More Misadventures in Marketing: Now that You Unmention It…

Acting advertising creative director Mr. X was having a mid-afternoon creative session with his newly-hired American expatriate copywriter (who just happens to be the “Ginger-haired Man” mentioned in a previous blog entry). They are working on a pitch for a television advertisement to promote a line of male undergarments that have a European style but are fashioned to suit the more petite Asian male body type. The assignment was vexing enough — given the advertising restrictions in the select Asian countries the client wanted to target — without the client also wanting the duo to create a catchy jingle to help make the ad more memorable. (This was at a time before jingles started their slow decline in popularity in favor of synchronisation – at least in that part of the world.)

Now, creating jingles was not as easy as it may appear, as both the Ginger-haired Man and myse— Mr. X, I mean… would continue to attest. However, this jingle was a very rare exception, though Mr. X would attribute that more to dumb luck and quick-thinking diplomacy than creative skill. Well, okay, there was some creative skill involved, but not intentionally.

(I am getting ahead of myself [or is Mr. X getting ahead of… oh, nevermind].)

The duo’s discussion of the product benefits outlined in the advertising creative brief prompted the Ginger-haired Man to share with Mr. X his past attempts to purchase an intimate gift for her Malaysian-born wife in an American Victoria’s Secret. After several returns and repurchases and a final return, the Ginger-haired Man discovered that he could not find any lingerie that would fit his shapely spouse properly, and thus comfortably. He later learned that buying “unmentionables” for his wife was completely out of the question since the only underclothes in the U.S. that provided the best fit for her are those in American teenage girl sizes.

“So her underpants were loose,” Mr. X summarized cheekily.

The Ginger-haired Man smiled, eyes sparkling with inspiration that at the time had nothing to do with the pitch, as he repeated Mr. X’s statement to the tune of “the Thundercats are loose.” This quickly led to a mutual impromptu rewrite of the entire 1980s “Thundercats” cartoon theme:

The Underpants are on the move,

The Underpants are loose!

Elastic band’s not holding tight,

The Underpants are loose!

Under, under, under, Underpants!

Under, under, under, Underpants!

Underpants!

As immature as it was, the duo couldn’t help glowing with pride at their comical creation — and they sang the song again with added fervor.

“That is a really catchy tune,” began a voice from the open doorway. Unbeknownst to the creative duo, the owner of the undergarment company was visiting the ad agency, and the account director had chosen that moment to introduce him to the “creative geniuses” that were handling the advertisement pitch. “However,” the voice, now icy, continued, “I believe that jingle does not describe our products, only the opposite.”

The creative duo looked up at the new arrival in astonishment, and saw the unpleasant glint in the elder eyes that were fixed intently upon them. The owner of the undergarment company folded his arms, clearing awaiting an explanation.

Mr. X shifted uncomfortably in his seat while a thought flashed through the Ginger-haired Man’s mind. The American took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully as he responded in a respectful, scholarly manner (which Mr. X would later refer to as the man’s “professor voice”). “You are correct, sir. We were considering using the ‘Brand-X’ concept whereby we would feature a man who was not using your product and being noticeably uncomfortable as he tries to go through his daily routine. Then he would run into his business colleague, who is wearing your brand of undergarment and appears more comfortable and confident. The voice over would then tell the first man what he should be wearing.”

The elder eyes narrowed. “So the jingle is about what happens when you don’t use our product?”

“Exactly,” the Ginger-haired Man said. “We understand that it is pretty radi… uh, different, than what jingles usually do, but that is just one of the concepts we were considering for…”

“No,” the elder man interrupted, his voice softening a little. “Let’s use this idea, and this jingle. Please repeat it again.”

And that was how the Thundercats helped save the duo’s ad business (at least that day). Of course, legally they couldn’t use the exact tune, or even those jokily reworded lyrics. They were essentially changed to: “Your underpants are moving down; your underpants are loose…” translated into Mandarin and Korean. It was sung by children’s choirs in a very taunting manner toward the “Brand X” gentleman, a brilliant talent with uncanny physical comedy prowess that would rival that of Dick Van Dyke or Rowan Atkinson (I believe someone in the agency made a very accurate assessment of him as a “Korean Mr. Bean”).

Of course, it was a challenge trying to meet the advertising regulations of various Asian regions with a single version of the advertisement (for example, some places forbade the ad from showing the actual product [even in the package]). Further, other restrictions regarding the time of day and airing frequency for such a “taboo” ad also worked against our intrepid advertisers. Despite this, business was booming enough for the company that dealt with “unmentionables” to be something to talk about.

Making a First Impression

April 2004.

I was waiting very patiently in the very warm reception area of the main office of a new tech start-up firm near San Mateo, California. I had been living in the Bay Area for a few years now, getting by on some contract jobs that paid very well. But the span of unemployment between the previous two contract jobs was uncomfortably long — reaching a point where I had to take an interim telephonic customer service job that was essentially a more professional version of “would you like fries with that?” (Just replace “fries” with “free credit card balance transfer with 0% APR”.) So when a new contract assignment came through, I had resolved to start looking for full-time employment before that contract ended. This San Mateo firm was looking for a Marketing Coordinator, and this was one of the few available “Marketing” job openings in Silicon Valley that didn’t seem like a glorified Sales job, so I had high expectations for this interview.

I shifted in my chair. I can feel drops of sweat rolling down my side under my suit, more from the office heat than nervousness — but the sweating was making me more uneasy with each passing moment.

 “Ex… um… Mr. Yukinori?”

I stood up and turned my head toward the distinct Californian accent struggling to pronounce my name, and was surprised to see a petite Japanese-American woman approaching me. Everything about her denoted the word “businesswoman” — grey business suit, silk stockings, low heels. Her long dark hair was tied back at the nape of her neck with a simple clasp. The only exception to her professional look was her necklace, a cobalt blue sea glass pendant dangling from a braided black leather rope.

“Mr. Yukinori?” the woman asked tentatively, and in a slightly accusing manner. I was staring at the pendant, and she thought I was looking at something else.

“Oh, sorry.” I stammered, immediately looking up into the woman’s eyes — rich chocolate-brown eyes that were very intent on mine. “I couldn’t help but notice your necklace. Okinawan?”

She smiled. “You have a good eye. A gift from my grandparents. That’s where they lived.” She held out her hand and introduced herself, then vocalized her pleasant surprise that I knew how to shake a woman’s hand “properly.” She (and I) had my British education to thank for that.

The tension of the previous moment now evaporated, the woman led me to her office for the job interview. “Have you been to Okinawa?”

“A few times, on family vacations,” I said. “I spent most of my youth trips to Japan in Kokubunji...”

“Koku…?” She obviously didn’t know what I was talking about.

“Sorry. It’s right outside Tokyo.” I was speaking to her as if she had been from Japan herself, I should have realized from her accent that that wasn’t the case.

“I see you are quite the world traveler,” she said, perusing my educational and work history on my résumé. “How lucky. The farthest I’ve been from here is Colorado.” She paused. “So why don’t you connect some dots for me, and explain how some of your past work ties into what we do.”

For the next 45 minutes we had a fairly pleasant yet professional discussion about the marketing and advertising work I had done over the past decade (she did eye me askance as I showed her the advert comps for “Cell-Koh-Koh’s”  NCOFTyM product, asking me if I was “essentially selling a refrigerator to an Eskimo”), as well as what the Marketing Coordinator position would have entailed (and I was right, it wasn’t a “glorified Sales job”). We both agreed that I would be a good candidate for the position, but there would have to be a “finalist round” of interviews at the executive level first.

We ended the interview with the business card exchange ritual. She seemed touched as I presented my card with both hands and a slight bow (a common Asian practice), which I’m sure helped make up for the fact that my Kinko’s-manufactured cards couldn’t hold a candle to hers, which were expensively produced with raised lettering on eggshell-white stock. The name of the organization and the woman’s first name took prominence — conveying a friendly personality to this otherwise professional organization.

Another “proper” handshake and goodbye later, I was walking back to my car feeling very confident. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that there would be no second interview for me... at least not with the organization. And I was completely unaware that I had actually just left the most important first interview in my life.

I started the car and looked at the business card one last time before I slipped it into my wallet.

“Namiko. What a pretty name,” I thought.

To be continued.

More Misadventures in Marketing

The story you are about to read is true. Names have been changed to protect the idiotic.

Upstart advertising copywriter Mr. X was in his first client meeting with Southeast Asian cellular communications company, Cell-Koh-Koh, which were poised to launch their new device, the Neato-Cool Office-Fax Type-Messenger (or NCOFTyM or “Nick-of-time” for short) to the public. To really drive home how long ago this was, the NCOFTyM was the first mobile device in this Southeast Asian country that was capable of sending a text message to a landline fax machine, which would then print said message. However, the NCOFTyM was unable to receive messages; that would come later once the e-mail and texting capabilities that were mostly restricted to the military (and some colleges and businesses) would become more mainstream.

At any rate, workers on the go would have the means to print a message at their base office from anywhere within Cell-Koh-Koh’s network, and Cell-Koh-Koh had taken the initiative to book a full-page ad for the NCOFTyM in a major industry trade magazine. Then they finally decided to bring in their advertising agency to develop the ad, which had to be delivered in four days. (!) Assuming we used stock photography and called in a few favors from the color separators (yes, we were using films back then), the ad concept and copy had to be approved by the client by 2 p.m. the following afternoon.

So Mr. X was listening very intently to the two-hour client presentation, twisting his brain in a feeble attempt to squeeze out some compelling messages for a full-page industry trade ad that would convince companies with a mobile workforce to invest in this not-really-inexpensive device for communicating with the base office instead of simply continuing to rely on not-really-expensive mobile phone calls.

Stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on his way back to the agency, an idea suddenly came to Mr. X, who proceeded to write and rewrite in his notepad during every stop in his stop-and-go journey back to the office. Upon his arrival back at his desk, he quickly typed up a final draft of his initial proposed ad copy, gained immediate creative director approval and a photo suggestion, and faxed it all to his contact at Cell-Koh-Koh.

The contact called Mr. X immediately, and while he was impressed with the photo, he wasn’t happy with the copy, which seemed to be missing a lot of messaging about the techno-whatzit whizbangs that explained how the NCOFTyM can do its thing. For the next 30 minutes Mr. X listened and took notes, and was told to expect a twenty-eight-page fax of the device’s technical specifications for further reference. It was now past 7 p.m., and tomorrow's 2 p.m. deadline doom seemed to be approaching faster than the speed of time.

Fighting his rapidly deflating ego, Mr. X struggled to decipher the technical specs that he read (and reread) that evening, and struggled further the following morning trying to translate that information as well as pack all of the client requests into a concise 400-word ad -- which still had to fit with the approved photo. Fifty-five minutes before deadline, Mr. X showed a 407-word, somewhat clunky draft to the creative director -- who understood that there are times when creative people have to assume the role of an order-taker.  He gave the copy an OK to fax for client review.

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. Mr. X took the call from his now-irate Cell-Koh-Koh contact, who said that the ad copy was completely off-base. After a seventeen-minute discussion regarding what the client was really looking for, something clicked in X’s head.

“Just a moment, I’ve been rewriting as we have been talking,” X lied over the phone. “Let me send you a new draft.” X immediately took his initial ad copy from the previous evening and refaxed it to the client while he waited on the line.

Three minutes later, and one minute before deadline, the client was elated. “This is perfect! I was having my doubts, but I can see that you really get this. Please proceed.”

So this was a case where the third time was definitely the charm, even though it involved trusting one’s first instinct the second time around.

Misadventures in Marketing

The story you are about to read is true. Names have been changed to protect… well, me, for one.

Once upon a time, a marketing consultant – let’s name him Mr. X – was doing contract work for a leading national business organization called… the LMNOP Corporation, where he spearheaded the development of a communication campaign to promote LMNOP’s new program, which in all modesty will be dubbed the “Impressive What-it-is” program.  This program is designed to work with LMNOP’s database of… professional associates to provide real-time updates on the latest corporation news and expert opinions of industry trends, as well as flag potential opportunities for LMNOP staff to contact an associate to build rapport and (hopefully) drive more business.

Boy, the “Impressive What-it-is,” doesn’t sound all that impressive, does it? Please keep in mind that (A), I am genericizing this to the extreme because I cannot tell you what the “What-it-is” actually is, and (B), this was long before the wildfire of electronic social media was even a “cinder on the tinder,” as it were.

Besides, whatever the “What-it-is” is is actually not the point. This story is really to talk about Mr. J, who worked on staff in LMNOP’s marketing department (as opposed to m…Mr. X, who you remember was just a consultant hired on contract). Mr. J was not happy with his job at LMNOP, and had his sights on a higher-paying position at major competitor WXY&Z Limited, which pretty much did whatever LMNOP could do, but their products were “packaged” and promoted differently (read: made WXY&Z look more like a follower than the leader that LMNOP was). But WXY&Z can be quite innovative. In fact, they have been working on developing their own version of the “Impressive What-it-is” independently (perhaps in the same way that two animation production companies come out with similar movies in the same year). At any rate, Mr. J somehow found out about WXY&Z’s project, and sto… used Mr. X’s LMNOP campaign ideas (and probably violated a number of non-disclosure agreements at the time) to land a job with WXY&Z to promote their “What-it-is” program, which will be referred to as the “Sass-N-Skedaddle-a-Bob” to avoid confusion (or maybe add to it; you be the judge…).

Of course, Mr. X didn’t know about this “idea theft” at the time. For all X knew, Mr. J simply turned in his resignation and left LMNOP. Meanwhile, LMNOP was busy conducting what X felt were too many viability studies and industry surveys and associate focus groups on various granular details of the “What-it-is” because the program development staff and senior leadership wanted to have everything “just right” before the promotional launch, which was significantly delayed as a result.

I’m sure you can guess what happened next. That’s right. WXY&Z became first-to-market by placing a teaser announcement of their upcoming “Sass-N-Skedaddle-a-Bob” to the industry press.

Suffice to say, LMNOP was not happy. Their “Impressive What-it-is” now appeared to be imitating the “Sass-N-Skedaddle-a-Bob”, and LMNOP preferred to be a leader than a follower (who wouldn’t?). X’s contract was terminated on the grounds that he “didn’t act quickly enough” to launch their campaign before WXY&Z.

It was about two-and-a-half months of unemployment later when Mr. X discovered what Mr. J did. However, X also discovered that while Mr. J had the shrewdness to land himself a prime job opportunity by stealing X’s plans for a multi-tiered promotional campaign, J did not possess the marketing savvy to effectively implement those plans. How did X find out about all this? Well, WXY&Z eventually contracted with Mr. X to save their floundering campaign for their “Sass-N-Skedaddle-a-Bob” and carry it to completion. And Mr. X did this so flawlessly, and even came up with a few new ideas to give the promotion more… ahem… sass and skedaddle. WXY&Z became the leader for once, which led to them leading more industry innovations in later years… not that Mr. X had anything to do with that. He was busy with other contract work after he made a reputation for himself with “Sass-N-Skedaddle-a-Bob.” LMNOP learned not to rest on their laurels, and the competition from WXY&Z, and others, inspired them to pioneer even more groundbreaking solutions for the industry, and for the people said industry served.

As for Mr. J, I really cannot say. He wasn’t at WXY&Z for very long.

Karma can be a harsh mistress.