Brand Girl™

Last month, on the eve of the launch of Apple’s iPhone 4s, coincidentally, I found myself in a bit of a technical mess. Which soon gave way to a personal hot mess. I was desperate enough for a tech fix that I ended up on the phone with an ex-, a man I will refer to here as my Mac Genius (MG). MG is not just any ex-, goodness, no. This one was the Ex-Beau of Long Ago: a talented photographer who took more pleasure in tinkering with the camera than with his subjects, including me. (I know, hard to imagine.) Eventually, MG was seduced by a force greater than moi, turning his back on photography (and, yeah, me), and allowing himself to be 100% engulfed by Apple—and a guy named Steve. Busted heart and years of drama aside, the residual lingering benefits of the relationship with MG have served me well. That night, MG talked me through––what turned out to be stupidly, yet luckily, nothing more than––a trivial iDisk user error. With the technical chat completed, we began the phase of wrapping up our polite, awkward conversation–the part where we act friendly, but never share exactly what’s new in our lives. Instead, we danced around in the nostalgic safety net (?!) of our shared past: a few common friends, a mutual fondness for Apple, and for a guy named Steve.

Seriously. No conversation between us could end without some mention of Steve Jobs, or Apple, or more specifically, regret about not having bought enough Apple stock. (Read here: my millionth rehashing of how some fool broker advised me back in the early ’90s to buy Restoration Hardware over Apple, MG’s repeated lamenting of the all-too-premature sale of a truckload of Apple shares.) On this particular night, the eve of October 4th, we found ourselves touching on Steve’s stepping down from his CEO role at Apple and wondering what that would mean for the future of the company and its zealots.

We were well aware that Apple has dedicated a good amount of resources to the development of the “Apple University,” an institution tasked with defining the unique essence of Steve and preserving the corporate culture he created. They can talk all they like about the case studies and training programs they developed to instill Steve’s DNA in its candidates, but to them, I still say, “Good luck with that.” Steve is a Man-God: a one-of-a-kind entrepreneur, CEO, and visionary who seemed to be channeling from another plane. Eerily, we also wondered how Apple would eventually handle what appeared to be Steve’s inevitable departure from the physical realm. “A world without Steve?” MG whispered into the phone. “Can you imagine?” I said. Neither one of us could. Instead, we noted the lateness of the hour (He: NYC/Me: LA), said our goodbyes, and ended our conversation on a bit of a low note.

I was not at all prepared for what I saw on my homepage the next afternoon in the middle of a local Starbuck’s. Yes, in the middle of a Starbuck’s, I opened my MacBook Air to a most elegant-looking picture of Steve, a very alive and healthy looking Steve Jobs, featured as though he were some hot new artist launching a new single on iTunes. Product promotion! That was my first thought until my eyes focused on the dates: 1955-2011. There he was—lean, stunning, healthy—and well, gone. I’m not a crier. So it was to my surprise that I was abruptly overtaken by a few loud, uncontrollable sobs, the kind that hide out in the smallest pit of your stomach waiting for odd moments like this. I sat there, crying, a few mascara-stained tear streaks on my cheeks, staring at Steve, my iPhone lighting up with a barrage of incoming texts from MG, the one ex- of mine who could share in my grief. I sat for a few minutes—with the Starbuck’s barista staring openly at me from behind the bar—looking as if I had had my heart broken. Didn’t I?

This was after all, a man who I was in a relationship with for many years. And no, I don’t mean MG. Steve Jobs seduced me long before MG did, when I was barely a college graduate. Actually, it’s more invasive than that. This man left no choice other than to become personally involved with him. His introduction of the Macintosh in the ’80s singlehandedly altered the business of graphic design, and as it turns out, the course of my life. In those days, an aspiring design professional had little choice other than to become an early adopter of Apple. Along with that came the tribulations of living with and through the many waves of Steve’s professional growing pains. In that regard, he truly was like a bad boyfriend, including the part where no expense was spared. He was both mad scientist and guru, and I was, unknowingly, both lab rat and apostle, testing his works and spreading his word—a gospel that was often met with great resistance and skepticism at that time.

As with any new man in his daughter’s life, my dad (A.K.A Accountant) didn’t share in my blind love for Steve, or, as he referred to him, “your buddy Steve.” My buddy Steve was the source of countless battles between me and my PC-loving dad and brothers—about the premium costs of Apple equipment and the merits of “personal” computing. My shouts of “user-friendly” and “intuitive” left them looking as blank and dull as their PC screens. Their shouts of “Compaq clones” and “cheap” left me appalled. Granted, this was the early phase of Apple’s history when Steve was ultra-egocentric, micromanaging and controlling all aspects of user experience to a fault. Remember his insistence on using only the most unique of cables, plugs, and hardware in creating and owning a proprietary product? (That’s a trait I share with my buddy Steve, by the way; I will still rationalize the big bucks for a well-made stiletto or cabernet, any time, any day.)

It didn’t matter what logic Dad and bros offered me. It was too late to convert me to anything PC. Steve was my man, and I was in bed with him and all his gadgets and proprietary cables—for life.

Luckily for us lab rats, Steve—after his infamous exile from Apple in 1985, and a brief stint at NeXT Computers—was reinstated as Apple CEO in 1997. He returned with a greater willingness to play with others, recognizing that world dominance could only happen with a friendlier platform and prices. Voilà! Out of the muck of the 1980s and 1990s came the Apple lotus flower: the iPod. Not only was it a revolutionary platform for monetizing and delivering media of all kinds (music, movies, etc.), it also ushered in a seemingly never-ending marketing ecosystem with all its derivative products: iPhones, iPads, Apple TV, and on and on. It’s almost incomprehensible that all this started with the vision of one man—actually, one God-Man. Steve was so brilliant, even Dad finally came around about him; he’s been an Apple convert now for many years and is now also kicking himself for not having bought Apple stock as heavily as I suggested. Dad now refers to “my buddy Steve,” without any irony, mind you, as “the Thomas Edison of our era.”

Don’t get me wrong. Even with a Man-God, not everything in the relationship was all fun and games. Oh no, sirree. That man broke my neck. Literally. He fed me tools, applications, gizmos of all kinds that allow me to churn out my passions and ideas at warp speed. And boy, did I ever. Like any lab rat, I ate it all up and was glued to my screen like a junkie—spinning out designs and concepts at an hourly rate that was dizzying. Ergonomics and proper posture be damned! Hello, degenerative disc disease! Hello, physical therapy! Every time I feel a crick in my neck, or a tingle in my hand from a dying nerve, I think of my man Steve. The Thomas Edison of my osteopathic-dependent world.

And let’s not forget: He stole my guy, the ex-, MG, too. Ha!

Steve had other lapses, too. I can recall being livid at him after 9/11, when Apple announced the company would be giving away laptops. To aid the families of the victims. Huh? “Like that’s going to help those families!” I screamed. The tragedy took place a few months before Apple opened its New York Soho store, converted from a former Post Office. At that dark time, I saw the store and the giveaway as a purely mercenary and insensitive move—a most inappropriate time to infiltrate the marketplace. I could have slapped Steve silly. Yet in hindsight, I simply recognize it for what it was: My misplaced anger at a man I loved, and a brilliant way for my prophet Steve to spread and show his love.

The New York Times reprinted the eulogy that Steve’s sister Mona Simpson gave about him. Readers, be forewarned, a few tears may ensue. Interesting enough, Mona talks about Steve’s passion for love. How he strove for perfection of love and beauty at all costs. And she’s right; it resonated in everything he did. You see Steve everyday, in every way you navigate life, not just on your desktop—whether you’re surfing the web on your iPad, listening to your iPod, or marveling in the simplicity of MobileMe. Let’s face it, you don’t just “like” Apple, on Facebook or in your real life. You love Apple.

Steve created one of the most unlikely loves of all: one in which a customer develops a lifetime romance with a brand. Once you’re in, you’re in. It’s personal. Given all the outpouring, from fans, media, and customers alike, I was clearly not the only one hit with a jolt to the heart, nor left with a personal scar or story.

It’s no doubt that this Man-God was taken too soon. I can only hope that my Man-God Steve, wherever his spirit may be, is now busy rummaging through the collection of Apple University protégées and scaring the bejesus out of one of them with his visions of what’s next. And in the meantime, we can also be grateful, and possibly envious, that Steve Jobs lived a life in a way that allowed him to love his work and work his love.

It’s not often that you can say the man is bigger than the myth. And in this case, also that the man is bigger than the brand.

I just relocated. Again. To Los Angeles. Again. As a seasoned nomad recently migrated from New York, city of taxis and car services, I suspected, correctly, that the most tumultuous transition would be the acquisition of a vehicle. (Full disclosure: I hate car dealers even more than contractors.) Predictably, the selection process was easy: I asked a handful of friends for their nods on a 4-door sedan, and the majority ruled in favor of a BMW. I mentally settled on a BMW because they’re a smart luxury brand with a strong, word-of-mouth reputation, their lease and maintenance-included deals were attractive to me as a buyer and a woman, and frankly, this Brand Girl was seduced by the idea of sashaying around L.A. in an “Ultimate Driving Machine.” Yet despite all the virtual notes, quotes, and third-party votes, I still had to walk into a dealership to experience the brand itself—and to potentially seal a deal. Magically, a “Bimmer” with my desired specs sat a few yards away on the Beverly Hills dealership’s lot.  Thus equipped, I test drove the sedan. Unfortunately, though, my “wear-it-on-my-sleeve” approval was misread by my salesman, a rookie who boasted he “used to be rich in Miami real estate.”  Mr. Miami No Dice seemed to be confusing me with someone who just crawled out from under a pile of poorly produced Pashmina. (Note to Mr. Moon Over Miami: In the future, when an educated, willing buyer who fits the BMW “model” citizen profile walks in your door unsolicited and just hands herself to you on a silver platter, don’t try to play her. Just play nice.)

The bad news: After Newbie gave me the whole “… please wait while I consult with my managers and we’ll see what we can do…” routine, I felt no compunction about letting loose on him with some unexpressed “just moved” jitters. Slick then went so far as to indicate that the “dealership” didn’t want to bid against itself, so they would beat whatever quote I could give them in writing. My interpretation: “So rather than offer me a reasonable deal now, to close the sale for a car sitting on their lot, they are trying to see what they can get away with. And they are asking me to do more leg work?” (Thought bubble: “I do have an inherit ability to magnify the worst of flaws in men, but Slick, are you really sending this girl—and the easiest sell you’ve had all month—out the door?”) The good news: I never did make it out the door.  Amateur hour ended fifteen minutes in. I ultimately ended up in the hands of the dealership’s experienced General Manager, and leased my 328i Sapphire Black Sedan with Oyster seats that very day—and at a very competitive price.

The experience illustrates two things:

1) That even after my daily onslaught of targeted, online auto ad messages, after multiple phone conversations with auto vendors lobbying for my business, and after my informal polling of friends, in the end, it was engagement with the brand—the people and the product—that won the sale. This even despite the misstep of a sales agent stuck riding Don Johnson’s pink Miami Vice coattails.

2) That the “loyalty” line between brands in a similar category, disquieting though it may be, really is Kate Moss thin. Despite being—and remaining—a longtime Mercedes Benz enthusiast, inside of half an hour, I switched gears to a Bimmer. <sigh> I’m just sayin’ is all…

Bristol Palin, part of the now infamous Sarah Palin household, was recently featured in a new anti-pregnancy, public-service announcement (PSA) launched by The Candie’s Foundation. Neil Cole, CEO of the Candie’s fashion brand, launched The Candie’s Foundation in 2001 after discovering that raising awareness about the consequences of teen pregnancy was an issues niche that is severely underserved by corporate America. Since then, a string of celebrities—from Beyoncé, Ciara, and Jenny McCarthy to Vanessa Minnillo, Ashley Tisdale, and Hilary Duff—have strutted their stuff for the fashionable Candie’s Foundation to make an impression on our youth.

As with the aforementioned talent pool, there’s no doubt that Bristol Palin had the best of intentions when she lent her newly earned fame, garnered from her unfortunate situation with Levi Johnston and her subsequent quick launch into early parenting, to The Candie’s Foundation—by serving as both its “Teen Ambassador” and as the headliner in the newest addition to its “Pause… Before You Play” campaign. The latter PSA series uses fairly nuanced messaging: On the surface, it abandons the more bullying, authoritative, and judgmental tones of most abstinence-only promos in favor of a more subtle, friendly, and compassionate “think before you act” approach. But given Candie’s other related messages, which include “I Never Thought I Would Be a Statistic” and “Be Sexy: It Doesn’t Mean You Have to Have Sex,” it’s hard to say whether “Pause…Before you Play” is just a glossier take on that old fear-based “Don’t Do It” line. Regardless of where one falls on the abstinence issue and teens, however, one must question if the message sent by the PSA was ultimately the most compelling one the foundation could drum up. Even if one agrees that abstinence is the best and most realistic way to tackle the teen pregnancy problem, does the ad even truly effectively embody “Pause… Before You Play?” In the PSA, a very serious Bristol, holding her babe in arms, opines aloud:

“What if I didn’t come from a famous family?
What if I didn’t have all their support?
What if I didn’t have all these opportunities?
Believe me, it wouldn’t be pretty…”

The polished, 30-second spot could be misconstrued to imply that “it’s okay that I [Bristol] had sex and got pregnant because I have means and support, but chances are, you don’t, so don’t.” Chalk one up for the Class Wars. Somehow, BG doubts that the folks at Candie’s were trying to say, “Rich kids, have at each other like rabbits, but you poor youngins, back away from the bed, the backseat of the car, the contraception aisle at CVS before it’s too late.” On quick glance, the Palin PSA might even seem more like a trailer for an upcoming reality show than a sincere message that drives home one of the darker consequences of teen sex: ending up a mom at 18. However, given that Bristol Palin is the most famous teenage mom on today’s media circuit, whether the spot is hitting the target audience hard enough or sending some mixed signals could ultimately be irrelevant. After all, the PSA is doing exactly what The Candie’s Foundation and Bristol had hoped. It’s getting folks, however briefly, to take stock and––pause.

I’m guessing that by now, you’re familiar with John Mayer’s infamous interview in Playboy Magazine. Yes, the one in which he refers to Jessica Simpson as “crack cocaine”, coins the phrase “sexual napalm” and confesses to a lusty addiction to pornography. Mayer, in the same unfiltered style, is now hard at work on his “apology” tour, rationalizing some of those “overshares,” as well as asking us not to think of him as another  ”a**hole…”

Personally, I think this direct approach to the public mea culpa works. I also think Tiger Wood’s handlers might want to pull a page or two from the John Mayer playbook. Mayer may be back-pedaling for far less complicated sins, but still, unlike Woods in his recent public statement, he comes across authentically in his regrets for the Playboy hiccups, perhaps illustrating that an honest brand is better than an overly managed one. Or is it a manipulated one?

Well, there you have it… the drama NBC primetime has been missing. Another rendition of The Biggest Loser—without the skyrocketing Nielsen ratings or the fab new body, that is.

We now know that the experiment by NBC President and CEO Jeff Zucker to move Jay Leno from a successful, lucrative late-night time slot to a one-hour primetime one normally dedicated to drama was a mistake. The related financial gamble—that the cheaper cost of producing talk programming would outweigh any potential drop in ad revenues—was a bust, too. And what about the drop in audience numbers? Simply put, it appears that Zucker was wrong on many levels, and those questionable calls have cost the already bleeding network quite a lot of money.

(On a somewhat related note, I caught some of the Wall Street Barons testifying yesterday, and with regard to risk management, J.P. Morgan Chase CEO Jamie Dimon commented that they never stress-tested the idea that housing costs would ever stop rising or fall 40%. Never tested that business model’s viability from a consumer perspective? Really? Hmm. But I digress.)

NBC chairman Jeff Gaspin admitted on Sunday that the [Leno/O'Brien] “solution”–the proposed quick fix to give Leno his old 11:35pm slot back and bump Conan and The Tonight Show to 12:05am–was, in fact, a compromise that wasn’t to either Leno’s or O’Brien’s satisfaction. Indeed, NBC execs privately wondered whether they had damaged all three brands—Leno, O’Brien, and The Tonight Show—in the process. No doubt a few of the mentioned icons (NBC included) will take some sort of brand slap, but as in our Wall Street scenario, we won’t know the extent of the damage until the whole story plays out. But I’m betting that whether O’Brien––or should I call him “Coco”?––retains the 11:35pm slot or not, he’s a winner, Mr. Gaspin (or can I call you Jeff?).

In a few short days, the Internet has gone frantic with support for O’Brien. When I last checked, L.A.-based designer Mike Mitchell’s “I’m with Coco” effort (reminiscent of the Shepard Fairey Obama “art” movement) had close to 80,000 fans. What’s to be gleaned? The generation that embraces Facebook, Twitter and YouTube embraces O’Brien. Yes, there’s an inherent need to preserve an institutional brand like The Tonight Show, but it’s also about letting the show and its brand evolve into the future by connecting with audiences. And social media, acting as a stress test of sorts, strongly indicates that O’Brien is connecting with audiences via new media, much like Obama did. So, Mr. Gaspin. Jeff. Please tell us that you and NBC see this trend and will consider it as part of the programming mix? Perhaps before some other misfire happens (moving 30 Rock and The Office to Friday at 2pm maybe?) and all hell really breaks loose.

The recent revelations of Tiger’s shenanigans have revealed a side of his brand persona that is a far cry from the one that has taken shape organically since he turned pro in 1996, the quintessentially American success story that won him the endorsements of many. His perceived image of strength, precision, and sportsmanship has earned multi-millions—through paid corporate sponsorships (with Gillette, Gatorade, and Nike, among many others) and private donations for his foundation. So the question is, how does Tiger’s not-so-stellar performance off the links tarnish his brand value now? The truth is that we will not know the true fall out until “his” whole story is out. But what we do know is that there is a lot at stake for everyone associated with the Woods camp, so initially there’s a strong incentive to keep the billion-dollar machine going. From that vantage point, throwing hush money—allegedly, millions are on offer to get various lovers to disappear and the beleaguered wife to stand by her man—to get back on course, fast, makes perfect cents.

In the end, a sponsor like Cadillac may think twice before sidling up to Tiger to launch the next über-mini van, and Accenture might steer clear of any ad concepts embodying the golf legend as a beacon of trust. Interestingly, however, Tiger never actively espoused the values associated with a family man. It’s more that people assumed they became part of his brand story when he married and had children. And some of us may also be assuming that Tiger is humbled to some degree and now mulling over the holes in his story. But then, you know what they say about assumptions.

“If I were a boy, even just for a day, I roll out of bed in the morning and throw on what I wanted and go…”––from “If I were a boy,” a popular song by Beyonce (a.k.a. SASHA FIERCE).

If Brand Girl were a Brand Boy, even for a day, she would roll out of bed in the morning and say what she wanted––and she’d be Jon Stewart.

It doesn’t quite work as a pop-song lyric, but the point is that like Brand Girl herself, Mr. Stewart has a knack for calling it like he sees it—up front and on camera. And the master of satirical news has done it again. Nobody wants to be mocked by Jon Stewart nor interrogated, but that’s exactly what happened to Jim Cramer, host of CNBC’s Mad Money.

After weeks of batting back media spitballs, Cramer finally met face-to-face with Jon Stewart, Comedy Central’s acclaimed Daily Show slugger, for a show down. Yet the meeting itself was more of a letdown, with Cramer practically served himself up on a silver platter for Stewart to slay. As if Cramer’s public humiliation could serve as a sufficient sacrificial offering to beg the money gods for forgiveness—for the dishonesty, greed, and wrongdoings of Cramer’s fellow financial-minded gurus, for the world’s tumultuous markets, indeed for the topsy-turvy state of our entire nation. It was indeed painful to watch as Stewart did a better-than-fine job of using his pulpit to sermonize. You almost had to feel a little sorry for Cramer in that balancing the job of television entertainment with the more serious job of offering financial expertise—and on managing the corporate purse strings especially—is no easy task. But of all the poignant statements that were made about the financial freefall we’re in, how could you not resonate with Stewart’s overall accusation to Cramer: “… to pretend that this was some sort of crazy, once-in-a-lifetime tsunami that nobody could have seen coming is disingenuous at best and criminal at worst.”

Like the Brand Boy said, everything we have known about the market is in shambles. Period. It’s a whole new game, and you know what, kids, according to my astrologer, it’s far from over. Bailouts, re-worked mortgages, and strings of 40%-off sales are just not going to be enough. Honestly, the money world is in such a state of anarchy that, much like Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner, whose face seems to have a constant deer-in-headlights expression these days, BG finds the whole business paralyzing. It’s as though we are, as a nation, playing an endless, rigged game of Monopoly, and we keep hoping some random act of nature—a gust of wind? an overzealous two-year-old careening through the living room? an overturned bottle of Merlot? the dog ate my mortgage?—upsets the existing board so that we have to wipe it clean and start over, with everyone safely returning to “Go” with a humbling $200 bucks in seed money.

The nation has cried out for change. And change we’ve seen: Obama’s hair has grayed already and he hasn’t been in office 100 days yet. Given that grim backdrop, how is it that Citibank, a bailout recipient whose stock is worth nothing today, continues to bombard the public with federally-funded ads that neither restore consumer confidence nor address past blunders? Should we as a collective be ignoring the irony? This week in particular, there’s much heat over AIG using its bailout funds to honor prior commitments (i.e., executive bonuses). How is it that those prior commitments still hold without any reality-based concessions? We have peeked behind the curtains; we understand there was no wizard, but there was much wizardry—or at least sleight of hand. The bailouts are being used by brands like AIG, Citibank, and Merrill Lynch as mere Band-aids on a body that’s hemorrhaging.

At what point does the bleeding stop and the healing truly start? It is undoubtedly time to revisit the basics of brand integrity, positioning, and core business. How do we advise clients to move forward? How do we as individuals move forward? I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I do know that both personal and corporate brands could benefit from a shot of self-regulation and serious Jon Stewart-esque self-reflection—exactly the qualities that have been so absent on Wall Street and from cable news “experts” like CNBC. And in the meantime, I’ll settle for a little less mad money and a little more Brand Boy Jon Stewart tough love. (And by the way, the next guy I’d line up for a little slapping around is that Chris Brown dude. Then I’ll throw him in a ring with Oprah, her audience, and SASHA FIERCE herself—and let the headlocks and biting begin…)

The boys are back–and navigating uncharted territory.

Ok. It comes as no surprise to “Entourage” fans that Medellin gets passed over at Cannes, which sends our hero Vince (Adrien Grenier) into seclusion—in true Hollywood form—on a remote island to repair his fallen ego with booze and babes… but getting to watch it all happen while on a romp from JFK to Las Vegas? How much fun can a girl (or boy) take?

For the launch of its fifth season of Entourage, HBO took to the sky by partnering with Virgin America and creating “Entourage Air.” “During the month of September, first-class guests on Virgin America’s new nonstop JFK-LAS route will fly ‘Entourage Class’ and receive A-list perks like noise-canceling headphones, champagne, Godiva chocolates, Kiehl’s personal products, Altoids and ‘Entourage Air’ blankets and eye masks.”

The stunt is significant also because it marks the “first-ever in-flight premiere of a cable or broadcast program in the domestic skies.” BG suspects it may very well mark the beginning of a new wave in purchasing ad space…

At a time where the airline industry continues to keep biting the hand that feeds them–the traveler, BG applauds the Virgin and Entourage partnership. Why? Because the two sexy brands are demographically suited and they are able to offer a unique, one-of-a-kind experience to hungry air travelers. What will be interesting to watch is how the airline industry pushes this trend further and decides to capitalize on ad placements within the planes themselves. Will they strike the delicate balance between advertising as part of the experience or will they barrage the captive consumer until they scream “Uncle!”? Ads in formerly forbidden places have gained acceptance–folks have adjusted to ads wedged in before movie trailers and then don’t forget the uber-billboarded and wall-papered highways, subways, bus stations, pedicabs and more all around us. So airplanes can’t be far behind… the question is: “Will they do it with a hammer or a feather?” The weary traveler—and even more tired consumer—will only accept so much in the name of generating revenue to, ahem!, offset operational costs.

A unique twist for Mr. Branson and his year-old start-up, Virgin America, is that 100% of the company’s revenue will fund development of clean fuel technology for its planes, a project that Sir Richard estimates could cost upwards of $3 billion. “Entourage” star Adrian Grenier shares Sir Richard’s passion for green, particularly in the eco sense—he’s coproducing a new show for the Discovery Channel called “The Green Life,” which is aimed at helping everyone make their lives more eco-friendly.

In addition to the September “Entourage” experiential bonanza and the panache of youth and celebrity marketing, Virgin’s green mission puts them ahead of the pack, lifting their brand miles higher than other, more pedestrian airlines. And young Mr. Grenier’s brand is getting his own little turbo boost too—BG hadn’t been particularly aware of him as “Mr. Green” before he became “Alter Eco” on Discovery and part of the “Entourage”/Virgin partnership. For some reason, BG’s a bit dubious of what feels like the sudden greening of Mr. Grenier… but overall she’s buying it. Those deep blue eyes would melt a glacier of suspicion…

Nope, not yet…

I woke up the other morning to an email Apple sent out to its universe of users, gifting MobileMe subscribers with a free 60 days of service to make up for recent outages and poor performance. I quote: “We know that MobileMe’s launch has not been our finest hour, and we truly appreciate your patience as we turn this around.” As they’ve shown time and again, apologies work and Apple’s brand keeps on powering on.

If only I could get my Mr. to own up like that . . .

I’m not a MobileMe subscriber – yet. I’m only a few months into the iPhone. Surprised? Well, this long-time Apple-loving girl knows that you don’t early adopt with Apple products. That is, unless you’re volunteering to pay to be part of Apple’s beta testing.

Afterall, remember the initial launch of the iPhone just about a year ago? It was heralded like the rockstar of of all techie events. But the gushing turned into an angry hiss when not too much later, Apple slashed the iPhone entry price a couple hundred bucks. “Boooooo!” said Apple believers. Apple’s response? Promptly hand out discount coupons to early adopters, issue teary-eyed apologies, and promise a better future. Aaaaah…all was right in the world again.

A little time goes by and then, just last month, Apple repeated this move, launching its newer, cheaper iPhone 3G. And the transition was hardly smooth. But that was nothing compared to what happened when along came MobileMe, (oddly, launched the very same day as the 3G) bringing with it a whole slew of security issues and technical difficulties. . . .

Isn’t it extraordinary that Apple gets away with these snafus one after another and still maintains its standing as a powerhouse brand? How, you ask, do they do it? Elementary branding techniques, my dears. Apple has been the ultimate community builder all along, and now, they have involved their users as an integral part of the beta research. And not only do they respond to what their users tell them, but Apple gives them recognition for their part in moving technology—and their company—forward. Consumers get to be part of a bigger “mission” and they respond by spreading the word.

Essentially, Apple has managed to make their new products more than just a launch—they make it an event. Apple has mastered the experience of . . . the experience. They’ve instilled in us the desire for Apple to succeed so they keep on rolling out products that push the convergence of mobile and web to the next level. We’re just doing our part and we know there’ll be some glitches here and there.

And just like boy and girl or Ellen and Portia – Apple knows that it takes commitment to common goals and the ability to say a heartfelt “I’m sorry” when the time calls for it to build a strong relationship. And a dozen roses or two doesn’t hurt either . . .

Incredibly, lots of them.

Fox News reports that one million people have paid as much as $.98 apiece to download Ashley Alexandra Dupré’s (a.k.a Kristen) song from MySpace and the boys are continuing to call… Vodka Brand Wants Call Girl to Be Latest ‘Butt Girl’

In less than a week, the girl that took down Governor Eliot Spitzer has many times, quadrupled her day rate, allegedly earning more than $200k in music sales. The Internet, technology and the American people have made this all possible –– a la ‘American Idol’ style; America voting for their flavor of the moment. May be a reason why some marketers think a “Butt-Girl” will work for them. Like Georgi Vodka, who has offered Ms. Dupré a low six figure deal to ride on the back of their bus (every pun intended). There’s even talk of creating a vodka brand called No. 9, inspired by Mr. Spitzer’s designation by the call-girl service. According to Ad Age, Star Industries CEO Martin Silver, who owns U.S. rights to the Georgi brand said, “his company sprung quickly because he felt the word-of-mouth buzz Ms. Dupré generates would boost his vodka’s profile and sales. He said he expects many other brands to, um, come calling.”

Can you blame a marketer for courting the flavor of the month? One that has seemingly wet the appetite of one million people over the course of three short days? Tempting I’m sure. However, I think the marketers at Georgi are skating a very thin line. Moral values aside, it may backfire on them. Georgi’s timing needed to be perfect and I think they’ve already missed the bus. Apparently you can find Dupre in the buff on the internet if you dig a little. Because of that, is her following going to care that she’s covered up in some ad? (Would they recognize her?) Never mind the fact that what makes this girl so special is that she dragged down one of the country’s powerhouses. Is that something to be honored? Isn’t a potential book deal and a poorly made-for-tv adaptation reward enough?

I’m no prud. I know sex sells, but I also know story book endings do too. I think both Georgi and Ms. Dupré should be courting brand alliances that raise the bar for all parties involved. Let’s not forget, there were millions more of Americans who didn’t — give THAT girl a dollar.

(Not to mention it would simply stink if Georgi named a possible vodka “No. 9.” If they do, I only hope it doesn’t drag down one of my favorite wines off their much deserved pedestal. No. 9. The Shiraz… from Marquis Phillips.)