A memorable trope in radio advertising for demolition derbies and monster truck rallies is the line, “A ticket gets you a full seat, but you’ll only need THE EDGE.” Shouted in a gravelly voice and underlaid with sounds of roaring engines and crunching metal, the spots set a certain expectation of what the event will offer.

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Counter to the expectation set in the above paragraph, this memo has nothing to do with radio advertising, violent motorsports, or great copywriting (though “you’ll only need THE EDGE” certainly qualifies).

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Nor is this about David Howell Evans. Much as we enjoy co-opting rock stars and the otherwise famous in our memos, we’ve gotten “notes” from certain quarters suggesting things have gotten a bit too…esoteric.

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So, this memo is about business cards. 

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Seen by some as a relic from an earlier time—a time when people met in person and paper grew on trees—the business card hasn’t seen its last. Certain cultures (we’re looking at you, Japan) continue to value the business card as a signifier of status and respect. In some countries (okay, still Japan), great ritual is attached to their exchange.  

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When we founded our firm, we debated whether we should create business cards at all. It seemed an unnecessary expense, and potentially a high one knowing who would be designing it, specifying the paper stock, printing and finishing techniques. Though only slightly more practical than hanging out an actual shingle, we opted to make them, if only to make ourselves feel more official. 

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Plus, what if we landed a Japan-based client?

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The expense was indeed high. We invested in a card stock thick enough to stir a cocktail or shim a Christmas tree straight. The debossed logo in pearlescent foil might not be immediately visible, but its subtlety and the delight in discovering it added unexpected sophistication. Most importantly, our contact information and titles—Founding Partner—were accurate. And beautifully letterpressed. 

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As good as the Moos and VistaPrints of the world might be, the cards called for production fidelity that they aren’t equipped for. And so we called on our friends at Rohner Press, who we knew would deliver with impeccable quality and attention to detail. A luxury at multiple times the price, but an investment in ourselves, we said as we compared the price tag with our start-up bank balance of $0.00.

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Just prior to going to print, another detail was suggested: “Would we ever paint the edges?”

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For only 30% more than the original outlay, why not? Sunk cost can only be a fallacy if you let it, right? 

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Soon our cards arrived, ready for the unboxing ritual, with our signature cyan on the edges, wrapping our logo and titles in a brand-affirming hug. 

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When we hand cards out in a meeting, we’re often met with shamed apologies from those who don’t have one of their own to exchange. Some are bemused by the cards’ weight and impressed by finishes. And, yes, there’s occasional scoffing that we have cards to begin with. But the cards make an impression—and they leave one, long after we’ve left the room and the recipient slips the weighty cardstock into their laptop bag. The next time they open the bag, that blue edge is peeking out, an intimate reminder of The Indelible. 

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From the decision to make cards in the first place to the details of their production, we designed every aspect to reflect the brand we sought to build. A brand whose purpose would be to create lasting impressions. Whose audience would be leaders seeking to make their mark. A brand whose value lay in the experience and expertise of its founders. And whose essence would be enduring foresight.

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For any brand, committing to the details sends a signal of respect to its audience. It projects confidence in its proposition, and the quality of its offering. Disregarding the details sends a signal too; both get noticed. When faced with a choice between investing in the little things and cutting corners, our advice: paint the edges. 

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Indelibly yours,

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Mike, Matt, Thom and Jeff

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