It was one of those small domestic moments that tells you everything you need to know about the modern British service industry. I was visiting my parents, both octogenarians, both long past the stage of bothering to shop around for anything, when an envelope from the AA thudded onto the doormat. My mother opened it with the slight suspicion that all letters now require, only to find the annual renewal notice for their breakdown cover.
“Two hundred and sixty pounds thirty-eight,” she said, frowning at the figure as if it were a medical diagnosis. “Though that’s apparently cheaper than last year – it was £280.25 – and they’ve given us a discount of £107.25.” She seemed reassured, which is precisely how the AA likes it.
Then my eye caught a line in bold type: ‘Thank you for your 64 years of loyalty’.
Sixty-four years! That’s longer than most marriages, and certainly longer than any of the call centre staff at AA Insurance have been alive. My stepfather has been a paying customer since the Beatles were still playing in Hamburg. If loyalty were a virtue the AA truly valued, he’d have a gold card, a free tow truck, and a man in a yellow jacket stationed permanently outside the house.
But no. The letter was a masterpiece of corporate doublespeak – a thank you note wrapped around a quiet mugging. £260.38 for a service that, as it turns out, could be had for a third of the price if you knew where to look.
Being the dutiful son (and, frankly, unable to resist a little consumer sleuthing), I fired up the laptop. Three minutes on the AA’s own website later, I had a quote for exactly the same cover: £97.64. “Introductory offer,” it said. “Full price £162.43.”
So, £97.64 for a new member, or £260.38 for a customer of sixty-four years. You don’t need a degree in behavioural economics to see what’s going on here. The so-called “discount” on the renewal was a magician’s trick: look at this £107 off! – while your wallet quietly disappears.
It’s a swindle dressed in the polite language of British customer service. And my parents, like so many others of their generation, would have paid it. Because that’s what loyal customers do. They trust. They assume that six decades of prompt payment and polite correspondence entitles them to fairness. But in the world of modern subscriptions and annual renewals, loyalty isn’t rewarded, it’s monetised.
The British have always had a sentimental attachment to loyalty. We like to think that staying with the same insurer, bank or utility company means something. It’s a vestige of that post-war mindset where you had your man from the Pru, your chap at the bank, and your account with the AA. You stuck with them and they looked after you.
But that social contract has long since been ripped up. Today, loyalty is treated as a sign of weakness. Companies like the AA rely on inertia, on the quiet assumption that most customers, especially the elderly, will simply renew whatever number appears on the letter.
Meanwhile, the marketing department pours its energy into wooing the new, the fickle, the flighty, those who’ll take their “introductory discount” for a year, cancel at renewal, and start again under another email address. The whole business model has become a revolving door of introductory offers and loyalty penalties.
It’s not just the AA, of course. Every industry plays the same game. Broadband providers, insurers, even the streaming platforms. The longer you stay, the more you pay. It’s a perverse inversion of what loyalty once meant. It’s like being charged extra for ordering the same pint every night at your local.
What’s really galling is how clever it all is. The renewal letters are written to sound reassuring, trustworthy, a little paternal even. They thank you for your custom, list your “discounts”, and refer vaguely to “enhanced cover” you probably never asked for. They hope you’ll glance at the total, shrug, and write the cheque.
In my parents’ case, it was only luck, or filial nosiness, that stopped them being charged nearly triple what the policy was worth. And there’s something morally wrong about that. It’s one thing to overcharge the inattentive; quite another to quietly exploit a generation that built your business in the first place.
Imagine if the AA sent out a letter saying: “Dear Mr X, as one of our longest-standing members, we’re delighted to offer you the same price we give to new customers.” Now that would be loyalty. But of course, that would mean voluntarily surrendering profit. And in the boardroom logic of today’s Britain, that’s heresy.
There’s a wider moral here for all businesses, especially those that like to boast about their heritage. True loyalty is built on mutual respect, not on tricking your oldest customers into overpaying.
We’re entering an era where trust is the scarcest commodity. Consumers are savvier, angrier, and far less forgiving than they used to be. Social media ensures that one story of a pensioner being overcharged can go viral in hours. And yet, the temptation to milk existing customers remains irresistible – it’s easy revenue, and it rarely makes the news.
But brands that behave this way are mortgaging their reputation for short-term gain. Because once people cotton on, as they inevitably do, the damage is irreversible. Sixty-four years of loyalty can vanish in sixty-four seconds.
In the end, I cancelled my parents’ renewal and signed them up anew. The process took less time than boiling the kettle. My mother was delighted. My stepfather, ever the gentleman, just shook his head. “So much for loyalty,” he said.
Quite. The AA may get them back on the road when the car breaks down, but when it comes to customer loyalty, it’s the company itself that’s stranded on the hard shoulder – hazard lights flashing, engine sputtering, wondering where all its good will went.
We asked the AA for a response and an AA spokesperson said: “Our pricing reflects the service offered. The new member price is discounted, but doesn’t provide the same member benefits.
“We would welcome the chance to talk to this member to look at their renewal and see what they are comparing it to online.” My response to this, is sorry AA, but it is exactly the same service for exactly three times the cost.
Read more:
The AA’s loyalty problem: sixty-four years and still taken for a ride