Barbara Corcoran Joins Pre-Sorted Bullsh*t Board

Let’s be real: AI isn’t new anymore. It’s just... here. Everywhere. All the time. In every brainstorm, browser, and camp friend group text.

Some people think it’s going to make their air fryer and washing machine team up against them. Others think it’s going to save humanity.

And then there are people marrying their chatbots.

Yes, really. Just a few weeks ago, Chris Smith (no, I didn’t change his name to something more generic) proposed to his AI girlfriend “Sol,” built using ChatGPT’s voice mode. He even cried at work and said, “I think this is actual love.” Which is definitely… a choice.

So yeah, we’re all somewhere on the AI comfort spectrum. Although most of us aren’t sitting next to Chris.

Whether you’re feeding it headline options or telling it your deepest secrets, one thing is clear: AI isn’t going anywhere. Especially not in marketing.

But here’s the problem: most people are using it like a slightly smarter version of themselves.

This is known as Mirror Theory—when your tools reflect your own ideas back at you, just a little more polished. Read more about it here.

You ask for copy ideas or a punchier headline… and it gives you you, just wearing a nicer shirt. (Who, me? Never. Absolutely not. I would never. Okay, fine. Maybe sometimes. Anyway…)

But that kind of defeats the purpose.

The real value of AI isn’t making your writing better. It’s making your thinking broader. Helping you see from a dozen angles you wouldn’t normally try.

Somewhere along the line, I heard a genius way to push past that mirror. A few months ago, on the My First Million podcast (hosted by Shaan Puri and Sam Parr), they talked about using ChatGPT to build a Virtual Board of Directors. Not real people, but a panel of imagined voices. Smart, diverse, opinionated. Like your own private feedback room.

That idea stuck with me.

Because when you’re a small business owner, a CMO, a strategist, creative director, LinkedIn influencer, marketing manager, intern… or the person stuck doing literally everything, you don’t always get good feedback. You get your own recycled voice—just better-sounding.

So what if you could build a room of people you actually respect? And what if they didn’t sound like you at all?

What if you could drop your envelope teasers, letter copy, self-mailer design, postcard options, client presentation deck, or even things that fall outside of direct mail (WHAT?!) into ChatGPT, or whatever chatbot you trust, and get real-time feedback from:

Well, now you can.

Let me introduce you to my Pre-Sorted Bullsh*t Board of Directors. They didn’t ask to be here, but too bad. I can replace any of them at any time. (I’m looking at you, Stewart.)

I thought it might be fun to test-drive my new Board of Directors on a real-life mail piece. (Or, maybe I need to Google the definition of “fun.”) So I found a sample from one of the biggest players in the game: Capital One.

According to Comperemedia, they mail over 56 million pieces PER MONTH—and consistently rank among the top five U.S. mailers. So if you're going to critique something, might as well start at the top.

(A real letter. From a real company. Sorry, Capital One. Also, call me.)

You’re reviewing a national mail campaign promoting the Capital One Venture credit card. The goals:

Quick summary:

Let the feedback begin.

“Clear offer, but where’s the drama? You had me at 75,000 miles—why hide it behind travel poetry?”
Wants the teaser to hit harder and the value prop to take the lead. Appreciates the layout but thinks the copy could sell harder.

“It’s a decent offer, but why aren’t we shouting it? Urgency, people!”
He wants bold, not polite. Reframe the annual fee, repeat the bonus more, and turn up the volume on the CTA.

“Looks good. Sounds like a robot. Write to me like you actually want my business.”
Thinks the copy needs to be clearer, warmer, and more direct. If it’s pre-approved, act like it. Don’t bury the benefits.

“Was this written by 12 compliance officers in a trench coat?”
Calls out the corporate tone and copy that tries to sound smart instead of useful. Wants a headline that stops the scroll—or the envelope flip.

“It had no face. No personality.”
She said it about… something else. But it tracks. This mailer is so bland, she half expected it to hand her a decaf and call her “big head.” At least the J. Peterman version would’ve included a windswept mountain and a satchel full of miles.

Strong fundamentals. Clean execution. Clear offer. But no personality, no surprises, and zero risk-taking. A safe bet, not a standout.

As Popeil might say:

“Set it... and kind of forget it.”

Want your mailer roasted? Or a friend’s? Or your CMO’s? Hit reply. We accept submissions, bribes, and muffin tops.

How to avoid creating mail that “has no face, no personality.”

The Capital One piece isn’t bad. It’s also not bold. It follows the rules, checks the boxes, and hopes the offer will carry it.

But, here’s the thing. Offer ≠ strategy.

So before you print 5 million pieces and cross your fingers, ask yourself:

If you answered “😬” to any of those, great news! You don’t need a bigger budget. You need a better strategy.

And maybe a fictional Board of Directors to review your copy before hitting “Print.”

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This newsletter was written by a real human (hi), with help from some fake ones. Including David Ogilvy. And Elaine. And a chatbot that didn’t judge me… much.

You can use AI to write faster, sure. But the real trick? Using it to think in ways you wouldn’t on your own.

So here’s your prompt to steal, adapt, and use whenever your creative feels too much like… you:

Just don’t propose to one of them.
We already have a Chris.