Do You Know What Puffery Means?

I didn't.  But now I do.  I just read about it in the Fundraising Detective blog.

Puffery refers to the perfectly legal way that companies brag about their products, making claims that are exaggerated but not provably false (think "coldest beer in Brooklyn" or "best pizza in Chicago").

There are a few fascinating things about puffery.

First of all, it's legal because it is generally assumed that no one really believes it.

But if no one believes is, you may ask, then what is the point of saying it?

The point is, I would guess, that even if the prospective buyer doesn't exactly believe it, he or she still believes that something like it must be true.  Or at least believes that the seller is very enthusiastic and confident about the product.  I conjecture that the enthusiasm and confidence itself is the message.  (If you want to explore a  brilliant gloss on this topic by one of my intellectual heroes, Northrop Frye, read The Vocation of Eloquence chapter of The Educated Imagination.)

Second, it is only effective on people who do not consider themselves experts on the subject.

Which brings me back to fundraising.

I often read pieces by fundraising experts about the importance of avoiding dry statistics and complex logic in fundraising writing, and instead using stories and appealing to emotions.

And I'm sure that's true -- for direct mail.  But it strikes me as dead wrong in foundation grant proposals.

Because when we're reading direct mail pieces, we want to believe that an act of generosity on our part will have a profound impact on an urgent problem.  Just as we want to believe that the pizza we're about to eat is the best in Chicago, or the shampoo we're about to buy is going to make us look like fashion models.  We are, to paraphrase Frye, thinking with our imaginations.  We live much of our lives in a state of imagination; if we didn't, life might be unbearable.

But sometimes we know we must suspend our imaginations to make important decisions.  We'll pull off the highway because we read a sign that says "best barbecue in Tennessee," but we won't stake our life savings on an email that promises the "investment opportunity of a lifetime."

And the foundation program officer, who is paid to direct grants to the most effective possible use, won't be swayed by your attempts to bring tears to her eyes.  She is an expert in what she does and your puffery will likely leave her cold.  She want facts.

At least while she's at work.  After pouring over proposals all day I'm sure she'll head to that new bar she passed by recently -- you know, the one with the big sign that says "Best Martinis in Manhattan."