When was the last time anyone in promotion discussed strategy and didn’t express a desire to “break through the clutter?”
I can’t hear the phrase without hoping that George Carlin is somewhere developing a routine about it. Because in order to break through the clutter, one must necessarily create additional clutter to do the breaking, and thereby become an obstacle through which future clutter will need to break.
It’s all for naught. Clutter is here to stay, and I warmly embrace it – everyday, in fact, when I arrive at work and wend my way through the piles of toys and other promotional items that often arrive with the press releases.
I have always been a sucker for branded tchotchkes, from my early days of tearing into packaged goods for Frito Bandito erasers and Freakies cereal characters, to more recent trips to KFC for Star Wars toys. (It ostensibly may have been work-related, but that Darth Maul cup topper was cool, and I got it.)
For this reason at least, I’ve found the perfect job. And rating the relative merits of these items, to determine if they’re worth cluttering up the office, has become an entertaining work activity. Here are a few that have gained share of desk or mind over the past year.
A somewhat dud spud: The Newport (RI) Convention & Visitors Bureau had a nifty idea: It anonymously mailed a Mr. Potato Head torso to potential customers, then sent one body part per week with clues that ultimately revealed the marketing pitch. The arms never came, but I didn’t have the heart to throw the poor guy away. And visitors love to rearrange his body parts.
Messing with the mind: The folks at Universal dispensed branded soap, shampoo, and lotion to promote the release of Psycho, for reasons too obvious to mention. But similar to what happens inside my own travel bag (made of Spalding basketball leather, by the way), the products leaked, leaving a somewhat gooey mess that nevertheless resides on the bookshelf.
Dazed and Confused? And how: Promotional CDs are usually a dicey affair, because the content is often closer to Peter Lemongello than the Beatles in terms of quality. But I hold onto my copy of The String Quartet Tribute to Led Zeppelin with the same inherent fascination for the bizarre that makes me rubberneck at traffic accidents and watch NBC TV mini-series. I never intend to listen to it; I’d be crushed if it turned out to be good.
My kid’s playing with what?: Yank the cord and a plastic Rosie O’Donnell top spins out from behind a curtain to host a pretend version of the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards. I’m guessing this Burger King premium didn’t do as well as, oh, Pokemon. At least I hope it didn’t. It’s the strangest use of celebrity since David Letterman pitched masks of “veteran character actor” Hal Holbrook as a Halloween costume. Course, he was only kidding.
I love it. What is it?: Warner Bros. says it’s a drinking cup, but it would take at least 18 refills to polish off a soda with this replica of The Mystery Machine, the van used by Scooby Doo and friends. Shipped in a vast $50 million-plus marketing campaign to promote the video release of Scooby Doo and the Witch’s Ghost, the gewgaw does make a great paperclip holder, and is the desktop item most admired by visitors.
It’s Swagadelic: It’s All About the Beer, Baby! A cloth banner Heineken gave to bars for its Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me tie-in adorns one wall. Despondent because I didn’t receive a single Austin-related trinket – the movie had like, what, 1,800 promotional partners? – I cheated on this one and weaseled it from a bartender friend.
If they’re good enough for Will Smith: I take a lot of abuse from friends for wearing them, but Burger King’s Wild Wild West sunglasses have capably shielded my eyes on the highways of Connecticut and the beaches of Hawaii. And I haven’t even seen the movie.
Don’t tell her it was free: La-Z-Boy heralded its fall ad campaign by mailing out an upscale plush raccoon that warbles a few lines of “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” in adorable New Yorkese. My wife liked it more than her last three birthday gifts.
No sense keeping all this wonderful clutter in the office.
Network
