Dear Holidays,
Today I am unsubscribing. I am opting out and no longer wish to receive your messages. No I don’t want to change the frequency of
your messages, I want out completely. Your automated response says that you’re sorry to see me go but I know that I no longer matter.
I did not hit unsubscribe lightly. I have been a loyal subscriber for years. But over time, you’ve changed and quite frankly your content is no longer relevant to me. I was with you before the merger. I remember when Christmas, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving and New Year were separate outfits. I supported all of you and enjoyed your distinctive offerings. But then you merged and became the “Holidays,” and you lost your distinction. Oh yes I know that you cited brand evolution as a natural progression. You talked of a new era that was inclusive. You were staying true to your core values but innovating to stay in the game…blah, blah, blah. I understood the words but could not help feeling abandoned by brands that I once advocated.
You have assembled an army of affiliates who use your name and marketing to sell everything from books to teeth whitening. It no longer matters if they align with your core brand as long as they use approved messaging and brand colors.
Now you have decided to expand your brand visibility. You’re not content to be a seasonal brand but are moving into the broader market. I read that you’re close to a deal with the 4th of July and Veteran’s Day and are developing new brands for the months that lack coverage.
Congratulations you have arrived. You took your mom and pop shops and grew them into big brands. I wish you the best but I can no longer support your vision.
We had some good times but please don’t contact me again.
Respectfully,
Karen
P.S. I found a small startup that is filling a niche you abandoned. They are focusing on people like me who still treasure faith and family. They are wide eyed idealists who care more about the experience than the profit. I don’t need shiny gadgets, apps and maps to access their offerings. They remind me of a little of you before you became a “season.”