The retro catalogue
In today’s mail, I received something that is anachronistic: a catalogue. I appreciated the sentiment, but my approach to “retail” has evolved.
Oh sure, there was a time in my life when the wish book was treasured. Eatons and Simpsons were the only way to plan my list (even though Santa already knew what was in my soul). My dreams of organized sports began (and ended) with the Canadian Tire book; I could have been a star in the (six team) NHL, if only the puddle where I skated had been better arranged. And what about the oddest catalogue experience of all: Consumer’s Distributing. A whole store where the only thing you could touch before filling out that little form with the little pencil was a plasticized page. In colour, mind.
Now, we have the wonder of the web, where Amazon looms large and eBay shows how far we’ve come. Oddly, today’s paper version comes from a store that should know better: Canadian Tire. Their website works well, and the days of lining up to talk to a guy behind the counter are just a distant memory. I can go down to the city and touch everything before buying, so why would a pretty picture serve as enticement.
I’m almost sad for their marketing arm. Caught in the dichotomy, obviously. In fact, the only firm that needs to reach me via a paper book is the seed business. Otherwise, how could a garden ever go from tiny bits of plant detritus to a wash of bright colours?
