Monthly Archives: June 2009

Am I stuck in the 90s?

Hey yulz. Been feeling down lately. Been worried that I am ‘stuck in the 90s’. The other day was driving and saw a Calvin Klein orgy billboard and it ‘appealed to my sensibilities’ and ‘spoke to my aspirations of being a liberal individual who is also hot’, which planted the seed of worry.

Then I walked past Ed Hardy at the waterfront and actually considered ‘paying money to look like some trashy slut’ who digs rhinestones and skulls and tattoo-vibes, which is when the warning bells really kicked in.

A picture of class.

A picture of class.


Then, as I was perusing this season’s handbags, I almost dropped 1k on a piece of shit Guess handbag, because I momentarily forgot the rules.

How to smell rich.

How to smell 'rich'.

Then I experienced an urge to ‘push social boundaries’ by being free-spirited and zany and ‘experimenting with social taboos’ by sleeping with all my friends (guys and girls). Was a low point. Might as well drench myself in CK1 and put Nevermind on repeat.

Anyone got a vial of blood I can wear round my neck? Is 4 my image.

Anyone got a vial of blood I can wear round my neck? Is 4 my image.

Then sat at home and felt crap about myself, and decided that I need bigger boobs, which sent me spiralling, because if anything is soooo last decade, it’s big boobs. Mother of god.

Big Boobs. Not renowned for dating well.

Big Boobs. Not renowned for dating well.

And then came the last straw: I was catching up on the mandatory morning reading and saw that Britney had died her hair dark again, and I wondered if I should exclaim loudly about how much I hate her. Maybe subject a few innocent colleagues to my opinions about ‘how dumb Britney is’. Which was when I realised it: I am stuck in the 90s.

Britney-hating: the ultimate 90s opinion.

Britney-hating: the ultimate 90s opinion.

Feel very down. Can’t believe I thought I was a child of the new millennium. Thought I was original and intellectual and free-spirited and one-of-a-kind and ‘unique’. Thought that people ‘see something different and special’ in me because I go against the social grain and ‘cannot be controlled’. But now I realised I’m just a retard loser stuck in the 90s. FML.

Psychographic Profile: I am Michael Jackson

Say my name, tards.

Say my name, tards.

I am Michael Jackson
I am dead now and, to be honest,
It’s a bit of a relief
Things were getting tense there.
I was supposed to go on tour,
My ‘comeback’ tour,
But I was nowhere near up for that shiz.
I was fragile and scared
And sick,
My body totally let me down,
But I guess I let it down too.
NEwayz, no regrets,
I had a good run,
And I am free now.

This was my shout-out to spidey-bro.

This was my shout-out to spidey-bro.

I am Michael Jackson
But I don’t really identify with my personal brand anymore,
Kind of felt I was living a lie for the past 10 years,
But too much $$ depended on it.
So many people with kids who needed a salary out of my name
That I felt bad,
But I really couldn’t deal,
So I hid away in Dubai
Where people wouldn’t think I was weird for covering my face.
I just wanted to be alone.

The Portrait of Michael Dorian Jackson Gray.

The Portrait of Michael Dorian Jackson Gray.

I am Michael Jackson
Deep down, I just wanted to dance,
But that made some peeps think I was gay,
Which made me even sadder.
The only people who didn’t judge me or want something from me
Were children,
So I hung out with them.
Then people said I was a paed.
If only they knew I had lost so much faith in the world
That sex with anyone
Was the last thing on my mind.

At least kids were honest with me about my fucked-up face, unlike all my sycophantic manager bros.

At least kids were honest with me about my fucked-up face, unlike all my sycophantic manager bros.

I am Michael Jackson
I just wanted to make people happy.
My shrink said I had a ‘need 2 please’
But I never really saw what was wrong with that,
Until I tried to please everyone too many times
By having another surgery
And my face fell apart.
Which was kind of ironic because while my ‘image’ was melting,
My soul was soaring and I thought
Maybe I can carve myself into someone else,
And then everyone will leave me alone
And let me dance with my kids at my house
In private.

Just want to walk down the street without being hassled.

Just want to walk down the street without being hassled.

I am Michael Jackson
And though I wanted ppl to leave me alone,
I wish my friends had called more often-
Neverland got really quiet on Sundays,
When everyone was with their families,
Happy and loved.
So I decided to have children of my own,
To love and be loved by,
When the fans went home.
And I loved my kids,
And I did my best to protect them,
I even called my one kid ‘Blanket’ so he could feel real protected,
Even though ppl thought I was a freak.

My gift 2 my kids will be their faces.

My gift 2 my kids will be their faces.

I am Michael Jackson
Hope you liked my work.
Please don’t go all crazy now that I’m gone,
Because y’all weren’t that nice to me when I was alive,
But it’s okay.
We’re all just ppl.
Just trying to be happy.

Try be nice 2 yall next King of Pop, K?

Try be nice 2 y'all next King of Pop, K?

I am Michael Jackson
And I am free now.

Not dead. Just pretending to be.

I’m trying something new. I’m pretending I’ve died so that the value of my blog goes up exponentially. Do you think it’s working?

Just keeping it real here and rotting around on the lawn.

Just keeping it real here and rotting around on the lawn.

Figure that being dead might induce sympathy and nostalgia. Like now that I’m ‘dead’, creatives in advertising all across the country will be reminscing about how funny and zany I was, how cutting my ironic sense of humour is, how I am just ‘so real’ for not taking my job to seriously. And then, when fan mania is at its zenith, I will reveal that I was actually buried alive by mistake under a mound of job bags, and berate operations for not double-checking my pulse before they threw me into the paper shredder, which one of my Converse (luckily) jammed thus saving me from a messy execution. Brilliant.

Now, back to that mound of job bags…

Cannes Lions Advertising Awards Update

Hey y’ulle. Not sure if you all heard but there is some majah advertising awards vibe going down in this place in Francey called Cannes. It’s apparently quite important for your career to win at Cannes. Word is a Cannes Lion will ‘open a lot of doors’ for you. I think it’s because carrying a Cannes Lion requires both hands (is made of calcified semen spray painted gold – the densest material on planet earth) so people will just have to help you open doors because your hands are full.


Lots of advertising people have been calling me asking ‘whether I know anything’ since I am a blogger. Have to keep turning them away empty-eared because I don’t know anything. I don’t really follow awards y’uls. Just not really my thing. Being a copywriter, I just know too much about people and life and the cycles of fortune and flavour and public attention to be able to believe the hype around awards. Also, I kind of don’t really see the point in collecting more crap you have to store on your desk / in your home. Kind of feel like displaying awards is ‘trying too hard’. Is a bit like wearing your Converse High-Tops with a dress. Just seems a l’il desperate for approval / attention. But I know I am an over-privileged brat since I have won many awards in my life for many things and came from award-winning parents and have been fortunate enough to ‘take winning for granted’, so maybe ignore me and just keep reaching for the stars and landing on the moonface5. I’ll see y’uls you on the top-rung some day. See you when you get dere. If you ever get dere.

This graph is copyrighted to Alex van Tonderwonder (c) and first appeared in her 2015 study entitled How to work in advertising without turning into a tard.

This graph is copyrighted to Alex van Tonderwonder (c) and first appeared in her 2015 study entitled "How to work in advertising without turning into a tard".

PS. Have you ever won a Canned Lion? Once watched this show on Carte Blanche about how people were bribing officials so they could pretend they actually shot the lion themselves. Sad what people will do for awardz. 😦

so you want to get into advertising?

then read this, and remember:



is my life too perfect? do i have ‘too much fun’?

Just got back from a little mini holiday. Managed to spend some time in New York and squeeze in some shopping in London. Also attended a fab birthday party, ate some deliciously wonderful food, wrangled a sunset on beta beach, and had the most tremendous amount of fun every. single. second. Literally. Sometimes I have to stop having fun just to realise how much fun I keep having. Not sure if y’ulle know, but ‘van’ is my middle name. No jokes. Say that aloud. Check all this fun out:

Having fun on a see-saw in a park in London.

Having fun on a see-saw in a park in London.

Having fun with a little sunset on the beach.

Having fun with a little sunset on beta beach.

The fun we had to go back to after the beach.

The fun we had to go back to after the beach.

Just funning around the loft.

Just 'funning around' the loft.

Having fun with the guards at the gate. Not sure how much fun they found it.

Having fun with some 'chill 3D glasses', rapping to the guards at the gate. (Not sure how much fun they found it - maybe counts again the fun?)

Having fun with Neurotic Harvey. This is basically the most fun cat around. He stands in front of the mirror high-fiving himself for hours. True story.

Having fun with Neurotic Harvey. This is basically the most fun cat around. He stands in front of the mirror high-fiving himself for hours. True story.

The extremely fun cake from Ms fab birthday party.

The extremely fun cake from M's fab birthday party.

The boyfriend having fun with some 3D glasses and our very fun plant. And look at that fun piece of art in the corner that says so  much about our fun lives as young technophiles.

The boyfriend having fun with some 3D glasses and our very fun plant. And look at that fun piece of art in the corner that says so much about our fun lives as young technophiles.

Me having almost unbridled fun with a scarf. Can you handle it?

Me having almost unbridled fun with a scarf. Can you handle it?

Friend Kath having extreme fun at my extremely fun table at home in the loft.

Friend Kath having extreme fun at my extremely fun table at home in the loft.

Being bros with a giant bear. So much fun.

Being bros with a giant bear. So much fun.

Romantic, yet still fun. Its too much.

Romantic, yet still fun. It's too much.

What do y’ulle think? Should I make an effort to have less fun and ‘be more serious’? Do I need to ‘grow the fuck up’? Please let me know. Your feedback would be appreciated.

back from holiday. don’t stress y’ulle.

Psychographic Profile: I am on Holiday

I am on holiday
Going to take long leisurely runs
Followed by long leisurely massages
Followed by long leisurely lunches
During which I won’t overeat because I’m vaguely tense about some deadline
Which I’ll procrastinate against because the internet exists
And what more of a reason do you need.

I am on holiday
A tiny holiday, really only 5 days
But I’ll savour it like an extra Lindt chocolate with my double mucho Meie de Leit
from the Vida e barristas
Who were feeling extra generous this morning
Or maybe they just feel sorry for me
Because I am there every day.

I am on holiday
Not going to blog, facebook, but maybe tweet
But probably not
Not going to write a load of garbled psychographic marketing poetry
To amuse the other marketers procrastinating against their deadlines
Because I don’t give a rat’s ass
Because I am on holiday.

See y’ulle in a week.
xx


Whacky Wednesday – free consumer insight: get yours NOW! (use it, don’t use it, whatever)

If you work for a bank / cellular service provider, please copy and paste this post into a mail and allstaff it. It’s cheaper than paying some market research company to do it, and it’s also more honest. Here are some observations, insights and recommendations:

If you call me from a private number, I assume you are cold-calling me from some cellular service provider / bank, which is the communication equivalent to being woken up in the middle of a night by a naked bald guy jerking off over my face.

Unfortunately, repeat offenders have forced me to put some drastic measures in place, which include stating very clearly on my voicemail that if you are calling from a private number, I WILL NOT answer, unless you send me an SMS telling me who you are, and why you are calling, and give me a number on which to return your call. This is not open to negotiation.

This applies not only to private numbers, or ‘blocked’ numbers, as they appear on the iPhone, but also goes for any number that I do not have in my address book and hence do not recognize via Caller Line ID. Why so tense, you might ask?

Because if you are not one of my nearest and dearest, I do not want to speak to you. If you are going to try and get me to buy something, I do not want to speak to you. If I want to buy something you have, I will find you – don’t you worry. If you exist in the peripheries of my life ie. you are my bank consultant, the dude from my gym who wants to check if I’m still taking part in the triathlon or the chick from the spa who wants to confirm my massage this weekend, you have TWO options when it comes to contacting me: email me, or SMS me. I will reply. I will be nice, courteous and pleasant to deal with.  We can still have a meaningful, productive relationship – just not over the phone.

(Whomever the retarded person was who phoned me SEVEN times from a private number yesterday, what is going through your brain? Which part of my voice message do you not understand? Why do you think phoning me again will make me answer? Do you not read 2oceansvibe?)

***********************PAY SPECIAL ATTENTION NOW*******************************


Lastly, but not leastly, do not EVER send me a Please Call Me. The last friend who sent me a Please Call Me is no longer a friend. So why on earth, bank-who-shall-not-be-named (you know who you are) do you think sending me a Please Call Me is going to convince me that you have any kind of understanding of me as a consumer or my needs? Getting a Please Call Me from a bank takes cellular rape to a whole new level. There really was nothing left to do but, well, call the number on my screen. Of course, I didn’t know the Please Call Me was from a bank until I called.

A transcript of my conversation with person from Big Bank that Everyone Knows.

A transcript of my conversation with person from Big Bank that Everyone Knows.

UN-f-ing-BELIEVABLE.

I’m feeling benevolent, so I’m not posting the name of the bank here, but if you’re shopping around for a new bank and would like to know who NOT to go with, drop me a mail and I’ll gladly tell you.

iPhone crashed. as did my heart.

hey y’uls. my iPhone crashed last night. so i slit my wrists and lay down in the bath, waiting to die. boyfriend found me.

BF:  “Baby! Why are you covered in food colouring?”
Me:  “My iPhone crashed. I can’t even Google how to fix it.”
BF:  “You must be overtired. I’ll Google it.”
Fiddles with his very old but very trusty Nokia.
BF:  “You just have to hold down the sleep and the home button.”
Holds down buttons.
BF:  “There. See? It’s fine now. All phones crash, baby. It happens.”
Me:  “Not to the iPhone. I don’t want this one anymore. It’s broken. It’s dirty. Want a new one.”
BF:  “Don’t be silly. It’s fine now. What were you doing when it crashed?”
Me:  “Was trying to tweet a Flickr pic from a blog post. What’s the point in having an iPhone if I can’t multitask on it? Might as well have a 3310.”
BF:  “Don’t be ridiculous. You need some sugar. Have a guava.”

And so it went.

Srsly. Has this happened to you? Do y’ulle know whether there’s a support group I can join to talk about how this has affected me? I know that there are 7 stages of dealing with an iPhone crash.

Last night I was in 1&2&3, then I skipped all the way to 7.5 (Hope) and am Hoping there is a way to skip through all of these to 5 and stay there (via being part of instant gratification generation). Don’t really want to work hard for anything that isn’t depositing $$ into my account (via pragmatism and materialism and over-inflated sense of self-worth), even if that thing was free and is coveted by all my associates / friends (iPhone).

Think this’ll probably become one of the great unifying questions of the 21st century.

Where were you when your iPhone first crashed? – Alex van Tonderator

Like, Where were you when you heard Princess Diana slept with a Muslim?


Where were you when you heard that Kung Fu Panda became the President of South Africa?

I’m here for you y’ulle. Just know that you will heal, eventually.

I care about things. I care about you.

My brain’s been deeply engaged lately. Been thinking. Been wondering about whether I am contributing to something meaningful to the world via my career. Not really sure that ‘making milkshake worlds’ or creating the Alcoholics Of Tomorrow via ambassador programs is ever going to be the kind of thing my grandkids will brag about. Basically, I (and by I, I mean my personal brand) has been feeling a bit average.

I recently got told about the Heart Transplant Museum in Cape Town, where you can go and see life-like wax models of the first heart-transplant, and dress up like a doctor and get goosebumps at ‘following in the footsteps of greatness’.


Like an angel.

Like an angel.

This beautiful picture inspired me to read up about Chris Barnard on wikipedia, and about all his great achievements and how he conquered the world even though he lives on the tip of Africa and was Afrikaans. You know how black people in this country say they only find achievements inspiring if it’s done by a black person, and hence flip out about not enough black people in top positions? Well I’m the same. I can only be inspired by great things if they’re done by an Afrikaans person (via narrow-minded-excuse-making), even though I barely speak Afrikaans. But I don’t have to since ‘it’s in my blood’. Think of me as your ‘Good-Girl War-Veteran’. kisses MK xxx.

The Britney Spear of the Nation.

The Britney Spear of the Nation.

What got me all fuzzed up about him was the fact that he did most of his heart transplants free of charge, which indicates a good balance on his personal brand between narcissistic hot Doctor guy and altruist-for-the-people. Which made me realize that’s what’s missing from my personal brand – the meaning that comes from convincing other people you care about deep issues, like teen pregnancy / whether street kids have enough glue / saving the environment / pretending to push the whales back in the sea when they just want to be left alone to die.

What they call an all-rounder. He must have been smart too to get through medschool x 2.

What they call 'an all-rounder'. He must have been smart too to get through medschool x 2.

So was thinking about adopting a meaningful cause that I can champion with my influence and passion, a cause about which I can ‘generate awareness’ and ‘conceptualise PR’ which leads to ‘word-of-mouth  buzz marketing and viral activational engagements’. Some of the causes I’ve been considering include:

1. Advertisements have rights too, ie. Writing up a ‘constitution’ for advertisements that includes ‘ads have the right to shelter’ and then protesting when a billboard that has not been printed with UV-resistant ink is placed in an open area without cover. People seem to like protesting here. Probably because most of our people have ‘natural rhythm’ and tapping into that kind of momentum would mean half the work is done, ie.  Tapping into the long-tailing trend and catching a ride on the collaboration fad wave.



2. Affirmative Action for the oppressed, ie. All the creatives who have had their work discriminated against by clients should be given a free lunch, maybe free medical aid (because of all the mental abortions they have had to endure), and all the top jobs in government. Really think that government would have a great image if they hired us to ‘create a vibe’ in the office, or whatever. Could maybe take a page out of Peet Pienaar’s book (but not the same book he keeps designing over and over and giving a new name to a la Afro, Bruce Lee, etc) and leave trails of boerewors lying around parliament, like the ones Peet left lying around at Jupiter (miss u Jupiter).

3. Client tax. Basically the client pays tax on all the changes they make to a finished, cohesive concept. So the more you strip away in favour of budget (via the recession / general ignorance of the merit of having a concept in your advertising), the more tax you pay on a concept. The tax goes towards supplying creatives with ‘soul deposits’, since stripping concepts takes chunks out of the soul of the creative, like a shark in a frenzy. This might be too abstract however. Not sure whether a currency needs to be set up for ‘soul deposits’. Not sure what would be a happy medium for everyone, since people are so diverse. Maybe the currency can be butternut soup, which is quite neutral. Or heroine, since even if you don’t actively like it now, you probably will like it once you try it. Or maybe something meaningful, like a Louis Vuitton handbag. Basically once you’ve had 10 ideas stripped down to nothing you have earned 1 handbag. Works for me.

Green advertising. This is where we only print in green to create awareness around the fact that we are aware of the environment, and how bad we feel when we print out 100 page PDFs because it’s ‘easier than flicking between screens’. This is really just first-phase at the moment.

That’s where I’ve got up to so far. Let me know if you have a cause you’d like me to champion. I am your humble servant, at your service, here to serve you in any way that I can in a humble fashion. Just want y’ulle to see me as DEEP as well as shallow.

thought for the week: advertising’s bad, but art is worse.

thanks @JadeDsantos.

Psychographic profile: I am a GirlJock

Wish I could be in High School for ever. Might go back and coach Girls soccer.

Wish I could be in High School for ever. Might go back and coach Girls' soccer.

I am a GirlJock
In high school my identity was defined by my place in the hockey team
And my place at the sidelines of every ‘big game’ that ‘my’ boys played
And not much has changed except now
I am allowed to drink (legally)
And Thank god (I mean that, I am Christian, Anglican in fact),
because drinking is probably the biggest part of my identity today.

Just another AMAZING NIGHT OUT  with one of my BEST FRIENDS.

Just another AMAZING NIGHT OUT with one of my BEST FRIENDS.

I am a GirlJock
I have over 1000 friends on facebook
All of them love me because I am the life of the party
I am always smiling
There are over 1000 photos on facebook of me smiling
I have sooooo much fun
With all my friends who love my smile
We have so much fun because we are sooooo pissed
We get up to soooooo much craziness at the game / the ball / the girlz night out / the J&B Met
When we get together
And get pissed

Hey such great times at the Met. I 3 the Met, its my best.

Hey such great times at the Met. I ❤ the Met, it's my best.

I am a GirlJock
All my friends wish they were me
Even the hot skinny blonde ones
Even though I can’t shake the extra weight I carry around
(it’s because of my drinking, but who cares what you look like when you can party!)
but being overweight doesn’t stop like, a million guys being my best friend
I have soooooo many guy friends
I am in love with like, all of them, but I’ll never risk telling them because
“I don’t want to ruin the friendship”
though I am actually scared they will reject me
because I am not at my ‘ideal weight’
but I keep ordering another drink hoping that
we will be sooo pissed and end up kissing on the dancefloor / at the rugby
and it will turn into something meaningful

I 3 him so much it hurts.

I ❤ him so much it hurts.

I am a GirlJock
I studied whatever my older brother studied
And in some ways, I think my older brother is my soul mate
He said I should have been HeadGirl of my highschool
And I totally agree with him
**SMOOCHIESS!!!**
We are the best of friends
4 ever

My brother and I are very close.

My brother and I are very close.

I am a GirlJock
I am highly sociable and am able to be ‘friends with everyone’ (it actually says that on my CV)
Even the zany little creative people
Who don’t work at my accounting firm and claim to ‘hate rugby’ (cute!)
I am a GirlJock
Can’t wait for the weekend
So I can get soooo pissed and partay with like, all my millions of friends
And take photos and post them on facebook
So everyone can see how much fun I am
And how awesome my life is.

Hangovers R us. We are sooo crazy.

Hangovers R us. We are sooo crazy.

I am a GirlJock.