Joy. That’s right. A recent ad campaign by German automaker, BMW announced that very fact. At first I was shocked by the news. I always thought it might be fun to drive a Beamer. Like so many other things, it seemed that my chance to do just that was slipping away. Unbelievably, they were going to be making joy. I thought, “Doesn’t Proctor and Gamble make Joy?” But it turns out they weren’t talking about dishwashing liquid.
No, cars are still in the picture, literally. The humongous ad that appeared in USA Today was full of BMW models, one for every appetite. De rigueur photos like the middle aged white guy standing in front of a convertible, red of course, the silver car racing through a stream, little kids with big smiles, a young black woman behind the wheel, all of them experiencing what BMW’s advertising agency thinks we should think joy is.
Webster’s defines joy as the emotion evoked by well being…delight. Hard to quarrel with that one but BMW believes they can improve on that. To wit:
Joy breaks the mold
Joy is timeless
Joy is youthful
Joy can be counted (my favorite)
Joy is maternal
Joy is future proof (over the top maybe?)
The BMW ad insists, “We don’t make cars.” They claim to be the creators of emotion, the keepers of thrill and finally the guardians of one three letter word. Maybe I wouldn’t mind this so much if not for one nagging little problem: Memo to BMW…you do make cars. You make a fine automobile. As a potential buyer, I am much more concerned with your responsibility as a guardian of our safety, your interest in being creators of quality products and, keepers of as little of my money as possible.
I cannot imagine what runs through the minds of top executives when they allow an ad agency to foist such nonsense on the public. Do they really believe we're stupid? As someone who has bought cars on occasion just for something to do, I fully appreciate the anticipation one feels spending four or five hours on a Saturday afternoon at a dealership negotiating price with the car salesperson and wrangling with the finance person over interest rates. On occasion I have enjoyed the way a salesperson explains the destination charge on the dealer invoice. I have benefited greatly from the patience of the used car manager as he points out the numerous flaws in the vehicle I am trying to trade. But joy? Really?
To be fair, I have envisioned having what’s left of my hair blow in the wind as I cruise down the road, trying my best not to notice other people whose cars which are often bigger and more expensive than mine. And driving through a stream always turns out to be a water filled pothole with enough mud to make my car look less attractive than the one I saw in the ad.
I wish advertizing executives would stop trying to appeal to what the focus groups say we’re dreaming about and give us a little credit for what we know. I get it when an ad shows a car at its best. When an entire ad seems bent on misdirection it makes me leery of what I’m seeing. Edmunds.com generally gives BMW high marks for performance and styling. Why the nonsense about manufacturing joy? What logic are the admen employing? Should a coffin maker run an ad that states, “We don’t make caskets…we make peace and quiet”?
A couple of years ago I heard a media expert explain why most advertising today is so lousy. There was a time, he said, when people who ran advertizing agencies were smarter than the audience. It was his opinion that the reverse is true today. One look at that Quiznos “if you’re gonna eat $5.00” ad and you know there has to be some truth to that.
As a rule, I try to avoid prescribing behaviors to my readers. I write the story and if you get something out of it (Joy? Just kidding) that’s great. But today I want to suggest that you consciously pay attention to the ads you see and read. Are you being treated as if you have a working brain? Does the ad articulate an easy to understand and meaningful proposition? If not ask yourself why the advertiser chose to waste your time.
BMW will sell a lot of cars this year. Many buyers will enjoy owning one. Nobody will get in touch with them for the joy of it.
Copyright 2010, Len Serafino. All rights reserved
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Dating Concierge
My friend Tom forwarded me an article he found on MSNBC.com. Get this: People are using a service to help them with on line dating. Some people are so busy these days that they can’t find the time to exchange emails with prospective partners they find on dating Web sites. Apparently we’re outsourcing our love lives now. Businesses have sprung up that will cull through prospective suitors based on criteria you provide to the service. They will even correspond with your prospective mate for a while to help you improve your chances of landing an actual date.
The idea seems attractive I suppose. Isn’t that what headhunters have been doing successfully for years? Good recruiters give candidates the onceover before sending them on to an interview. Call it a first date. References have been checked and job histories have been verified. Of course, former employers generally have a policy of not offering information beyond verifying that so and so worked here between January 3, 2000 and February 16, 2004. If an employee set a record for consecutive sick days or was notorious for padding expense accounts, recruiters aren’t likely to hear about that.
In the world of dating however, former girlfriends and spouses are not constrained by corporate policy. A romance researcher just might get an earful should the researcher check out the intended’s story. Even if an online dater isn’t all that busy, it’s easy to see the upside at first glance.
“Wait, you’re talking about Richard right? And he said he loved moonlight walks on the beach? The last time that louse walked on a beach was after his third DUI when the judge sentenced him to picking up trash.” Do you see the possibilities? Imagine if you will, a guy who says he’s recently relocated, loves children, ballroom dancing, romantic comedies and fine dining. Before dating concierges became available, a woman could look at his picture (taken maybe five years ago) and decide to give him a try. After all, the guy said he loves kids.
It could take months to figure out whether he’s the genuine article using the trial and error method. And if he can really dance a merengue, it could be even longer before an unsuspecting woman realizes he’s unemployed and had to move back in with his mother. Recently relocated indeed.
One woman quoted in the article wondered if the service might be extended to a first kiss as a way of determining whether the prospective mate was a good kisser. She thought it might be nice to know whether the guy dressed like a dork too. There’s no telling where this service could go. Listen: Why not have the dating concierge marry the prospect for a year or two? What better way to get a comprehensive read on the dreamboat who’s picture has you enthralled? Good cook? Red wine or white? Mother from hell? Not only loves walking on the beach, he’s so broke he lives there too?
I wonder if this service isn’t as much about people being busy as it is about people too self absorbed to go through the process of getting to know someone. Does any serious person believe it’s possible to substitute someone else’s judgment for yours when it comes to starting what could be the most important relationship in your life? Perhaps the hyper busy among us have forgotten the joy of learning something new from someone, even if that person could never be the one, the significant other so many lonely people long for. It’s the trouble we go through, the words, we hear, the gestures we observe consciously and otherwise, that tells us whether we are building a relationship or just passing through.
These experiences, painstaking and time consuming though they may be, make it possible to grasp the differences that are really important in the long run. Being with someone who’s a great kisser is useless when you’re too sick to raise your head off the pillow but he or she has chosen to run for cover. Most of us know the perfect mate doesn’t exist. No amount of survey responses or email daisy chains can substitute for looking into another’s eyes and seeing what is in their soul. You would think that finding someone special is worth your time no matter how busy you are. You can outsource your housecleaning and your laundry. Outsourcing your life isn’t an option.
Copyright 2010, Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
The idea seems attractive I suppose. Isn’t that what headhunters have been doing successfully for years? Good recruiters give candidates the onceover before sending them on to an interview. Call it a first date. References have been checked and job histories have been verified. Of course, former employers generally have a policy of not offering information beyond verifying that so and so worked here between January 3, 2000 and February 16, 2004. If an employee set a record for consecutive sick days or was notorious for padding expense accounts, recruiters aren’t likely to hear about that.
In the world of dating however, former girlfriends and spouses are not constrained by corporate policy. A romance researcher just might get an earful should the researcher check out the intended’s story. Even if an online dater isn’t all that busy, it’s easy to see the upside at first glance.
“Wait, you’re talking about Richard right? And he said he loved moonlight walks on the beach? The last time that louse walked on a beach was after his third DUI when the judge sentenced him to picking up trash.” Do you see the possibilities? Imagine if you will, a guy who says he’s recently relocated, loves children, ballroom dancing, romantic comedies and fine dining. Before dating concierges became available, a woman could look at his picture (taken maybe five years ago) and decide to give him a try. After all, the guy said he loves kids.
It could take months to figure out whether he’s the genuine article using the trial and error method. And if he can really dance a merengue, it could be even longer before an unsuspecting woman realizes he’s unemployed and had to move back in with his mother. Recently relocated indeed.
One woman quoted in the article wondered if the service might be extended to a first kiss as a way of determining whether the prospective mate was a good kisser. She thought it might be nice to know whether the guy dressed like a dork too. There’s no telling where this service could go. Listen: Why not have the dating concierge marry the prospect for a year or two? What better way to get a comprehensive read on the dreamboat who’s picture has you enthralled? Good cook? Red wine or white? Mother from hell? Not only loves walking on the beach, he’s so broke he lives there too?
I wonder if this service isn’t as much about people being busy as it is about people too self absorbed to go through the process of getting to know someone. Does any serious person believe it’s possible to substitute someone else’s judgment for yours when it comes to starting what could be the most important relationship in your life? Perhaps the hyper busy among us have forgotten the joy of learning something new from someone, even if that person could never be the one, the significant other so many lonely people long for. It’s the trouble we go through, the words, we hear, the gestures we observe consciously and otherwise, that tells us whether we are building a relationship or just passing through.
These experiences, painstaking and time consuming though they may be, make it possible to grasp the differences that are really important in the long run. Being with someone who’s a great kisser is useless when you’re too sick to raise your head off the pillow but he or she has chosen to run for cover. Most of us know the perfect mate doesn’t exist. No amount of survey responses or email daisy chains can substitute for looking into another’s eyes and seeing what is in their soul. You would think that finding someone special is worth your time no matter how busy you are. You can outsource your housecleaning and your laundry. Outsourcing your life isn’t an option.
Copyright 2010, Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Telling Stories at 35,000 Feet
It’s Monday morning and I’m sitting on an airplane again, headed to Ft. Myers. It’s a clear day and it’s a smooth flight. The other people on the plane are mostly reading or sleeping, that is except for the two guys behind me who seem to have bonded instantly the way people trapped in a hostage situation probably do.
I’ve had many conversations like the one I’m overhearing in bits and pieces as I write this. The thing about these in-flight conversations is I’m hard pressed to remember most of them. I do remember a 20 year old woman with tattoos all over her body but maybe that’s because she gave me some great material for a column I wrote about tattoos.
Most plane ride conversations aren’t memorable because they are merely a way to pass the time. Time constraints preclude deep philosophical exchanges. I know I’ve passed on precious little wisdom while droning on like the engines of a Boeing 737. No doubt I have received a lot more than I have given. For one thing I’m a natural interviewer. I ask lots of questions and I’ve learned that people trapped in a speeding cylinder at 35,000 feet, will often answer them. Not long ago a woman confided her doubts about a man she had recently started dating. It seemed that when they were socializing with friends, the socializing was more fun for him than the actual date with her. I have to say this time I offered sage advice. “Trust your instincts,” I said. I know. Really good stuff but don’t write it down. It was just airplane wisdom.
This morning it occurs to me that I probably could make these conversations more interesting for me and memorable for my seatmates if I create a fictional version of my life, regaling the person sitting next to me with my imaginary exploits. Why not? Most of the true stories we tell about ourselves lack drama. We often leave out the things that might expose faults or weaknesses. And it’s not like I’m ever going to see these people again. I’ll bet letting my imagination run wild would cure my not so imaginary boredom. It’s worth a try.
“Yep, I’m flying home to Ft. Myers. It’s been 30 years, four months and 13 days since I was home.”
“Really?” My seat mate is already intrigued. “Why so long?”
“Prison: Please don’t be alarmed. I did my time and I am fully rehabilitated.”
“I see. May I ask why you were in prison?”
“Well it wasn’t a white collar crime.”
“Umm, okay…so is there anybody you’re really looking forward to seeing when you get home?”
“Yeah, I’ll be paying a few people a visit,” I say with a scowl.
Maybe too wild? I have this vision of my companion trying to distract me while he reaches for the flight attendant call button. Not exactly what I had in mind. Perhaps I should dial it back a bit until I get the hang of the tall tale.
“I see you’re reading the Wall Street Journal. I can’t help feeling a bit of nostalgia just looking at that headline.”
“Which one?”
“The one about Kellogg’s posting smaller profits than expected. When I ran that company we were very successful. Believe it or not, you’re sitting next to the guy who came up with Cocoa Puffs. Yes, I was sitting on a flight just like this one, doodling on a cocktail napkin, when the idea to add cocoa to Kix cereal occurred to me.”
“Excuse me, but I’m sure I ate Cocoa Puffs when I was a kid and I’m even older than you are. And isn’t Cocoa Puffs a General Mills cereal?”
Wow, this fake life story stuff is harder than I thought. Perhaps a little homework is in order. After all, I have a responsibility to my fellow travelers. There’s nothing worse than having to sit next to someone on a long flight after you’ve exposed him as a charlatan. Especially if he could just as easily be a guy that pretended to be a dangerous criminal on his last flight.
I wonder if anybody has ever told me a fabricated life story between Newark and Nashville? And would I be offended if I knew it? I doubt it. Truth is rarely a necessary ingredient of a good story. If it was, cable news ratings would be underwater. Listen: I’m flying again next week. If you’re on my flight, lay one on me. I’ll try to come up with better lies for you, honest.
Copyright 2010, Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
I’ve had many conversations like the one I’m overhearing in bits and pieces as I write this. The thing about these in-flight conversations is I’m hard pressed to remember most of them. I do remember a 20 year old woman with tattoos all over her body but maybe that’s because she gave me some great material for a column I wrote about tattoos.
Most plane ride conversations aren’t memorable because they are merely a way to pass the time. Time constraints preclude deep philosophical exchanges. I know I’ve passed on precious little wisdom while droning on like the engines of a Boeing 737. No doubt I have received a lot more than I have given. For one thing I’m a natural interviewer. I ask lots of questions and I’ve learned that people trapped in a speeding cylinder at 35,000 feet, will often answer them. Not long ago a woman confided her doubts about a man she had recently started dating. It seemed that when they were socializing with friends, the socializing was more fun for him than the actual date with her. I have to say this time I offered sage advice. “Trust your instincts,” I said. I know. Really good stuff but don’t write it down. It was just airplane wisdom.
This morning it occurs to me that I probably could make these conversations more interesting for me and memorable for my seatmates if I create a fictional version of my life, regaling the person sitting next to me with my imaginary exploits. Why not? Most of the true stories we tell about ourselves lack drama. We often leave out the things that might expose faults or weaknesses. And it’s not like I’m ever going to see these people again. I’ll bet letting my imagination run wild would cure my not so imaginary boredom. It’s worth a try.
“Yep, I’m flying home to Ft. Myers. It’s been 30 years, four months and 13 days since I was home.”
“Really?” My seat mate is already intrigued. “Why so long?”
“Prison: Please don’t be alarmed. I did my time and I am fully rehabilitated.”
“I see. May I ask why you were in prison?”
“Well it wasn’t a white collar crime.”
“Umm, okay…so is there anybody you’re really looking forward to seeing when you get home?”
“Yeah, I’ll be paying a few people a visit,” I say with a scowl.
Maybe too wild? I have this vision of my companion trying to distract me while he reaches for the flight attendant call button. Not exactly what I had in mind. Perhaps I should dial it back a bit until I get the hang of the tall tale.
“I see you’re reading the Wall Street Journal. I can’t help feeling a bit of nostalgia just looking at that headline.”
“Which one?”
“The one about Kellogg’s posting smaller profits than expected. When I ran that company we were very successful. Believe it or not, you’re sitting next to the guy who came up with Cocoa Puffs. Yes, I was sitting on a flight just like this one, doodling on a cocktail napkin, when the idea to add cocoa to Kix cereal occurred to me.”
“Excuse me, but I’m sure I ate Cocoa Puffs when I was a kid and I’m even older than you are. And isn’t Cocoa Puffs a General Mills cereal?”
Wow, this fake life story stuff is harder than I thought. Perhaps a little homework is in order. After all, I have a responsibility to my fellow travelers. There’s nothing worse than having to sit next to someone on a long flight after you’ve exposed him as a charlatan. Especially if he could just as easily be a guy that pretended to be a dangerous criminal on his last flight.
I wonder if anybody has ever told me a fabricated life story between Newark and Nashville? And would I be offended if I knew it? I doubt it. Truth is rarely a necessary ingredient of a good story. If it was, cable news ratings would be underwater. Listen: I’m flying again next week. If you’re on my flight, lay one on me. I’ll try to come up with better lies for you, honest.
Copyright 2010, Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
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