appeal to Apple, which would soon succeed after drawing 22,700 signers. Roy Steele, who runs a gay-rights Web site in San Francisco, picked up the crusade, directly contacting about 150 companies listed on the e-commerce site.
AllOut.org, a gay-rights group in New York with hundreds of thousands of e-mail-ready members, focused on the travel industry, helping to push Avis, Westin Hotels & Resorts, Expedia and many other hotels and travel agencies to disassociate themselves from CGBG.
Close to 100 companies have left the charity arrangement, though most refuse to discuss the matter. These have become the objects, in turn, of a countercampaign from the Christian groups — “Please Don’t Discriminate Against My Faith” is the heading of a sample letter — and of high-level entreaties from Mr. Huckabee and other Christian leaders.
A few companies that briefly left the network have been persuaded to rejoin, including Delta, PetSmart, Sam’s Club, Target and Wal-Mart.
“People have been misled. The retailers are not donating to anyone; they are simply paying a commission to get traffic,” John Higgins, the president of CGBG, said in an interview.
He said CGBG focused on Christian consumers and marketing through large organizations like Focus on the Family because it saw an untapped commercial opportunity.
“Retailers should keep their doors open to everybody,” Mr. Higgins said. He also complained that some competing e-commerce sites included the same conservative groups on charity lists but had not been subjected to similar attacks.
Beyond condemning the advocates’ efforts as an infringement on consumer freedom, Mr. Huckabee said it was offensive to apply the “hate group” label to organizations that are legal, peaceful and promote biblical values.
The Southern Poverty Law Center has labeled the Family Research Council a hate group for “regularly pumping out known falsehoods that demonize the gay community,” said Mark Potok, a project director at the law center — and not, he said, because the council calls homosexuality a sin or opposes gay marriage. The falsehoods, he said, include the discredited claim that gay men are especially prone to pedophilia.
The Family Research Council has accused the law center of “slanderous attacks.”
Advocates insist that their push is not anti-Christian. “It has nothing to do with biblical positions,” said Mr. Steele, the blogger. “It has to do with the fact that these groups spread lies and misinformation about millions of Americans.”
The discomfort of retailers has been evident in their varied responses. Expedia, in an e-mail to AllOut.org in August, confirmed that it had withdrawn from the network. “Expedia values diversity in its employee base and customer base and does not support discrimination of any kind based on sexual orientation,” the message said.
Barneys New York said it had left CGBG because of the site’s support for groups that promote discrimination.
But Microsoft, though it led the way with its swift response, has never said a public word about it, nor has Apple been willing to do more than confirm that it no longer is associated with CGBG.
This summer, Macy’s told Change.org that it had left the network because “Macy’s serves a diverse society” and is “deeply committed to a philosophy of inclusion,” but the retailer declined to comment for this article.
In a statement explaining why it had returned to the network, Wal-Mart and its sister company Sam’s Club said their marketing affiliates included “more than 43,000 diverse organizations” that “serve a wide range of interests with diverse viewpoints.”
Delta changed course “because of the letters we received from several faith-based leaders,” including Mr. Huckabee, said Chris Kelly Singley, manager of corporate communications. “This was important to them, and we were willing to reconsider,” she said, adding that Delta had a history of supporting gay and lesbian causes.
“We don’t want to engage in a political debate,” Ms. Singley said. “And we just thought we were flying airplanes.”
Have you ever been primed? I mean has anyone ever deliberately influenced your subconscious mind and altered your perception of reality without your knowing it? Whole Foods Market, and others, are doing it to you right now.
Derren Brown, a British illusionist famous for his mind-reading act, set out to prove just how susceptible we are to the many thousands of signals we're exposed to each day. He approached two creatives from the advertising agency Saatchi & Saatchi for the "test." On their journey to his office, Brown arranged for carefully placed clues to appear surreptitiously on posters and balloons, in shop windows, and on t-shirts worn by passing pedestrians.
Upon their arrival, the two creatives were given 20 minutes to come up with a campaign for a fictional taxidermy store. Derren Brown also left them a sealed envelope that was only to be opened once they'd presented their campaign. Twenty minutes later, they presented and then opened the envelope. Lo and behold, Derren Brown's plans for the taxidermy store were remarkably similar to the ad campaign, with an astounding 95% overlap.
An interesting experiment, you may say, but hardly a trick you'd fall for. But bear this in mind--it's more than likely you were well primed the last time you went shopping.
Let's take for example Whole Foods, a market chain priding itself on selling the highest quality, freshest, and most environmentally sound produce. No one could argue that their selection of organic food and take-away meals are whole, hearty, and totally delicious. But how much thought have you given to how they're actually presenting their wares? Have you considered the carefully planning that's goes into every detail that meets the eye?
In my new book Brandwashed, I explore the many strategies retailers use to encourage us to spend more than we need to--more than we intend to. Without a shadow of doubt, Whole Foods leads the pack in consumer priming.
Let's pay a visit to Whole Foods' splendid Columbus Circle store in New York City. As you descend the escalator you enter the realm of a freshly cut flowers. These are what advertisers call "symbolics"--unconscious suggestions. In this case, letting us know that what's before us is bursting with freshness.
Flowers, as everyone knows, are among the freshest, most perishable objects on earth. Which is why fresh flowers are placed right up front--to "prime" us to think of freshness the moment we enter the store. Consider the opposite--what if we entered the store and were greeted with stacks of canned tuna and plastic flowers? Having been primed at the outset, we continue to carry that association, albeit subconsciously, with us as we shop.
The prices for the flowers, as for all the fresh fruits and vegetables, are scrawled in chalk on fragments of black slate--a tradition of outdoor European marketplaces. It's as if the farmer pulled up in front of Whole Foods just this morning, unloaded his produce, then hopped back in his flatbed truck to drive back upstate to his country farm. The dashed-off scrawl also suggests the price changes daily, just as it might at a roadside farm stand or local market. But in fact, most of the produce was flown in days ago, its price set at the Whole Foods corporate headquarters in Texas. Not only do the prices stay fixed, but what might look like chalk on the board is actually indelible; the signs have been mass-produced in a factory.
Ever notice that there's ice everywhere in this store? Why? Does hummus really need to be kept so cold? What about cucumber-and-yogurt dip? No and no. This ice is another symbolic. Similarly, for years now supermarkets have been sprinkling select vegetables with regular drops of water--a trend that began in Denmark. Why? Like ice displays, those sprinkled drops serve as a symbolic, albeit a bogus one, of freshness and purity. Ironically, that same dewy mist makes the vegetables rot more quickly than they would otherwise. So much for perception versus reality.
Speaking of fruit, you may think a banana is just a banana, but it's not. Dole and other banana growers have turned the creation of a banana into a science, in part to manipulate perceptions of freshness. In fact, they've issued a banana guide to greengrocers, illustrating the various color stages a banana can attain during its life cycle. Each color represents the sales potential for the banana in question. For example, sales records show that bananas with Pantone color 13-0858 (otherwise known as Vibrant Yellow) are less likely to sell than bananas with Pantone color 12-0752 (also called Buttercup), which is one grade warmer, visually, and seems to imply a riper, fresher fruit. Companies like Dole have analyzed the sales effects of all varieties of color and, as a result, plant their crops under conditions most ideal to creating the right 'color.' And as for apples? Believe it or not, my research found that while it may look fresh, the average apple you see in the supermarket is actually 14 months old.
Then there's those cardboard boxes with anywhere from eight to ten fresh cantaloupes packed inside each one. These boxes could have been unpacked easily by any one of Whole Foods' employees, but they're left that way on purpose. Why? For that rustic, aw-shucks touch. In other words, it's a symbolic to reinforce the idea of old-time simplicity. But wait, something about these boxes looks off. Upon close inspection, this stack of crates looks like one giant cardboard box. It can't be, can it? It is. In fact, it's one humongous cardboard box with fissures cut carefully down the side that faces consumers (most likely by some industrial machinery at a factory in China) to make it appear as though this one giant cardboard box is made up of multiple stacked boxes. It's ingenious in its ability to evoke the image of Grapes of Wrath-era laborers piling box after box of fresh fruit into the store.
So the next time you happen to grab your wallet to go shopping, don't be fooled: retailers for better or for worse, are the masters of seduction and priming--brandwashing us to believe in perception rather than reality.
Missoni for Target sparks lines, empty racks, website crash
September 13, 2011 | 2:39 pm
Wow. Who said the nation is in a shopping slump?
The long-anticipated, much-touted Missoni for Target collection launched Tuesday -- and almost immediately, the Target website crashed.
"We are suddenly extremely popular," a message on Target.com said. "You may not be able to access our site momentarily due to unusually high traffic. Please stay here and we'll try to get you in as soon as we can! Please know that there is no need to refresh your browser. Your request will automatically retry in 30 seconds."
And retry and retry and retry -- I'm still not in, hours later!
Lines reportedly began forming at Target stores around Los Angeles at 5:30 a.m., with the line at the West Hollywood store wrapping twice around the block, according to KTLA. The Glendale store reportedly sold out by 9 a.m., Style Section L.A. reported.
The 400-piece collection includes apparel, accessories and housewares in the upscale Italian design house's famous zigzag patterns. Pieces range from $2.99 to $599.99, with most items $40 or less. A preview showing in a New York city pop-up shop sold out in less than two days last week.
The collection was supposed to be available to the public from Tuesday until Oct. 22, and I'd love to own a piece. But it seems like I missed the boat, since Target design collaborations notoriously sell out early. I'm still waiting for that website to come back up!
Meanwhile, I wonder how much bad feeling consumers will have about this. Target launches these collaborations with much fanfare, but often eager shoppers are disappointed when the wares run out quickly. What do you think: Is this upsetting or just part of the bargain-hunting game?
Borders, in bankruptcy, seeks six-figure payouts for executives
September 7, 2011 | 7:55 am
Borders bookstores are closing their doors forever around the country while Borders Group Inc. seeks six-figure payouts for the company's former chief executive and other top management. By the time the stores' closure is complete, more than 10,000 Borders employees will have lost their jobs.
On the same day Borders Group Inc.’s rank-and-file employees sued over not receiving proper notice of their terminations, the failed bookseller asked to make six-figure payments to its former top executives, including Chief Executive Mike Edwards.
Borders’s bankruptcy estate sought permission late last week to make $125,000 severance payments each to Edwards, former Chief Financial Officer Scott Henry and two other senior managers.
The request came just hours after Jared Pinsker, a former employee at the company’s Ann Arbor, Mich., headquarters, filed a class-action lawsuit on behalf of other Borders saying the retailer violated the federal Worker Adjustment and Retraining Notification (WARN) Act by not giving employees 60 days’ notice that they’d be laid off.
Pinsker is asking that the company pay two months worth of wages to him and others like him.
Incidentally, the four executives are each receiving at least two months’ salary.
Borders stores that have not yet closed are being liquidated.
What I learned by living off Internet coupons for seven straight days.
By Noreen MalonePosted Tuesday, June 28, 2011, at 7:04 AM ET
We live in a Golden Age of Coupons. Every morning when I open my email, I see offers from Gilt City, Daily Candy, Living Social, and Groupon scattered among news briefings and actual correspondence. I signed up for these missives because I love a good deal, but for the most part I delete them unread; I can't forget my mother's folk wisdom: You can go broke buying wholesale.
I guess not everyone's mother told them that: Groupon, the best known of the Internet-discount services, was valued at $30 billion in its June IPO. Intrigued by this ludicrously large sum, I resolved to stop ignoring Groupon's emails and to see what all the fuss was about. Because I'm fitfully prone to extremes, I also decided to test the usefulness of Groupon on a micro scale. For one full week, I spent money on only Groupon deals. Groupon was, effectively, my sole currency.
First I implemented a few ground rules: I limited my spending to $200, a number meant to encapsulate all my non-rent/non-recurring-payment expenses, including food, and to be roughly equivalent to what I spend in a normal week. (I did allow myself a few emergency purchases like a subway pass, toilet paper, etc., and loaded up on groceries beforehand.) I could use only newly purchased Groupons, not stockpiled ones, and my goal was to spend them all within the seven-day period. One of the genius/terrible aspects of Groupon, depending on your perspective, is that people often fail to use them before they expire—resulting in a burgeoning secondary market. I wanted to avoid this particular kind of suckerdom.
The first day was disappointing. For my area (New York City), my options included a dance performance I had no interest in seeing, a guided tour of D.C. or Philadelphia, a Web-based laundry-pickup service, and a box of local coop organic produce, deliverable by mail. I'd been hoping for something indulgent, and Groupon was literally advising me to eat my vegetables.
Yet I went ahead: I spent $20 for $38.98 worth of greens that, when they arrived a few days later, didn't seem all that seasonal. I also decided to go for the laundry service: Like produce, I normally wouldn't consider getting it delivered, but the Groupon deal (this time, $15 for $30 worth of services) tricked me into thinking I was making up for the convenience surcharge. (In fact, as I realized a few days later after bothering to do some basic math, doing my own laundry and going to the supermarket would have been cheaper.)
On day two I took a bye. Groupon offered me yet another show I didn't want to see, a random deli sandwich far from where I work and where I live, and exercise programs that couldn't be completed during my week of Grouponing. (Here I should note that, in the past, I've gotten excellent deals on otherwise pricy yoga studios. Though I suppose coupon-yoga only works for me because I'm not picky about my "practice.")
The following morning I resisted the very, very brief urge to purchase 14 hours of tarot-card instruction to the tune of $50, stared longingly at a helicopter tour of Manhattan that would have exploded my budget, and instead bought a $10 coupon for $20 worth of lunch at a Thai restaurant in a faraway Brooklyn neighborhood. It may seem pathetic, but a midday, sit-down meal requiring more than an hour away from my desk counts as adventurous, and so later that week (you have to wait a day until your purchases are active) I met a freelance friend for a leisurely lunch. The food was average, the restaurant was empty, and any sense of grandeur I might have felt by treating him was spoiled by the moment when I had to root around in my bag for a crumpled coupon, only to have it momentarily rejected by the waiter because we hadn't spent quite enough.
Still, fairly pleased with the novelty of that experience, I met another work-from-home friend a couple of days later for $15 worth of lunch at an upscale noodle place, purchased for a mere $7. When the waiter figured out that we were using a Groupon, he whisked away the specials menu. Ouch. It seems my dignity can be bought for the low, low price of $8.
I also ventured out one day that week with several officemates to a "nearby" coffee shop—a 20-minute walk each way—where I had a Groupon for $8 worth of lunch. My sandwich was fine, but a 20-minute sandwich ought to be a work of near-art (weird that there's all this talk of an obesity crisis). The whole "time is money" concept hadn't occurred to me when I clicked "purchase," and yet after lunch I rushed back to the office full of anxiety that didn't seem worth the savings.
That's the thing about Groupons: It's rare that they are truly geographically convenient—one reason why so many go unused. (The company is slowly rolling out Groupon Now, which lets customers search for and instantly purchase nearby deals.) More often than not, you get a discount from an establishment you've never heard about. Either that, or your options are severely limited. One morning, for instance, roughly halfway through the week, I was delighted to discover an email offering a Groupon to a bar I'd long wanted to try. Maybe Groupon was a better social secretary than I was giving it credit for! The catch, though, was that you could only purchase a charcuterie or fondue plate (hardly torture, I'll admit), and again, the waitress wasn't happy. Looking around the room, I realized why. Two days after the coupon had been sent out, nearly every table held a fondue or meat place. It wasn't going to be a good tip night for her, even if the restaurant was doing better business than usual. I'm pretty sure that any etiquette expert would tell you to tip for the original price, not the discounted one, but I'd also bet that only a small percentage of people actually do so.
Near the end of my Groupon experiment, I totaled up my spending and realized I was nowhere near maxing out my budget. I'd reverted to personality type—careful and practical, more worried about survival than exploration. (All purchasing decisions, not just the discounted ones, are mini personality tests.) But in the name of journalism—and at the behest of my editor, who got mad when I mentioned a cardio-stripping offer that I deleted immediately—I decided to try something I'd never do if not for the discount. I bought a $75 spa deal, which included a 60-minute massage, blowout, and manicure/pedicure, 70 percent off the original unspeakable amount.
Due to various scheduling snafus, I wasn't able to make it to the salon within my allotted week, but I still wanted to see whether there was anything unusual about a Groupon beauty experience. Would they pay less attention to me? Would I have that feeling of unbelonging usually particular to window-shopping at very expensive stores? I didn't call ahead, figuring if they couldn't take me on the spot I'd come back a couple days later. But when I got to the spa—clearly primarily a hair salon trying to branch out with an assist from Groupon—the receptionist smiled, not unkindly, and explained that the first weekend or evening appointment available was … September. Is this because of Groupon, I asked, astonished? "Well, our masseuse is very popu …" she started to say, then simply, "Yes."
Groupon offerings vary from city to city, of course. But the deals in my hometown of Cleveland, which I perused occasionally as a sort of control, as in New York, added up to an odd, and oddly believable, vision of what Americans want to do with our free time—refined, perhaps, through a prism of too many Sex and the City reruns. We want to gorge night after night on affordable Thai fare and to guzzle Merlot at wine bars seemingly more numerous than all the grapes in America, and then to drop hundreds of dollars on removing the dental stains and fleshly dimples that result. We might not know, sitting in our cubicles, that we want these things—but take 50 percent off the sticker price, and suddenly we do.
However it might turn out as a business venture and despite the painful prose of its assembly-line jokes, Groupon is practically, if accidentally, the Tocqueville of the moment in its sweeping generalization about what the American public wants. And, I suppose, in the minor and yet telling choices it forces each day, a service like Groupon holds a mirror up to each individual buyer, too. Or maybe, you know, it's just a pretty good place to get a deal on dinner every once in a while.
High-tech cycling clothes eliminate the need for a shower and change of clothes
Levi's new Commuter Series jeans are designed for commuting cyclists,with features such as reflective material and a tab that holds a U-lock (Photo courtesy of Levi's)
By Jeannine Stein, Los Angeles Times / For the Booster Shots blog
June 9, 2011, 1:43 p.m.
Cyclists no longer have to arrive at their destination looking like a wet rag and needing a shower. As more people take to commuting and traveling by bike -- for both health and environmental reasons -- some clothing companies are stepping up, offering office-ready clothes that don't have to be wrung out upon arrival.
Thank technology for the ability to create or enhance street wear fabrics that not only stretch, but keep perspiration away from the body, resist water and dirt, and retain heat with little insulation. Companies such as Brooklyn, N.Y.-based company Outlier design stylish menswear perfect for cyclists with features like pants with waistbands that are higher in back (so riders can lean forward without revealing too much) and back pockets that riders don't have to sit on while cycling.
Guess who else is getting in on the action? Levi's. The venerable San Francisco company introduces its Commuter Series: a 511 Skinny Jean (full length and cropped) and Trucker Jacket specially designed for cyclists. Features include a Nanosphere treatment that resists water and dirt, antimicrobial properties and reflective material. A raised back yolk on the pants prevents too much skin from showing, a handy waist tab holds a U-lock, and they're reinforced at the crotch, back pockets and belt loops. The jacket has an iPod pocket in front and a longer tail in back. Retail prices range from $68 to $128, and the clothes will be in Levi's stores in July and at Urban Outfitters stores in August.
"The idea came about pretty organically," said JeWon Yu, the brand's senior designer for men's bottoms. "I think the lifestyle here [San Francsico] lends itself to something like this -- everyone here rides their bike, even people here at the company. And since everyone here is also wearing Levi's, why not try to offer something for the commute?"
Yu added that bike commuters are all over the globe, making this less of a trend and more of a lifestyle: "Some people have to carry a separate pair of pants, which is not really ideal and could even deter you from riding a bike."
More pieces will eventually be added to the line, and she said the company welcomes feedback from consumers.
Textile technology also allows people to avoid harmful UV rays. Clothing lines such as Solumbra and Coolibar offer tops, pants, cover-ups, outerwear hats, bathing suits and scarves that protect against the sun. So now there's no excuse not to go outside and work up a sweat.
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