Can’t Get Plugged In to TV Home Shopping? But Wait! There’s More!

A s if brochures, catalogues, mailers, bill stuffers and media blitzes weren’t enough, along comes television’s home shopping. Oh, we know, it’s been around for a while, but we’ve been trying to ignore it. Our credit cards are dizzy enough.

But when we saw that Women’s Wear Daily, the nation’s fashion bible, was giving gobs of space to the phenomenon, we decided to take it--and all home shopping--more seriously.

SHE: I first became aware of television’s home shopping three years ago when Farrah Fawcett made a rare charity appearance at Cano’s in Newport Beach. On the event’s auction block: beautifully executed copies of the jewelry Fawcett wore in her TV movie about Woolworth heiress Barbara Hutton. They were marvelous hunks of paste, all Art Deco and Roaring Twenties-ish. I drooled. The buzz was that Fawcett was making zillions peddling the stuff on the Home Shopping Network.

I went home wondering what I could hawk on television. Reporter’s note pads?

HE: Sure. If Cher can hold the nation’s attention with that endless infomercial about alchemy and hair conditioner, I figure anybody (with money) can hawk just about anything. And get it to sell. So far, I’ve managed to avoid any product that is sold with a pitch containing the words, “But wait! There’s more!” I don’t like to be teased, at least not by my TV.

For me, the granddaddy of mail order is Land’s End. I got on their mailing list about four years ago, and I’ve chucked a good bit of money at them since. I like their approach, which is entirely unlike the Home Shopping Network: easygoing, kind of folksy, self-promoting but becomingly restrained, respectful of your intelligence. You aren’t going to find tiger-striped Spandex body suits in their catalogue (I did order a chili pepper tie), but if you’re sartorially conservative, and on a budget, it’s a bonanza.

SHE: A chili pepper tie? You must be headed for Santa Fe.

I decided to spend some time with the Home Shopping Network to see if they could even come close to tempting me. Truth is, the few times I’ve watched it I’ve been turned off. For me, shopping is a personal experience, and the selection of an item is something that comes after much planning and deliberation. (Who am I kidding?)

In one segment, a woman sounding like a cattle auctioneer tried--boy, did she try. “I want all of America to get on the phone for this!” she screamed about an 18-inch, 10-karat neck chain hung with a tiny garnet. Price tag: $13.95. There was also a real pearl ring-- “An oyster did this!” she boomed--for $39.95.

I was not moved. Not even close. In fact, she irritated me to no end. How dare she command America to buy a cheap trinket! How dare she tell me where pearls come from?

HE: At least she didn’t tell America where babies come from.

Yeah, I’m with you on the aversion to the hard sell. Gives me the willies. I think all those people are blood relations of Cal Worthington. I have a kind of inverse relationship with them: The more shrill they get, the less likely I am to buy (and the more likely to sic the dogs on them). I’ve always figured that, if an item is truly terrific, it’ll sell itself on reputation alone.

That’s another reason I like mail-order shopping. The folks who assemble the catalogues for outfits such as L.L. Bean or Williams-Sonoma know that if they put you off with a hard sell, all you have to do is shut the catalogue and chuck it in the trash compactor. So, instead, they tend to be informative and thorough. And if something needs no hype--Waterford crystal, say--they simply shut up and allow you to be dazzled.

SHE: Just yesterday, I received four department store catalogues in the mail.

I love to see them arrive. They’re attractive. They don’t yell at me. And they do more than display a store’s wares. They demonstrate how America’s top designers are putting clothing and accessories together. They pinpoint trends. Often, I’ll tear out a page to help me remember how to assemble a certain look.

In the past month, I have bought a suit from Neiman Marcus and a suit from Saks Fifth Avenue, all because of their slick catalogues.

HE: I like getting on mailing lists. It seems like every new magazine I subscribe to, or any time I buy something through mail order, I start getting catalogues and mailings from outfits--interesting ones--I’ve never heard of before. For instance, I bought a sweater five years ago on a trip to Ireland, and I’ve been getting a catalogue from the woolen mill ever since (and ordered a couple of things from them).

I ordered a shirt once from a tiny ad in Harper’s, and I’ve been regularly getting a catalogue from a grass-roots company called Deva that makes great lightweight cotton casual clothes.

And here’s what I like the most about mail order: You can shop for most clothes with an 800 number.

SHE: Even Tiffany & Co. has a catalogue. People still gaze hungrily at Tiffany window displays (like the late Audrey Hepburn did in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”), but they can spend time at home with their robin’s-egg-blue catalogues.

And that’s the point about home shopping, isn’t it? We can sit safely in our homes, far from the hubbub of traffic and the irritation of limited parking, and order to our heart’s content.

I’ll probably order from a television set when I see a quality item and the hawker stops saying: “We only have two left!” Yeah, two .. . thousand.

HE: You mean you didn’t take advantage of that once-in-a-lifetime offer on the Ginsu knives plus the cubic zirconia tiara with matching nose ring made from space-age surgical-quality metal? And, for this broadcast only, the miracle garlic mincer? But wait! There’s more . . .