Formula for Disaster?
I used to be your biggest fan. Numero uno. I was all set to tattoo I [heart] DC on my ass until I realized that people would think I [heart]-ed Washington DC, which I do to some degree, but not so much that I need to express it with any degree of pain to my person.
I once loved your kid's edition daily emails which waved unattainably cool stuff in my face. Like family vacations at $1500/night resorts. Or the season's must-have toddler sneakers that could only be purchased in Tokyo on Tuesdays.
Each morning I opened, I clicked, I dreamed.
But they you went and got big. Bigger than big. Suddenly the huge advertisers were knocking at your door which, well, totally understandable. So you pitched me products like minivans and fast food and floor cleaners. I stuck by you. A company's gotta make a buck. Still, it's not like you would recommend something you didn't actually believe in, right? Even if you were paid to do so?
Then one day you sent me a dedicated email recommending that I shop for kids' back-to-school clothes at Wal-Mart [this message paid for and brought to you by Wal-Mart]. You actually suggested my daughter parade around the playground in her Dora the Explorer merchandise from the chain. "No, it's cool everyone. Settle down. This was actually Daily Candy's idea."
I think they call that jumping the shark. Not devastating; just uncomfortable.
I don't tend to get political about this boob or not boob debate. My kids have been fed breast milk. My kids have been fed formula. Neither has killed them yet.
But this month, August, is World Breastfeeding Month. And I respect that.
So maybe today's email promoting Nestlé Baby Formula? Not a smart idea.
Not a smart idea at all.