My cover letter for the CEO gig over at Lands’ End.
To whom it may concern…
First off, may I congratulate you in cleverly hiding your job advertisement in the money news section of the MSN website. Excellent way to immediately sort the truly interested from the merely casual, am I right? I mean, we all know that MSN only operates still because Bill Gates scrolls through it every day. Only really interested people could find it where you hid it there. Good call.
Now, listen, I think we can really help each other out. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Lands’ End people, but your brand is pretty much synonymous with dull reliability. Which worked out great for you a few years ago, because that really appeals to semi-affluent older people who experienced enough upward mobility that they can afford a slightly higher quality cardigan that would still immediately lull anybody to sleep.
The trouble, see, is with old people today. I mean, have you seen these people? They’re going to underground punk shows! They’re eating kale chips and handing out sage advice about sex that not only fails to make you blush but actually sounds like good advice.
People haven’t been properly old in years. I mean really, properly old, with the closets you raid when you need to do your period art film for your Master’s thesis, and all the squinting at things that they treat with disdain to cover up for their confusion. I mean real, proper old people, who alternately nap and tell you interesting stories.
Nowadays, people keep up.
You’ve seen an end of an era, Lands’ End. All of your target demographic are dying out.
Now the thing is, a few years ago — hell, a few months ago — I probably wouldn’t have been able to give you much of a hand. I was busy rolling my eyes whenever people pointed out that I’m basically just a hipster, then going back to my local coffees and thrift shops and bands no one has heard of certain in my knowledge that hipsters are just poseurs.
Lucky for you, I recently experienced a new stage in life: I purchased my first plain, gray Lands’ End cardigan.
Well, first new one.
Well, I say purchased. I was given it, and only after it was cast off with disgust by not less than three of my siblings.
But you know, progress was made.
And now I can tell you with no lack of confidence that I appreciate the workmanship.
Sure, I feel myself age fifteen years the moment I put the thing on.
Sure, it ends all my productivity better than a sunbeam and cup of honeyed chamomile tea.
But between the mumbles and the dozing, I can tell that we are dealing with some fine craftsmanship.
And that’s something.
Look, let’s cut the cheese. When you get right down to it, we’ve both got a problem.
Your whole main target demographic is morphing out of the human race, or doing what I like to call “Anjelica Hustoning.” You can tell that there are more hip people than ever because it is once again hip to say “hip.” And if you don’t do something soon then the only people who will want Lands’ End’s style of clothes are New England hikers and somewhat well-off computer nerds. But Eddie Bauer will snap up those markets in no second’s flat, because Eddie Bauer is more fun. Don’t cry. You know it’s true.
Then there’s me: my problem is that I have a cardigan that I won’t wear in public because I’m afraid of spontaneously acquiring a senior citizen’s discount. Which would be nice, I suppose, but I’d like to be awake to enjoy the night club where I got two dollars off at the door, rather than occasionally waking up in the corner of it to shout my incoherent grandpa rage.
So tell you what, instead of a job interview, let’s go shopping. I’ll take you to all my favorite little holes, we’ll grab a latte and then sneer at loud sweaters for a while, and talk image. You know, add a few studs here, redundant zippers maybe — change some of these sensible cloths to vinyl — maybe start a post-apocalyptic supplies brand.
It’s right there in the name — Lands’ End. A more foreboding name for a company you could not design!
Where is the Lands’ End Cthulhu line? That’s the main question in everyone’s mind. It just isn’t there. It takes a blow torch and a busy afternoon to even begin to make Lands’ End products feel well-used. What I’m trying to say is that when a costume department sets out to outfit the cast in their zombie apocalypse/alien invasion slasher flick, “let’s hit up the Lands’ End,” is a phrase not heard. There may be something inherently unsettling about good looking sixty year old models wandering in the woods without an ounce of mud on them, sure, but it’s hardly the work of John Carpenter, now, is it?
I think you can see where I’m going with that.
Call me up. I’m easy to find. Let’s have a chat.
Regards,
— Oliver
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