Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?
I’ve been a very busy boy lately. I’m working on a project that I can’t tell you about.
Oh, go on then, if you’re going to twist my fucking arm.
I’m writing a book. I don’t have a publisher, or a firm idea of what it’ll be about, or much of a clue about how you actually write a book, or the time to write one, or the inclination, particularly. But I’m going to write a book. It’ll be about me. Or somebody else. Or a boat, maybe.
Anyway, I saw a website today that made me want to punch myself in the balls for working in marketing. Sometimes, an ad or a campaign or a 360 ideacentric communications vehicle comes along that makes me wish I’d been a farmer, or a dog walker, or a fucking cowpoke, or whatever.
But I was gripped by an urge to set fire to my face when I happened upon this pompous wankival over at Mercedes.
This is a marketing idea that even the public doesn’t buy anymore, surely. ‘Hey, look! We’ve gathered a group of experts together and they’re telling us that our product is amaaazing! Look! There they are, SAYING IT! That’s not us saying it! NO WAY! It’s them, in their own words! Look! It’s on a film! They’re totally unbiased – they just think our product is fucking brilliant, they virtually forced us to film them talking about it!’
When I say ‘this is a marketing idea that even the public doesn’t buy anymore’, I fully intend to insult the vast, turgid vom-slick that is Mr and Mrs Everyone. These are people who will happily buy exercise videos, for fuck’s sake. And watch X-Factor. And not even X-Factor, but AMERICAN X-Factor. The public is a huge army of nano-brained fucknuts, most of whom produce nothing more useful in their entire lives than the soupy shit they squirt out after another fucking microwaved Weightwatchers Gillian McKeith Nazi pasta.
And even those dipshits can see through this balljuice.
That aside (although putting that aside is like putting genocide or genital torture or psychotic episodes aside), I direct you to the doris with the wonky bristolas. Now, fair enough, they’ve put the talent on first, which is a shrewd move. But couldn’t they have found someone who has on their CV ‘Can pretend to look interested about subjects that don’t interest me in the slightest’? This bird looks for all the world like she’s being shown a tub of own-brand margarine for the 8,000th time.
Next move onto the irony-vacuum that is ‘Peyrou’. My dear old mother always told me to be wary of people who give themselves one name. I mean, I think this was down to the slightly dubious character she took up with shortly after my father left, who called himself, simply, Freedom. Turns out the freedom he enjoyed in life was down to the savings accounts of vulnerable women. But there you go. Anyway, just watch Peyrou’s video. Then leave me a comment describing him in ten words. You won’t be able to do it.
Then you get a model agent, an architect and a bloke who makes chairs, all telling us that they find this new Merc execmobile so unbelievably stalk-inducing that the only conclusion left for people of a sound mind is that this car is, objectively and officially, worth fucking up the exhaust pipe. Of course, it’s all so smug and shitheaded that you’ll end up self-harming.
But wait until you get to the video to the bottom right, titled ‘Karolina Kurkova meets Craig McDean’. This will change your life. In a terribly, horribly, irreversibly scarring kind of way.
Over footage of a model being photographed next to a car, the VO tells us that the aim of the exercise is to capture ‘a design masterpiece, plus the most beautiful woman IN THE SAME PHOTO’. What? WHHHAAATT? A frigging car and a model, IN THE SAME SHOT?
Shit. The. Bed.
That, my friends, is ambition. And the truly amazing thing? THEY FUCKING DO IT. No – seriously, they do. This photographic genius somehow – and I really have no clue how – manages to get a car and a woman within a single photographic frame. Can you even imagine?
But that’s not all.
Craig says he doesn’t just want to make advertising. He wants to make a fashion image. For him, it’s about ‘collaborating the woman with the car’. Whatever that means. Anyway, whatever, he fucking nails it. The girl absolutely collaborates with the car. By standing next to it, mainly.
Check it out. It’s remarkable. In the same way that if you ran as fast as you possibly could into a wall made of nails, hand grenades, nettles, cheese graters, shit and angry dogs, it would be remarkable.
I am Dave Knockles! And I want to collaborate with Karolina Kurkova!