On Tuesday, I promised to share my new Hedy Lamarr-inspired Life Design.
Now, bear in mind that the following “schedule” is merely a guideline. I’m all about discipline, but I’m not a rigid freakazoid.
I’m shooting for equal parts Benjamin Franklin (limitless self-improvement) + Oscar Wilde (creative proliferation) + RuPaul (ferocious self-promotion) + Hedy Lamarr (intelligent hedonism).
Without further ado, here she is!
Do you have a daily routine, work schedule or self-imposed life structure? Do you want one? Why or why not?
How do I love LGBT marketing campaigns? Let me count the ways:
{ 1 } They’re socially-conscious.
Call it a by-product of oppression, a Machiavellian marketing tactic, or just a tangible display of karmic generosity — LGBT ads take social progress to a new level.
This Argentinian commercial for Banco Provincia features a transgender woman, a bigoted man, and a story about forgiveness. (thanks for the link, Sam!)
And LGBT organizations willingly cross party lines to court unlikely advocates — such as Senator John McCain’s wife, Cindy McCain:
LGBT-friendly companies know how to target their audiences. Oh boy, do they ever. They make a concerted effort to show same-sex couples in everyday situations: shopping around for a mortgage, relaxing at home, walking the dog, or making out on the couch. Since these types of images are so rare in conventional media, they make a powerful impact. LGBT people want to see themselves represented accurately and authentically — and LGBT companies get it.
Gay-owned and gay-friendly businesses use LGBT role models to create striking visual images. And they’re not afraid to play with conventions and stereotypes to get the message across.
{ 4 } They place products powerfully (without pandering).
LGBT television programs use product placement in creative, non-icky ways — RuPaul’s Drag Race, which is primarily sponsored by Absolut Vodka, manages to work the product into the flow of the show in a logical, non-disruptive fashion. Their “Exceptional Moments” ad campaign — in which mega-star drag queens share intimate stories about their lives and careers — is nothing short of brilliant.
{ 5 } They give customers a voice (and a face).
LGBT companies use customer testimonials in authentic, relatable ways. Olivia Cruises comes to mind:
{ 6 } They’ve got MOXIE!
Gay businesses fly in the fact of convention, either because they cater specifically to a queer customer base, or simply because they’re innovative and off-beat. Subversiveness is sexy — and sex sells. Know what else sells? A healthy dose of humor.
Everyone has a “Plan A” — the one where everything goes right, you get the girl (or guy), your novel gets published, your hair stays lustrous and you end your earthly days eating goat cheese and crystalized lavender in an Italian villa with your BFF and a couple retired greyhounds.
Most people also have a “Plan B” — a contingency scenario. A pessimistic, but acceptable alternative to the ecstatic glory of Plan A. It might involve teaching, getting a roommate, or going back to school. It’s usually vague-ish, because it’s not fun to think about. It has the faintest tinge of failure, because it’s not success — it’s settling.
I don’t like to contemplate my “Plan B,” because the more I think about it, the more possible / viable / likely it becomes.
Instead, I prefer to fantasize about my “Plan Z” — the absolute worst-case scenario. The end of the road. The point of no return. The bottomest bottom. The lowest low. The pit of despair. EPIC. FAILURE.
For me, “Plan Z” means losing the house I worked my booty off to buy at the age of 24 and renting a raggedy studio apartment for $400 a month. Instead of working as a promotional wordsmith & pro-active pimp, I’d get a grim gig as a graveyard shift bartender in the dive bar to end all dive bars. I’d wear the same pair of jeans every day, drink drip coffee from McDonalds and eat 99-cent packs of Hostess snack cakes. I’d sing Dolly Parton songs to the bikers and drunks who littered my bar. At the end of my shift, I’d trundle home to my empty bed — make that empty mattress — on the floor. On my days off, I’d drink cheap boxed wine and make sandwiches out of welfare cheese and Wonderbread. I’d curl my hair with empty Diet Coke cans and stare at gasoline rainbows in gutter puddles.
Can I make a scandalous admission? My “Plan Z” actually sounds kinda awesome. And by admitting to myself that the absolute worst-case scenario I can envision is (gasp!) “kinda awesome,” I’ve just taken the power (and terror) out of failure. That’s the beauty of having a Plan Z.
So your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to articulate your “Plan Z,” in all it’s wretched glory. Own it. Love it. Know that you’ll never actually do it — but that even if you do, you’ll still be okay. More than okay — you might even be kinda awesome.
Wanna share your plans — big & small, ill-advised & brilliant? Leave a comment, yo. Oh, and remember: one person’s “Plan A” is another’s “Plan Z!”
