Published on 26 September 2026 · 3 min read

She signed three weeks ago, worked her last day on Friday, and on Monday she'll push open the door of an office where nobody knows her name yet. Or him, same thing: new company, new badge, new coffee machine with a button he won't find. We all know how a first day goes: you smile a lot, forget every name, and come home drained without having really done any work. That's exactly the evening a postcard should be waiting in the letterbox. Not a message that lands at 6:04 pm along with forty others: a card, written the week before, that says someone was thinking about this day before it even started.
In the morning there's no time for anything. The outfit chosen twice, the route rehearsed on the app the night before, the badge that doesn't work. A "good luck" by text fits in there nicely, and that's fine. But the fragile moment is coming home. The day went by without disaster and without triumph either, you don't know yet whether you'll like it there, and the phone is about to ring: "So, how was day one?" To that question you answer "fine" and have nothing to tell. A card doesn't ask questions. It's there on the pile of post, it waits until you've put your bag down, and it does what the morning text can't: it marks the occasion once it's done.
Don't go looking for an image of "success": the handshake, the raised glass, that smells of a corporate card. Take something from their own life, the one that carries on outside work. The photo from that last dinner at yours, when they told you the news with shining eyes. The dog waiting on the doormat. The plant they brought home from the old office. Or, if you're their mum, the photo of their first day at school with the satchel bigger than they were: thirty years on, it says exactly the same thing, and they'll laugh when they find it. A card for a new job doesn't have to look like a CV. It simply reminds them that their place is secure somewhere, whatever happens between nine and six.
They'll get plenty of advice all week: from the new boss, the new colleagues, the computer asking them to change a password. The card teaches them nothing. It says you're happy for them, that you have faith in them, and that you're there. "They're lucky to have you, they just don't know it yet. Tell me about the worst coffee in the open-plan on Sunday. Love you." Or, for an old friend: "Remember your face when you got the call. That's the face I wish you on Monday night." No "YOU'LL SMASH IT" in capitals, there's enough pressure already. And leave a door open towards what comes next: "we'll celebrate whenever you like" gives them something at the end of the first week, and that's often what it takes to get through it.
If their first day is Monday, write it a good week ahead, or even two: choose the photo, write your three sentences, and leave the rest to us. Your card is printed in premium quality and posted with our next dispatch (there's at least one a week), from €2.49 all inclusive. It'll land around that first evening, a little before or a little after, which is just as good. Between a flyer and a bank statement, there'll be a card with their name on it in your handwriting. The day will have been whatever it was; that moment, at least, will have gone perfectly.