3 Times Messy Beats Polished in Fundraising (And 1 Time When it Doesn’t)

"Sometimes it’s OK to let the rough edges show, sweetie!"--Blanche Devereaux in spiritual conversation with Dan Mangiavellano

For those who tuned into last week’s post from Child #2, the “obvious reasons” my daughter christened me “Blanche from Golden Girls” is because—in case you didn’t know it—I’m not actually a 40-something fundraising father of two. I’m a billowy, confident, promiscuous Southern debutante always ready for my 1980s close up. Just ask anybody.

GUEST POST: Child #2 Makes an Ask for DoorDash

It should be noted, however, that in my more un-Blanche-like moments, I like a little messiness between me and my donors. Not messy in the sense that I miss meetings, don’t reply to messages, or show up looking like an unmade bed. I mean the kind of messy that comes from being a regular person who has real encounters with people I know and with those I’m meeting for the first time. The kind of messy that reaffirms that we’re not perfect and doing our best to make good impressions.

Below are three times I’ll take messy over polished in my fundraising encounters. (And, for good measure, one time when being a pigpen fundraiser is inexcusable).

1. When I’m asking people why they give

Answering “Why do you give?” is hard for people if they’ve never really thought about it before. It assumes (1) people actually know why they give and (2) they can articulate that reason out loud and in real time. I’ve asked this question and gone around in circles with somebody in search of a coherent answer. It was a hot mess of a conversation. I loved it.

The person’s reasons for giving, for raising his hand, and for always stepping forward were all over the place. But we eventually found our groove, and he landed on why he gives and why my organization is where he chooses to do so. Letting his reasons be messy until we could tidy them up was a really meaningful encounter. This was the dance we danced:

2. My emails—for better or worse—should sound like me

When I was teaching, I told every 101 class that you can never be more excited than one exclamation point. If I see more than one exclamation point in an essay or email, it means you’re having a heart attack. And I’m calling 911.

It was never a popular opinion but students did it because they were too afraid not to. Total power play, you guys.

I’m more expressive—and more myself—when I’m writing to donors, volunteers, and colleagues than I ever was as a teacher. This means being okay showing some excitement in my correspondence: an exclamation point, an emoji, or even a casual sign off. It feels messy to me and I’m still a little uncomfortable with it. But when I over-edit myself, I sound automated. Somebody you can’t connect with or don’t want to connect with.

S I D E B A R

Last week I “lightly edited” Child #2/Sophia’s post, but only after I wrecked it by trying to fix it. The draft she gave me was a mess. I got rid of all the “sortas,” “gonnas,” “immas,” and “the girls who get it get and the girls who don’t, don’t.” When I read it over, I realized I’d blunted its its fun charm, unique voice, and spiritedness. I scrapped my edits and started over with her original.

(And my feelings are only a little bit hurt, you guys, that the best performing post on Fundraising for Breakfast for the past six months was written by my teenage daughter who spent practically no time on it).

3. When I hand write my thank you notes

I like a handwritten thank you note. They’re fun to write and people appreciate getting them. I mostly figure out what I’m going to say as I’m doing it—that’s part of the sincerity of a thank you note. I’ve written some notes that ended up in left field. I’d read it over, scratch my head about what I wrote, but still drop it in the mail. The execution might have been a little untidy, but the sentiment behind it was unmistakable.

Personalized stationery given to me by Dorothy, my Golden Girl wife. I sent her a thank you note using the very gift she gave me. Which is very moi.

As you can see, my handwriting is generally legible though a bit blah. But you can read it, understand it, and grasp the sentiment behind it. (I’m also an atrocious speller. Never in my life have I spelled “museum,” “lieutenant,” “silhouette,” or “Fahrenheit” correctly on my first try. I often hide my bad spelling behind my handwriting.)

The above is an honest-to-goodness screenshot I took of the first messy draft of this post when I legitimately tried to spell those words without Spellcheck. I did get “atrocious” right on the first time, thankyouverymuch.

I suppose what I really mean by “messy” is “authentic.” And I try to leave room for other people to be messy and authentic in their interactions with me, too—the donor who doesn’t know why he gives gave me a messy answer that we cleaned up together. The reply email I received with run-on sentences and lots of exclamation points is just as expressive as what I sent. And the notes I’ve received from others that were hard to read but easy to feel the sentiments that inspired them.

Sometimes, a little messiness isn’t a bad thing.

But when does messy not beat polished? When it comes from laziness: lack of preparation, care, and attention to others. When you leave somebody hanging with a question you can’t or won’t answer. When you shrug your shoulders in response to hard questions about where donors’ money goes. When you don’t say thank you. None of that is messy, it’s careless.

So go make a mess, you Golden Girls. Just make sure to look like Rue McClanahan when you’re doing it.

I already thanked you once for being a friend to Fundraising for Breakfast. But I’ll do it again because I like it: Thank you for reading!!!