How to remove tags and stickers from your book covers
get unstuck with me
Many of the used books we receive are in generally lovely condition, yet still need a little bit of work before we can put them out on our shelves. A bit of pencil erased, dust blown off, handprints wiped away. Of all these little jobs, my personal favourite is removing the price stickers from other retail locations the book has known. We do this so that our customers are clear on the correct price, of course, but also, because it just looks nicer.
As you already know, if you’ve ever tried to remove a price sticker from a book cover, some tags peel off easily at the touch of a fingernail and others do not. One of the most satisfying things I’ve learned on this job, is how to deal with the stubborn ones—the stickers which would rather rip themselves to shreds and/or destroy the underlying book cover before they let go.
The method I’m about to share is, of course, not the only way to do it, just the way I was taught. It’s very simple, effective, and inexpensive. All you need is a few basic cleaning supplies, most of which you probably already have on hand, as well as some patience and a reasonably well-ventilated area.
Step One—Assess the situation. Consider what the cover is made of, and the state of the sticker. This process is easiest with fully intact stickers. If you’ve got a pristine sticker on a hardcover with a glossy jacket, or on a paperback that is shiny and smooth to the touch, you’re good to go. If you’re looking at one of those paperbacks that were popular for a short time a few years ago, with those very soft, matte covers that feel like linen, either learn to love that sticker or research another technique, because that cover will not survive step two of this process.
Step Two—Apply Solvent. Take a small kitchen sponge—you know the kind, with a green scrubby side and a soft yellow underbelly—and soak it in a solvent. (We use WD-40, which reeks, and no doubt there are equally effective, possibly less smelly options.) You don’t need to use a ton of the solvent, just enough so that the sponge is saturated and damp all the way through but not dripping. Then dab the sticker with the soft side of the sponge.
Step Three—Wait. For how long? Well, it depends. On the nature of the sticker, how long it has been stuck there, and on the underlying cover. Some stickers, particularly the matte white paper variety, will go grey and translucent when the solvent has soaked through that top layer of paper and made its way to the adhesive. Stickers that are more shiny and smooth to the touch, like those bright purple circles Indigo slaps on its Bargain Books, don’t change as much in appearance during the soaking stage. The only way to tell, with some stickers, is to gingerly attempt step four.
Step Four—Peel. For this you need a metal scraper—the kind we use at the store is like an X-acto, in that the blade is retractable, but it is wider, heavier duty, and not pointy. Looks a lot like this. A putty knife would work, too. Basically what you need is a thin, sharp, and sturdy blade. Work it under the edge of the sticker at about a 30-degree angle. (If the blade does not slip easily under the edge of the sticker at first, apply the sponge again and wait some more.) If the blade slips under easily enough, then slowly and gently slide it side to side as well as forward—imagine the blade is army crawling forward, if that makes any sense. As the sticker starts to lift, you can gently peel it with one hand while continuing on with the blade in your other one, but resist the urge to really give ‘er. If you rip it at this stage, you’ll regret it. Just keep going at a steady pace until the sticker curls back on itself and detaches from the cover in one smooth, satisfying piece.
Step Five—Clean up. Sometimes after the sticker comes away, you’ll find that there’s still a bit of glue left behind. Rough it up a little with the green scrubby side of your sponge, then wipe with the soft side. Dry with a cloth or paper towel. You can stop here if you like but in the store, we go one step further. We spritz a cloth with diluted all-purpose cleaner (about one part cleaner to three parts water) then give both sides of the cover a wipe. This removes any trace of the solvent, so that our tag will stick but also, just makes the book look—and smell—fresh again.
My relationship with Substack feels a bit like that between a sticker and a book cover. In the beginning—almost three years ago now, on the heels of solo parenting through the pandemic—I firmly glommed on, all shiny and hopeful that I was attaching my little message to something bigger, something good.
Now, though, that sticker that has been idly, carelessly picked at, year after year. First it was Badges, then Notes. Spammy emails exhorting me to Go Paid, to monetize and thereby legitimize, my scribbles. Oh, and then there was that business with the Nazis. I mean. The list goes on but I don’t know, once you add ‘profits from white supremacists’ to the list of reasons you might quit using a platform, looking for additional items feels rather petty and redundant.
The glue, now exposed, has grown grubby and gross. And yet also, part of me still feels stuck. Torn.
Dissolving the connection now is going to be a bit ugly, a little painful, and frankly, a bit embarrassing.
I’m forty-five, which is to say, more than old enough to know better, to have witnessed the life cycle of many a platform and app. They are born, are adopted, they grow, then one of two things seems to happen. They are elbowed aside by a competitor and slowly disappear into irrelevance (RIP MySpace, Tumblr, etc) or else they continue growing to an outrageous size, become the thing that eats rather than gets eaten. They get progressively more profitable for a few people and more deleterious for the majority, and their leaders start taking things in cynical, megalomaniac, dystopian directions (X, Meta)—out of fear, perhaps, that they will lose the power they’ve accumulated, and will be replaced. Which they will. Someday.
Why did I believe Substack would be any different?
I guess, for a while, I just really wanted to. I was lonely, and bored. I really wanted a place to write, to be read, to discover and connect with other writers and readers. The idea that I could do so without the angsty hassle of pitching and submitting, was extremely attractive. For a little while there, it felt like a legit, longform text-based alternative to social media, which I had abandoned in my 30s and have never once missed.
It does not feel great to add yet another item to my list of Things I Could Not Stick To. It’s a long, cringe-inducing list. But clinging on in my current condition, knowing what I know, feeling how I feel, feels a little bit worse, so here we are.
Plenty of wonderful writers whose work I admire—people with actual money at stake, with big audiences—have expressed their ambivalence much more eloquently. Some have started completely new projects. Others have migrated their newsletters to other platforms, whose business models and philosophies are more congenial. I hope, for the writers’ sake, they stay that way.
Plenty of wonderful writers will stick with Substack until its end and I will continue to receive, and read, their letters in my email inbox. Until, I guess, Substack finds a way to force them to post their letters within its app only. I feel like that’s probably only a matter of time, but then again, what do I know.
I have no plans to migrate this wee letter to another platform. Even if I did find one that was guaranteed to be completely unproblematic for the foreseeable future, I have other, more personal reasons for going offline for a little while, which I will not bore you with.
For now, my only plan is to put down the phone, close the laptop lid, and try to do most of my reading, and writing, and living without a screen. I’m going to go analog for a while, and see how that feels.
If you have read this far, if you have read any of my other letters at all, and especially if you are among the tiny number of people who have read every single one—thank you.
If you are among the amazing group of writers who have welcomed me into this community, thanks again. Your support and kind comments have meant so much, and will continue to do so, long after I press Delete.