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July 2002
Mail Order
Mad About Mail Order

By Margaret Webb Pressler, Washington Post
July 7th 2002

My friend Lisa recently had $2,000 worth of catalogue merchandise delivered to her house. My look of shock obviously registered.

"Oh, I won't keep it all," she explained. "I buy different sizes and different colors of the same clothes to see what I like, then I send most of it back."

I immediately invited myself over to see her haul for myself. Watching her go through it all felt just like being in a dressing room at a department store. And it made me wonder whether other people use catalogues like this -- like their own personal mall -- or whether there are other shoppers like me, who buy catalogue goods occasionally but never return anything even if it's not

right. And what other types of catalogue shoppers are out there? Catalogue shopping is so private, it's hard to know anything about other people's mail-order buying habits.

As I suspected, there are many types of catalogue shoppers, who together are expected to spend $123 billion on their orders this year.

The typical catalogue shopper, as described by several industry experts, is a relatively well-educated suburban mother, age 35 to 65, with a household income of more than $65,000 a year. She doesn't have a lot of free time to go shopping, and when she orders from a catalogue she's likely to buy things for several family members at once. When men shop by catalogue, they usually shop only for themselves.

She usually orders three times a year and spends a total of $600. And she's increasingly likely to place her order online after reading a paper catalogue. That's great for the industry, which is pushing the Web as a selling channel: Selling online allows cataloguers to add and subtract items quickly and adjust prices regularly. Plus, it's cheaper.

"We have an amazing incentive to drive as much traffic as possible to the World Wide Web," said David Hochberg, a spokesman for Lillian Vernon, one of the nation's largest direct-mail merchants. The company will spend more than $40 million this year alone on paper for its catalogues and postage to mail them out.

And the fact that so many purchases are made online has boosted the number of purchases made from work. Lunchtime during the week brings the biggest order surge, but Monday is the busiest order day in general industry-wide.

"Many times when they're ordering they'll be doing one or two different things, and they'll have to put our customer service representatives on hold," said Tara Roth of catalogue giant Lands' End.

Catalogue companies don't use their huge databases to create sociological descriptions of how people use catalogues, but through details and anecdotes, other clear types emerge. One is my friend Lisa, who buys a lot but returns a lot, too.

"That's not an uncommon scenario for mail-order shoppers," said Rich Donaldson of L.L. Bean. "People say, 'I'm going to order two pairs and keep the one that works best.' "

Key to this behavior pattern is that catalogues are making it easier to return something. Many companies now include return labels with prepaid postage, so all you have to do is put the box out for the mail carrier and a fee for postage is deducted from the refund.

But that doesn't mean the companies like it when shoppers return things. It costs them money, and it's a nightmare in the warehouse.

"Why do you think we don't sell fashion? The return rate is phenomenal," said Hochberg of Lillian Vernon. "If you send someone six sizes and they keep one, it's terribly expensive."

Far more palatable to Hochberg, and any catalogue, is the shopper like me, who never returns anything. By the time I go to the post office, stand in line and pay for the postage, it just doesn't seem worth the effort.

There are a lot of us out there, I've learned (though with prepaid postage, we may be a dying breed). People like me help explain why the return rate at moderately priced catalogues is often in the single digits, compared with up to 30 percent return rates at trendier fashion catalogues such as Coldwater Creek.

"The majority of people who shop by catalogue do tend to be a little more affluent," said catalogue consultant Bill Dean, whose firm, W.A. Dean & Co., is based in San Francisco. "If it's a $25 item, you just never get around to returning it."

There are many other types of catalogue shoppers, too, including:

Gift buyers. Some people only use catalogues when they're shopping for someone else, especially in the last three months of the year. This is especially common among grandparents buying for grandchildren.

Cross-shoppers. As in regular retail, rich people shop at lower-end catalogues as well as pricey ones. The reverse is not as common, but it does happen.

Bargain hunters. There are people who will buy only from a sale catalogue. Catalogue companies watch for this in their data and may start sending those shoppers only clearance editions.

Elderly and infirm. People who can't get out and about rely heavily on catalogues and are considered a valuable market segment.

The lonely. There are a lot of people who want to chat -- for a long time -- with the person at the other end of the toll-free number. Especially in the middle of the night, catalogue executives say, calls tend to be much longer.

Readers, but non-shoppers. There are plenty of people who read catalogues, mark them up, intend to buy and never get around to it. Sherry Chiger, editorial director of Catalog Age magazine, says her husband is one of those. "Weeks go by and he's still carrying it around. Eventually he just says 'Never mind,' " she said. "Cataloguers don't like him."

Catalogues are trying direct e-mails, more targeted versions of their catalogues and all kinds of data massaging to boost their customer base. But it's hard to change an established behavior.

Before a trip to Florida in April, I bought a couple of bathing suits from a catalogue. They didn't work (what was I thinking?), but they're still sitting on my dresser, packed in plastic. And every night when I see them, I don't think, "Oh, I need to return those." Rather, I hope that someday I'm thin enough to wear them -- and I vow never to do this again.

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