In the bustling aisles of supermarkets and the crowded inboxes of daily life, a particular style of corporate communication has become impossible to avoid. Businesses, from energy suppliers to food brands, have adopted an aggressively chummy tone, addressing consumers with a breezy "Hey you!" or a presumptuous "We miss you!". For London-based writer Max Fletcher, this trend of faux friendliness is a hill he is prepared to die on.
The Ubiquity of the Faux-Friendly 'You'
Fletcher highlights the sheer pervasiveness of this technique, known as direct address. It's inescapable: a carton of Alpro oat milk calls out from the dairy shelf, a once-visited restaurant sends an email proclaiming "We miss you!", and an Octopus Energy bill deploys the second-person pronoun a staggering 41 times, yet never once uses a simple "Dear" or "Sir". The intent is clear—to create a sense of individual connection and value. However, for many, the effect is the opposite, breeding irritation and a sense of being patronised by a faceless corporation.
A Historical Technique with Modern Annoyance
This marketing strategy is far from new. Fletcher points to its pioneering use in 1888 by Kodak, which sold its first simple camera with the slogan: "You push the button, we do the rest." At the time, this direct address was bold, even transgressive, democratising a complex craft. Today, however, it has become the default, sanitised language of corporate power. While studies suggest consumers respond better to such personalised adverts, Fletcher argues the approach now feels deeply disingenuous. The Kodak slogan, he contends, gave a false sense of power to the user, a feeling that remains patronising 137 years later, as real power resides with the device and the company profiting from it.
The Final Insult from AI
The trend has reached its logical, and for Fletcher, galling conclusion with artificial intelligence. "Good to see you, Max," chirps ChatGPT upon login. This, from a machine that may one day take his job, feels like the ultimate insult. The writer's plea is simple: in a world saturated with fake intimacy, a modicum of old-fashioned formality wouldn't hurt. Given the power dynamics at play, the least a corporation or its AI could do is call him "sir".
The core issue Fletcher identifies is one of authenticity. Companies are not our mates; they are businesses selling a product or service. The relentless, informal 'you' attempts to shortcut genuine relationship-building, often achieving nothing but consumer cynicism. In an age of data harvesting and algorithmic targeting, this faux friendship can feel less like valued recognition and more like a calculated sales tactic wearing a cheap mask of familiarity.
