A Big Fat Challenge

In the end, Jonathan Ressler and I agreed to disagree.

He said, “There is nothing that’s not about marketing. Look, the government is running a marketing campaign on the war. Every minute of your day is about marketing.”

I said, “If that’s the case, I would just as soon slit my wrists.”

He said, “What brands of clothes are you wearing right now?”

I told him that my clothes aren’t marketing just because they answer to Levi’s and Hanes.

I had asked Ressler to play devil’s advocate for our feature story on branding (see pg. 39). Boy, did he ever. He not only defended undercover marketing — what he calls “real-life product placement,” wherein folks get paid for using and chatting up brands with friends and strangers. (Ressler’s agency, Big Fat, Inc., specializes in it.) He went so far as to argue that every act and interaction is marketing.

“Even when I kiss my kids good night? That better not be true,” I said.

“OK,” he conceded. “There may be some moments in the day that aren’t. But when you read them a story, is there a list in the book of other books you should read? When you go out for dinner, what do you think the menu is? What do you order to drink?”

That’s when I saw the challenge: I would track all the moments of a single day to see which were about marketing and which weren’t.

That night, I had dinner at a Chinese restaurant with my sister. I told her about my Big Fat challenge. Then we talked about … let’s see … Aveda eye makeup … Pottery Barn chairs … her five-year-old’s birthday … what the kids and husbands were getting for Christmas (a conversation sprinkled with words like “Eddie Bauer” and “Game Boy”).

Damn. That’s a lot of brand mentions.

We then talked a bunch more and, trust me, we weren’t selling each other anything. I felt better.

Then came my fortune cookie: “Call Asia Grille for corporate delivery and takeout.”

“It’s true,” whispered my sister, who had gotten a normal fortune. “Your day is all marketing.”

It freaked me out so much I didn’t tackle the challenge for weeks — including 10 days spent away from work and all formal talk of marketing. When I finally did, here’s how the moments shook out.

Marketing Moments

• Several friends recommend The Lord of the Rings.
• We drive past an outlet mall and several hundred billboards (including one that just says “United We Stand”).
• We debate whether to have Burger King or Subway for lunch.
• The under-10 crowd compares snowboards.
• At a dinner party, our friends’ first-grader declares that her bed is a TV, then hops on it to “do an ad”: “This dress is perfect for parties,” she minces. “One look and you will fall in love with it.”
• Three moms recommend the local school to a new neighbor.
• I answer several inquiries about the Finnish kick sled I bought online.

Non-marketing Moments

• Reading Just an Ordinary Day with Babykins to my son. (This was actually several hundred moments, counting all readings.)
• Doing a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle.
• Hours of sledding.
• One campfire, during which marshmallows and fresh snow are consumed.
• Standing with my husband on a frozen lake under a full moon, listening to the ice crack.

I’m not sure how to classify this one: In an interview, author Lemony Snicket (a great brand name if ever there was one) explains that he doesn’t publicize his villains because they’re bad. “If you made a cake with old eggs, you wouldn’t paint a billboard that says, “Old-Egg Cake! Everyone, come and have some!”

Maybe that’s the simple difference between marketing and conversation. Marketing talks up the good stuff. But we talk with family and friends about bad stuff, too. And, sometimes, there are no words at all.

I’m not cynic enough (yet) to believe that each moment is about consumption or each conversation a sales pitch. For every fortune cookie, there is a quiet moment under the full moon.