Page 10 of Tricky Business

“You want to do what?” Stephanie asks, a mix of confusion and shock written across her face as clear as a billboard.

“We shouldn’t use traditional models, and I don’t want to do very much video-editing or makeup. Bronze Goddess is about turning the everyday woman into a goddess, so let’s use some everyday women.”

The three people on my team all have the same expressions as Stephanie. Namely, that their team leader might be a few fries short of a happy meal.

“You know that we’re supposed to be selling beauty products, right?” Brandon asks. “And beauty products require beautiful people to sell the products.”

I should have known that no one would understand why I asked them to all watch these videos. “Right. So we should just make a shortened version of a TV ad and hope that it goes viral?”

The three of them nod to each other, and I shake my head. “That was sarcasm. It doesn’t work on ChitChat. It’s been tried a thousand times by a thousand companies, and everyone just skips it to go to the next real video. What we need is real videos of real people. We need to market the reality of the product because then people willwant to watch it.”

“It’s just another self-tanner. It’s not really innovative,” Shonda says. I key in on the way she’s a little less antagonistic.

Stephanie is the classic image of a high-powered businesswoman. She probably takes a spin class on Tuesday and Thursday afternoon and spends Saturday mornings drinking twenty-dollar mimosas with her friends while they have their gardeners and pool boys and maids taking care of their house. Obviously, it’s something that most people would love, but she’s not the person who would buy this product.

Brandon is the masculine version of Stephanie. He’s handsome, with just the beginning of a receding hairline. He probably golfs every Sunday and goes out on Friday nights with his friends to pick up a new woman for a one-night stand.

He’s obviously not the kind of person who’d buy this product either.

But Shonda might be. She’s been following Brandon and Stephanie’s lead, but there’s a hesitancy in everything she says. Her makeup is a little more creative than Stephanie’s simple but powerful style. Her dress is fun and far less professional than Stephanie’s skirt-suit.

“Brandon, who’s the target demographic of this product?”

Without even a moment of hesitation, he says, “Single, sixteen to twenty-six year old women in upper poverty to middle-class income brackets with high school to undergraduate educations. This is a brand that is trying to expand from a low-cost regional alternative to a national mass-market brand.”

I nod to him. I’m proud that I knew that from my research. “And what do those people traditionally look like? Do they look like models, or do they look like the girl next door?”

Shonda sees what I’m saying and jumps in. “Girl next door.”

“And are they tan?” I ask.

All three of them shake their heads. “The core tenet of traditional advertising is ‘Do this thing like this perfect person, and you’ll be more like them.’ Except people are realizing that no one can have that perfect skin because it’s fake. There are going to be reviewers showing these same things on normal people, so why not skip the dishonesty and just show them what it looks like on a pretty person who’s real? That’s what goes viral on ChitChat. Realness that makes the viewer think they could have the same thing.”

The three members of my team are quiet for a few moments as the logic sinks in. Brandon finally says, “Why doesn’t anyone else do that?”

“Because there’s a culture shift that’s happened in the last three to four years, and it hasn’t propagated to all the other advertising mediums yet. But because ChitChat is new and filled with young people, it’s started there.”

Stephanie sighs. “Okay. Then what’s the plan?”

I give them all a smile and say, “Now we just have to figure out how to convince people theywantto watch an ad.”

***

I pick my laptop bag up and sigh as I walk toward Emery’s office. My team and I have thrown ideas around for almost two and a half hours, and it doesn’t seem like anything is perfect yet, but we have some ideas. I remember making my first ChitChat video. It was nothing like this. I just copied what other people were doing and gave it my own spin. I think I spent five minutes coming up with it.

But this is different. I don’t know the industry like I did with books.

My mind was mud when I started that meeting, and now every ounce of creativity has been wrung out of it. That doesn’t mean I get to skip the meeting with Emery, though. This is what grown-ups do. This is what powerful business women do.

His door’s open, and he looks up from a set of ad mockups as I stand in front of the doorway. “Come in and shut the door behind you,” he says, only slightly more serious than he normally is.

I close the door and set my bag next to my chair as I sit down. Emery stacks the mockups and sets them off to the side. “How’d your meeting go?” he asks almost cordially.

“Fine. We have a few ideas to explore, and I’m sure we’ll have the plan laid out by the end of tomorrow.”

He nods and runs his hand over his cheek, his fingers brushing the stubble as though he’s thinking about a sensitive subject.

“ChitChat is considered an impossible advertising medium, Madison. Across the board, only tiny companies will even touch it because nothing forces someone to look at an ad. You’re not the first person we hired for your position. In fact, you’re the fourth, and the previous three are no longer working for us.”

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