Filed under: Brand Suicide, China, Chinese Culture, Comment, Crap Campaigns In History, Crap Marketing Ideas From History!, Embarrassing Moments
So recently I saw this poster …
Yes, I know this poster is appearing in China – a land that has an almost indecent fascination with Panda’s – but come on, what the fuck were they thinking?
In all honesty, when I first saw it, I thought it was about domestic violence.
And what the hell is with that ‘custom blending is now completed’ rubbish.
Blending?
BLENDING?
It’s about as subtle as a 14 year old kid with an erection while wearing lycra shorts.
Now I know I have all the fashion sense of a pig.
I know I’m about as current as a bowl of trifle.
But the people behind it need to know something.
It doesn’t matter care how artsy you’ve tried to make this poster look … if you go out with this make up on, you will get you laughed at, not fawned over – even in a country that thinks walking backwards and dressing like this is perfectly normal.
Look, I know you work in an industry that seems to revel in the ridiculous, but please stop with the pretentious bullshit … you’re not fooling anyone and you’re just embarrassing yourselves, not to mention the idiots who are so desperate for attention, they think this is cool.
God, I feel so much better now. Thank you.
Filed under: Comment
The picture accompanying this post is a page from a recent edition of Maxim magazine.
Sure I’m old and only have 12% vision in one eye, but fuck me, how small is that type?
I appreciate the aesthetic impact it has on the page, but it’s not much use when the author wants his article to be read rather than looked at.
Forgetting what we’re trying to achieve is one of the biggest mistakes in the communication world these days.
That doesn’t mean we can’t try new things … be innovative in our approach … push boundaries and standards … but when we forget the audience and the objective, then we become our own worst enemy.
Some may say this represents shortsightedness or an obstacle to creative expression.
I’d say they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about … either commercially or creatively.
And just for the record, I read Maxim for the articles not just the pictures. Honest.
So The Guardian newspaper did a feature on parenting.
They spoke to all manner of parents …
Expecting … new … gay … single … old … empty nesters …
It was fascinating reading, but there was one family whose comments really hit hard.
This is their article …
While the whole article is gentle and caring, there were 2 things that really stood out.
The first is their acknowledgement that the importance of their relationship is fading as their children get older.
The second was that the magic of doing things together – as a family unit – cannot be recaptured.
Now of course, both of these are true because both of them are a byproduct of children growing older.
In some ways, it’s a beautiful compliment, because it means your children have the ability to forge their own life thanks to your love, support and guidance, but on the other hand, the parents must feel a great sense of loss at the same time.
Even though Otis is just over a year old, I can just imagine how hard it will when he gains his full independence.
When he doesn’t turn to us first for love, protection, advice and encouragement.
It also makes me think of my Mum … how she must have felt.
When I ‘left home’, I left for Australia and while I tried to keep in regular contact, this was before the internet so the calls were not as frequent as they ended up being later on.
On top of that, Mum had her beloved husband to look after he had a stroke … so after 25 years of being a close family unit, the construct of her precious relationships were turned upside down seemingly in the blink of an eye.
I hope she didn’t feel our relationships importance was fading.
I hope she knew how much I loved her.
How much I missed her.
I tried to ensure she did, through my actions and words … but seeing those comments by the family above, really hit home … which is why it’s a good reminder how bitter-sweet parenthood is. Sure, there’s countless wonderful and magical things you get to experience as a parent – things I didn’t even know existed until I became Otis’ Dad – but the fact is, there will be a point in our life together, as the family above state, where things will change and I will watch them feeling a mixture of pride and sadness.
I guess this is a great reminder how much our parents adore us … because to let go of the ones we love, even though we want to step in to protect them and care for them, just so they can move forward to forge their own life, is the ultimate declaration of love.
I fortunately recognised that before my parents passed away.
I hope I will be able to do that as compassionately and supportively for Otis.
Filed under: Corporate Evil, Crap Campaigns In History, Embarrassing Moments, Marketing Fail
I’ve written a lot in the past about celebrity endorsement.
While there are some great examples, there are – sadly – far more terrible ones.
While many happen in Asia – where Hollywood stars sell their credibility for millions of dollars in the knowledge that no one in their ‘home markets’ will ever see them, there are a few who make the sort of bad choices that makes Halle Berry’s post-Oscar film career look good.
Yes, I’m talking about that Gerard Butler bollocks for Hugo Boss.
But – and it’s a huge but – as terrible as that is, I’ve seen something worse.
No, I honestly have.
It’s so bad that it liberally covers the celebrities, the brand, the agency and the creatives who wrote it, in a big pile of shit.
And they deserve it.
Every last shit stain smelling nugget of it.
What’s surprising is it involves Mr Smooth … George Clooney.
Sure, he’s made some bad ads in his time, but this demonstrates an astounding lack of judgement.
Mind you, given the ad in question is for the brand that he has happily let undermine his reputation for years – Nespresso – it can be argued he is getting everything he deserves.
But there’s another celebrity in it. Jack Black.
While he was obviously hired to add some ‘pizzazz’ to a script suffering from terminal cancer … this once fresh, quirky, infectious ball of energy ends up looking like a man who’d appear in a bukkake video if it helped him make this months rent.
I know he’s not had the sort of success he enjoyed in the early days of his career, but surely things aren’t that bad?
Seems they are.
Why else would he – and Mr Clooney – agree to appear in an ad that is so crap, so nonsensical, so utterly lacking in charm, humour or interest that it makes Sarah Palin’s recent endorsement of Donald Trump look Oscar worthy.
No really.
And don’t get me started on the creatives behind it. Or the client.
If anything shows how some people think society is full of stupid fucks, it’s this.
Personally those responsible should be rounded up and charged with creating a weapon of mass insulting.
Christ, why haven’t the shareholders of Nescafe rioted?
Why are they OK that a company they have invested their hard money in, blindly chucked millions of dollars away on creating filth like this shit?
And the mad thing is Nespresso is a good product.
Sure, no one really needs it … but then no one needs an iWatch and that hasn’t stopped people going out in their droves to put it on their wrists.
For a company to go to such lengths to make a quality product – a product to change a category – and then market it in such a patronising and humiliating way must be devastating for those involved in its creation.
As much as you may think you know how much I hate this ad, I assure you that you don’t.
It literally makes my blood boil.
It’s horrific in every single possible way … right down to the clients obvious desire to make ‘What Else’ a cultural colloquialism, despite the fact it means nothing, could be for anyone and is utterly, utterly shit.
It represents the worst of this industry and the worst of clients standards and expectations.
Meaningless.
Unimaginative.
Contrived.
Simplistic.
One-dimensional.
Lazy.
Passive.
Beige.
Patronising.
Forgettable.
Ignorant.
Amateur.
I honestly hope every person associated with this shit has diarrhoea for a lifetime.
Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, I present you with this giant cup of turd …
Filed under: Comment, Death, Family, Mum, Mum & Dad
So today it is a year.
A year where, for me, time stopped.
A year from the day that started with high hopes but ended with despair and loneliness.
A year where I saw the best of humanity and the worst of emotions. Again.
Today I will relive those fateful final hours with my beloved Mum over and over.
I will remember the beautiful hours we shared talking about life and love … how I watched her smile as she looked at a video of my son … how she wanted a hair dryer so she could wash her hair before her operation.
I will remember it all in a bid to delay remembering the final hours.
Where I was looking for answers that weren’t forthcoming.
Where concern and fears slowly crept up on me.
Where I slowly realised things were not going as planned.
How I finally got to sit next to my Mum after her operation and despite her being totally sedated, I told her how much I loved her and willed her to get better.
Before things took their final turn.
And I was sent to wait in a room while they “checked things”.
Where I waited nervously with my wonderful friends Paul and Shelly who came to be my side … before I saw a DR and Nurse approach the room.
Who asked me to follow them and took me into a room opposite.
I knew what was coming …
As they spoke, I realised I was trying to hide behind my clenched fist. Ridiculous I know … but I was scared about the words they were going to say, even though I knew they were inevitable.
That moment it all became real and everything changed.
And yet, I still remembered to thank the Doctor and Nurse for everything they did.
The things that happened that night will stay with me forever.
At my lowest point, I still remembered the manners my Mum taught me … that she would want me to convey and express.
As I walked the short distance to see her, I didn’t know what to do.
Only 30 minutes had passed since I last saw her and yet now everything was different.
She looked serene, but I knew she wasn’t sleeping.
I felt frozen inside.
I wanted to reach out … to hug her … and yet I felt scared to do it.
I know that sounds crazy, but that’s how I felt.
So instead I kissed her on the forehead and gently stroked her cheek before sitting next to her and cried and cried and cried.
I wanted to try and be dignified – Mum hated being the centre of attention – so I held her hand and told her how wonderful she was … how grateful I was to have her as my Mum … how I will ensure Otis will always know who she was and how much she loved him … how I would do all I could to honour her and make her proud … how I was so glad we were together and that we had shared such a wonderful time in the morning.
And yet all through of this, I couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to run away from the reality while feeling petrified to leave.
The moment I said goodbye … the moment I realised it was time to leave … it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to face.
I kept walking away only to come back. Afraid to leave. Afraid to give what had happened, validation.
From then on, everything has been a blur of emotion, confusion and challenge.
The things I needed to organise.
The jealousy I felt of seeing others with their Mums.
The decisions I didn’t want to make but had to.
The discovery Mum had been working in the background to try and make things easier for me should this terrible event actually happen.
In some ways, that is the ultimate demonstration of love … and yet I don’t like she did it because it meant she was thinking about that possibility and I never wanted her to be scared.
Since then, things have calmed down.
Things have been decided … acted upon … dealt with.
There’s still the odd moment of surprise, from receiving a credit card with her name on to – very recently – realising one of Mum’s friends doesn’t know what has happened and I’ve needed to write to notify them, but overall, thanks to doing things in the way I believe she would have liked, I feel I am slowly walking away from the shock and sadness of what happened a year ago today towards the love and memories of the previous 44 years together.
I still wish she was here.
I still wish that day, 12 months ago, had turned out differently.
I still wish she could have met Otis, her beloved grandson, ‘in the flesh’.
Everyday, when he does something wonderful [and it is every day] I wish I could ring her and tell her what he’s done … what he’s learnt.
To hear her voice … see her smile … just listen to her happiness.
But I can’t.
Instead, I think of her.
And feel lucky she was my Mum.
I miss you Mum.
I hope you’re with Dad, holding hands and laughing.
Rx