It all begins with a seemingly innocent private message: “Hey there! I noticed you recently celebrated a birthday! Hope it was wonderful. Your kids are absolutely adorable. It’s been so long since we last caught up! Can you believe it’s been five years?”
Your stomach drops, and you can’t help but groan. You know this cheerful exchange is about to take a turn for the worse.
“I hope you treated yourself on your special day! I’ve got a fantastic way to celebrate YOU. I’m going to do something out of the ordinary and share my exclusive discount with you this month because YOU deserve it!”
And there it is—the dreaded MLM private message.
This message comes from someone you haven’t spoken to in ages. Someone who has never reached out to inquire about your life or compliment your “adorable kiddos.” If this were a true friend, someone already in your circle, you would have been privy to her journey into the realm of skin care or the “life-changing” wraps that miraculously eliminate stretch marks. You would have shared discussions about her decision to become a distributor for extra savings on products she loves, and you would already have access to her coveted discount codes.
No, this is a complete stranger who happened to see your posts about personal struggles—your miscarriage, your family’s flu ordeal, your pregnancy mask, your sleepless nights, your post-baby body. And they saw dollar signs.
I’ve heard the argument that women should uplift each other, especially those trying to make a little extra income. But is it really fair to ask someone to spend their hard-earned dollars to further someone else’s dream? Two fundamental issues arise: (1) My primary responsibility is to my family, whom I am striving to support by cutting costs, and (2) Do MLM sellers forget about the multitude of other distributors vying for a piece of my dwindling budget—from skin care to jewelry to clothing?
I’m not naive. I know a $100 night cream might perform better than the $20 version I spent ages justifying to myself. However, I’m on a strict budget that doesn’t accommodate for extravagant purchases like monogrammed tote bags that could rival my car insurance.
Ultimately, it’s not my duty to sustain your family. If I express that it’s a firm “no,” please take your sales tactics elsewhere and stop pestering me about your “amazing” nail art.
And to all MLM sellers: please stop pretending that sharing discounts makes you a good person. We all understand you’re still profiting, just as your upline is, and the person above them—right up to the top of that pyramid scheme.
A genuinely good friend is someone like Sarah, who reached out last month after learning about my postpartum anxiety. She sent me a product that had helped her in similar circumstances, provided guidance on its use, and checked in regularly without ever pitching a sale. Now, I know firsthand what the product does for me and who to turn to when I need a refill.
For the love of all things sacred, stop sending those insincere private messages. I see through your intentions, and I’m not interested. Ask me once, and I’ll decline politely; ask me again, and I’ll block you.
It’s 2023; we’re all digital. We see your posts. Nobody in desperate need of a diet drink is confused about where to buy it. I’m not losing sleep over where to find that high-end eyelash serum that promises to give me lashes long enough to require trimming! Distributors, we know you exist, and we know how to locate you. And no, we probably don’t want to host a party.
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In summary, MLM private messages often come across as disingenuous attempts to reconnect, masking the true intention of selling products. Authentic connections should prioritize friendship over profit, and genuine support can foster lasting relationships.