On Special Offers and Property Evaluations

I got another “Property Evaluation Certificate” in the mail today. You know the ones, probably, with the faux gold seal, and the ornate border like that on a bank note, and the suggestion that you “keep this valuable certificate with your important documents … if for some reason you do not wish a property evaluation at this time.”

And then, in a font so small you could use it to inscribe the collected works of Melville on a grain of rice, the usual disclaimers about not wanting to poach the clients of other realtors. Yeah, sure, is my thought on that. There is a legal obligation fulfilled, sure, but then there is what’s right.

I think it’s the “if for some reason” that gets me most. The suggestion is that wanting some rumpled realtor to stop by with his dull-topped Oxfords and his well-oiled pitch is a no-brainer, a golden opportunity, and why the heck would anyone turn that down. To my eye, though, it’s a cheap trick dressed up as a freebie. 

I’ve written about these mailouts before. They appall me. Which sounds on the heavy side, I know. But if you’re going to start with an offer that’s not what it seems to be, then what should a homeowner expect from you going forward? A shameless exaggeration is a heck of an opening pitch. Because let’s be clear, every realtor offers free evaluations of your property.

Realtors all have access to a suite of these sorts of things, whoever we work for. Templates for postcards, all of them more and less obviously screaming Pick me, Pick me. And fair enough, much of the time. It’s the nature of the job. Go ahead, I say, and mean it. Show us your face. Get your name out there. Plaster your phone number front and centre. But come on, let’s at least not start dishonestly, with this cheap bling, this fake currency. 

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Full disclosure. After my sister died, I found one of these exact certificates in her desk drawer. They’ve been kicking around for a good few years now. I wrote about it then too. Tracy was never going to be able to afford a house but still it seems she gave a little headspace to the idea of house-shopping and, further down the road, house-selling. She aspired to a different sort of life than the one that had coagulated around her, one that that involved much more ordinary ordinary suburban stresses. Did being fed these cheap useless fantasies give her some respite? Of course not. They made her feel, I bet, more hopeless than ever.