MARNIE EDGAR: A
little. Why? Don’t you like it?
BERNICE EDGAR: Too-blonde hair always looks like a woman’s trying to attract the man.
—Marnie, 1964, Alfred Hitchcock.
LET ME TELL YA, I never believed in blond girls.
Octave
Parango is a publicist who’s being paid to tell lies. He knows that it’s
crucial to boost everybody’s envy, pain, and insatiability to create needs. The
consumer manipulation is his work. “To pay or to be paid: that is the question”
is his monologue. “I spend, therefore I exist” is his guidance. Trapped in a
profession that wish no happiness on anybody, because happy people don’t
consume, he decides to write a book telling blow-by-blow the picture of the
advertising industry, and thus to get fired off from the Agency for which he
works.
After reading
the bitter satire of the French novelist Frédéric Beigbeder, £ 9.99, I wondered
myself if people are capable of being manipulated and if I was being
manipulated by the machinery of advertising.
So one day I
bought this T-shirt embroidered with this promotional message: “Drink, dance,
and be blond.”
Want to know
the outcome? I suspect you do.
When I put
the T-shirt on, people smiled at me more than ever on the streets. Even once a
guy told me, “Baby, I like it.”
My first
experiment confirmed that advertising works.
So soon afterward
I made a mental inventory of stuff acquired in the last five years that I had
never used.
Nothing.
Though, I
have to point out that once I went shopping for a dress, and I ended up buying
three. Trickling back home, I realized that I didn’t need three, so I decided
to go back to the store and return two of them.
The
saleswoman asked me: “Sweetie, don’t they fit well? Don’t you want to look
other sizes? Perhaps you want to see other styles?”
I replied: “Thanks,
but I don’t need them.”
That reminds
me, in a different, much different scale, that a magnificent F.C. Barcelona soccer
player, Éric Abidal, who, after a major surgery1, decided to sell out all his
cars. Some soccer players (as well as other wealthy people) like to accumulate
luxury cars in their garages: Porsches, Ferraris, Lamborghinis… as the rest of
the mortals collect magnets for our fridge. When I read that, a conspiratorial
smile appeared on my lips. I totally understood why he did that. When you are
awake, you don’t need them. Actually, you feel kind of stupid having them.
So thinking
that I was not being manipulated, ergo I was happy, I recalled once I tried a sample
promotion that the magazine Vogue gave along with the August issue, a Love
Lotion.
I studied the
label:
* A
pleasurable cocktail to see, feel, smell, and kiss: Interesting.
* Seductive fragrance
highly irresistible: Alluring.
* 9 out of 10
men feel attracted to this multi-sensorial cream: Please, gimme ten jars!!!
First off, I
thought it was bullshit: well-thought messages to fool women and make them
purchase the Love Lotion till its addiction.
Nevertheless,
I kept the marvellous sample, until one day running out of my usual body cream,
I scattered the lotion on my skin. I recall I was at my folks’ kitchen making
Orient Express, jasmine-scented green tea. The maid was sweeping the floor
clean behind me, and after five minutes or so, I turned around to see what on
earth was going on.
She said, “I’m
sorry, your smell is…”
“What?!”
“Yes, your
smell is…”
“What?!”
“Your smell
is so, so… Sexy!”
I swear I
didn’t remember about the Love Lotion, so I looked at her with eyes of a scared
dog. Suddenly, the alluring lotion came to my mind and I started to laugh long
and hard under the surprised maid’s look.
So the
question is: If Cleopatra had her milk’s bath, do I need a Love Lotion?
PS: Girls,
don’t envy me, but I might have the elixir of Love!
(1) Death is the most powerful tool I’ve ever seen:
can make an atheist pray to God everyday, and awaken a sleeping man.