I feel sad and nostalgic this evening.
I just saw earlier today on the Wall Street Journal that card retailer Papyrus is filing for bankruptcy and closing all of their stores. The news alone broke my heart. I thought about all of the beautiful cards I’ve written and sent over the years with the signature gold hummingbird seal on the back. I thought about all of the loving and supportive messages I’ve received in turn on textured Papyrus stationary. In a digital age, these physical cards made me feel closer to my loved ones than any post, like, text, or Cameo ever could. The cards felt luxurious and ornate.
When I wrote a card, I felt like a 16th-century queen meticulously crafting her words in cursive penmanship.
When I received a card, I felt like I had won the lottery, receiving an unexpected boost in my spirits.
My heart felt heavier as I entered the Papyrus store on Montgomery and Pine in downtown San Francisco. Signs acknowledging 20% off hung everywhere. I wanted to buy everything in the store and stock up for the next 60 years of my life. I eyed the birthday cards with 1, 2, 3, 4 and so on printed on the front and thought about creating a stash for my niece for the foreseeable future. I browsed through the sympathy cards and new baby announcements, ready to prepare for all deaths and births. And yet, scouring the store for a deal felt so wrong. I felt like a vulture over the carcass of carrion, picking and searching and picking some more.
Eventually, I returned most of my cards and decided to purchase a small collection of six cards to celebrate various occasions with my fiance. These cards felt like rare rubies in my hand. I wanted to pay more for them, not receive the discount. As I approached the register, I saw a sign that the staff had posted. It read “Internal Only,” and it was a short FAQ document from corporate about the closing of over 240 stores and related layoff of 1,400 employees. On it, one employee added in lilac markup: “Please do not ask any more questions. It’s really hurtful to talk about this right now.”
I could barely bring my eyes to meet those of the woman behind the register. Of all the things to sell in the world, thoughtfulness has felt the most noble to me, and I ached for this woman and all of the employees who would no longer have a job.
I know that this does not signal the true death of the greeting card, but the thought of purchasing a flimsy card in CVS or scrolling through millions of paper cards online sounds so much less appealing than browsing through the perfectly-appointed Papyrus stores. Already I can imagine myself finding a service to create custom cards for all occasions and probably having fun with that, but it always felt special to me to feel a sentiment and then find a card that expressed that in both words and imagery.
I have a couple storage boxes of cards in my closet – ones that celebrate my very first birthday and ones from this past Christmas. These are my most treasured possessions and after today, I value them – and the relationships and moments that they represent – even more.
Thank you, Papyrus, for bringing so much love and beauty into the world.