Brand Girl™

“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…)

Warning: This is unfiltered stream of unconsciousness brand girl rant….

So just like that… a mere five hour flight, a few Gucci pieces — and this girl is transformed from a LA fashionable writing bum to NYC brand diva, currently reporting live from room 1110 at the Maritime Hotel. Well first it was room 406, but of course there was the habitual room change to the higher floor because just like there can be too much Skybar filtering through your curtains at the Mondy, there can be too much Hiro streaming through the walls at the Maritime. Courtney Love performed last night, and as I move from being less Carrie to more Oprah – girl must distance herself from such ‘love.’ It’s all good though because the views from the higher floors are amazing. I’m also happy to report that the humidity in NYC has broken – and the breezes that are pouring in rival the cashmere inducing ones that I left behind in Santa Monica…

…just yesterday… as I was cadoodling with a young media hottie (art: insert green floating hearts here) over psychology, politics and yellowtail. But today, nestled in a cement garden with fellow media peeps and being quizzed about — a) biz, b) boys, c) when are you moving back? And — d) are you sure you’re not botoxing?

Good lord — where are the boundaries!!! Whether lunching with nyc pals, or discussing biz in Santa Monica with pr junkies — they all want more and they want deeper deets. So this morning as I’m pondering over this question of how much to expose (it’s like deciding between a padded bra or not), — on cue, as the universe continues to deliver material to both my doorstep and fingertips, an ex ex ex ex ex Mr. Sometimes, (think older, cashed out ad executive feigning screenwriter with clearly too much time on his hand) – emails me this. First let’s just say, it is crazy what he emails me. But what is crazier is what people are willing to expose of themselves. So as dark, twisty and raw as we can all go, I wonder, how does this affect the world at large? Everyone is ranting and revealing — and we are turning on each other to amuse and entertain. Yet, this marketing queen knows — as I know you do too — that we all tend to spin and blend — and polish it up. Hell, it is entertainment. Or is it? So the question is: how far am I willing to go? Hmm.

Thought bubble: Should I write more about my desire to devour the young media hottie (a.k.a. blonde surfer stud who’s stirring visions of sandy-coated green or blue-eyed babies at the beach) — as it is also stirring the cougar within? Do I write about yet – another LA Beverly Hill boy blowing smoke? One that was moving to slap a ring on a girls’ finger just to see her off the market? (For him, it would be the equivalent of a studio throwing money at a project to keep it in development hell so that no other buyers can sniff around –– while the studio buys time to decide whether they [he] wanted it [her] or not?) Do I go on about the gazillion of agents chasing me… lol. Ok, maybe not a gazillion – but you get my drift.

So yes, I can cut closer to the bone, but do I dare expose this in all its brilliance as I’m thinking out loud? And then should I be afraid that anyone of them (and they know who they are), could read this blog, misconstrue and get rattled? Or at some point this info, freely orbiting in the media universe at my own hand, could be used against me? Hell, let’s say one day I should decide to run for office? I mean someone has to give that girl a run for her money. lol

I don’t have the answers, but I’ll tell you what – I have more… embellished or not — but that’s as much as you will get until — I —- (halted by ringing treo)…
Now excuse me. There’s “someone” waiting for me downstairs. ;>

And hello – girl does not botox (yet)!!!
Must be those cool LA winds… xo

… as in Donald, like the duck?
Duck, as in duck down, as in avoid?

What do you think of the Imus controversy? Imus mis-used his pulpit, slamming the Rutgers womens’ basketball team. Mel Gibson has done it twice – first lashing out at the police, then at a Central American studies professor during an Apocalypto screening (honestly, Mel, a *professor*?). MTV reality wannabe bad boy Jason Whaler also gave it to the cops with a double order of racism and homophobia. BG thinks that when you’re on the pulpit — as a 30-year radio veteran addressing a loyal audience, as a superstar acting and directing talent speaking to students as an authority figure, as a teenybopper heartthrob, even as an overserved frat boy in a Winnebago — you have to be accountable for your actions. I’m all for freedom of speech – but if you choose to use your freedom for the powers of evil, instead of the powers of good, you’d best be ready to accept the consequences.

My advice? The Kwas power pause (patent pending). Oddly enough, I didn’t realize that my scanning and accessing the situation before entering a room or meeting, or even before answering a question, was later identified as a “power pause” – a deliberately placed one, no less! I must confess that this “genius” move was hardly genius. It was something I learned and practiced since childhood, as it was my job (as the eldest sister) to count heads at most family outings. I instinctively learned to count heads without the bob of my own – with just the deliberate move of the ever-so-green sharp eyes. It’s much like the way the old-school film divas learned to descend a flight of stairs without looking down. Years later, this skill transcended its way to quickly accessing a situation, to shifting that Cosabella out of harm’s way, even talking one’s self off the ledge.

Let’s face it, rockstar or duck, we all have our moments. And making a moment to breathe and think is a good thing. Media moves too fast today folks — so when the tapes are rolling, you’d best make sure your brain in is drive.

Now, excuse me while I proof before posting…

Last night was the season premiere of Grey’s Anatomy and… where does a girl begin? (With him of course.)

McDreamy, McGuilty, McMarried, McGorgeous.

Yes, yes, yes. Delicious eye and mind candy between the likes of a Patrick Dempsey and Chris O’Donnell. And dialing up the “McDreamy” factor is hello, the plotline: “duking it out over the girl.” That’s McCrazy. Good lord, it rarely happens that one decent man musters it up and confesses his love to a gal, never mind two at the same time. That girl should play lotto. I’m still power pointing out the concept for one fellow that supposedly knows better (who btw, is now referred to as – lovingly, of course, – being “McDead” to me).

McMusic. You have to credit the Grey team for channeling Zach Braff (of Garden State and The Last Kiss fame) and weaving itself into pop culture with a current soundtrack. Riding on the brand coattails of your featured artists, like Fray, to heighten awareness and potentially trickle into new crowds is a very smart and strong play.

It seems ABC has found a unique niche in reaching its 30-40 crowd with a show like Grey or even Something about Brian. ABC is pretty much replaying its earlier success with thirtysomething back in the late 80′s. (I’m McAging.) For TV buffs, Ken Olin, who starred in thirtysomething, currently produces a new show called Brothers & Sisters, featuring Calista Flockhart. It makes its debut this Sunday on ABC, yet I understand the critics have already panned it. (I’m not sure where I heard that. Was it while lunching at Chaya or lounging at the Mondy with Entourage boy…?) Regardless, judge for yourself. I’m not likely to tune in given I have plenty of sibs (eight is truly enough). It takes just one quick dial on the Treo back east to unleash enough drama for a week, never mind a sunday night. But I digress.

And one more digression: I’m not a tv junkie (that would be my sister Christine), but, I’m on extended stay in LA. And well, this is LA.

Ladies, let’s pay attention. Yes, we can certainly identity with Meredith about the concept of dating inappropriately, the scary and the damaged, but check out the McStare. I know that stare, you know that stare. We have perfected that stare. It’s a power pause, and let’s not forget that when used appropriately it can make a grown man cry, inappropriately or not.

And finally we have the McPanties. That was perfect: a) terrific product placement, b) I’m guessing they’re Cosabella. And c), they’re begging for a sponsored contest or blog. Everyone has a story about panties. Ones we lost, some that traveled and well, some that were taken. Yes taken (a.k.a. stolen). What about you?

Seth Godin is a favorite of mine. I came to know of Seth and his work when hired (geez, over 10 years ago) to be part of the team that very successfully (ahem) launched Fast Company Magazine. It was a wonderful time for business (the new economy), and Bill Taylor and Alan Webber were on the scene first, both capturing and propelling the movement with its much touted rag. It was an equally wonderful time in marketing with visionaries like Seth and Tom Peters popping on the scene putting marketing and ad folks alike on their toes. It was a time when the phrase branding was unofficially coined and tossed around; and it was a time that creatives and account executives were finally lunching – together. To this day I still follow Seth and oddly enough (there are no accidents), I stumbled upon something he wrote that referenced the very thing I wrestled with when considering the launch of this blog. Where do you start?

Unless you’re a skimmer (and at times I’m), nobody likes to pick up a book and start in the middle, yet, with many blogs that’s exactly what happens. You enter mid-act. So no, I can’t fill in all the blanks. It would be impossible for me to recall in all its glorious detail all that went on that brought me to this day, to this blog – to Brand Girl.

(For a shorter read, you can omit the following rant:) [That she, ("she" being the idea) was originally inspired as a television or cable show. She the tv treatment was to be an experiment in "branded entertainment," the then new buzz in marketing, and well, I was to be a new buzz in entertainment. (Or so I thought.) I had envisioned her as a "Sex and the City meets South Park." She was to be animated, and delivered in shorts. Then after more musings and meetings with "those that know better," she moved to a traditional sitcom (a la "Sex and the City meets Archie Bunker"). Everyone loved my characters and wanted more, and most importantly, not once was I told to "stick to my day job." So I was encouraged, repeatedly to a) move to Los Angeles, b) take acting classes, and c) write... and write a book. Yes, I was told by one producer that you were no one until you had a book, well at least in LA. So in an attempt to become someone in LA, and up my odds of selling a show, she was wrapped into a book, and officially birthed and named Brand Girl. I then ran around with the Brand Girl book, and now, no one seemed interested in a sitcom, because now, (say it with me) reality tv had conquered the world. (Enter: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.) And Brand Girl was so damn pretty: smart, sexy and instructive. I was told to save the sitcom for later, "what you need to do now, is to reposition and rewrite (ugh) Brand Girl as a self-help book and guru. She needs to be like a Dr. Phil meets the Advice Goddess."And let's not forget about the producer that's begging me (still to this day) to consider the one-woman shows citing success that rival those of a Vagina Monologues. The concept alone of performing material absorb way too many hours of self examination – talk about throwing a girl off her brand. (Did I on some innate scary level what to be a star? A quasi Oprah. GOOD LORD NO. Well, maybe. I would do it for George... ) Yes, it would be daunting to catalogue the merry-go-round that one encounters when shopping an entertainment project, wrapping up a perfectly-coifed life back east (or so I thought), and moving – extended stay or not – to LA. Now there's a book begging to be written. I would call it: "How to Avoid Being Lost in LA." (Publishers: take note of the self help angle. I'm learning.) And it would begin like this, "...one most factor in between six to nine months (yes almost a year) right off the bat for pure NYC detox. It's a very dark time and place. A coma-like stage where you walk around in denial, among the other homeless, muttering things (out-loud) like: what the hell did I do?, why am I dating C minus men? (he didn't work back east, why on earth would he work west), where's my gucci suit?, where's Bobby De Niro?, do you have a quarter? (who knew about the meters?), and hello, why am I in LA? YET, this is my reality.] (And this is the end of my rant.)

This blog attempts to capture all that transpires in the world of branding and the makings of a brand girl, and this ones personal struggle to retain and define her own identity (and life) within the realm of the BG brand, whether it be business, boys or living in LA.

And ironically enough, (again, there are no accidents), it was five years ago on this very day, when the world at large was heavily reminded that life is precious, and for some of us quite short. It was a time to examine and relearn all that was important. And on that very day, as I ran haphazardly in the dark clouds that suffocated lower manhattan, I swore, among other things that I would try life differently.

This is me, five years later, Kwas (a.k.a. Brand Girl, live wire and of late, “walking content”), finally doing life differently. Although I’m happy that I have done more than try, I still have to wonder (out-loud) why… LA?

I share the above openly and lovingly for your entertainment and geez, maybe I will actually inspire someone. But if any show comes out that remotely smells like a “Kwas, or a Sex and the City done All in the Family style” – animated, one woman or not, despite being lost in LA and scared of my Treo 700, you should know that there are two numbers that I know by heart. One would be my Moms, and the other, my lawyer.
xo

Would life not be easier?

I’ve met many men who look the part and talk the part and even act the part – for a week. Take, for example, the tango partner who rented the top-floor suite at the Soho Grand hotel… wooed me with international trips and dinners at Bouley… and then ran out of gas once we were several time zones apart. The reason we invest in brands like Mercedes is not only for the short trips; it’s for the incredible crash-protection and the long-term allure and durability.The right man, like the right Mercedes, knows that although you might have to pull off the road for a little service every now and then, once you’re back on the road, it’s smooth sailing.

Sometimes a girl needs her own ride home.

I’m stiff miffed by how fast one particular night turned ugly. A few months back, I was having dinner in Buenos Aires with the newest amazing man. (Ok, he was just hot.) All I said was, “the lamb needed salt.” He took a stand, sent it back, made a scene. I have always felt that you can tell a lot about a person from the way they treat service people – and this waiter got the full heat of my date’s fury. So, I took a stand myself. I got up, dropped my napkin on the chair, and walked out of the restaurant. At that moment, leaving him to marinate in his testosterone seemed both a triumphant and brilliant decision. Yet it wasn’t long until those feelings of liberation began to sting almost as badly as the blisters on my feet (those Dries Van Noten were made for private transportation, not for hikes). My purse was still on the chair. I had no carfare, no key, no cellphone. What was the girl thinking? Was this the best executive decision I could render? After all, a girl would have never left the boardroom – she would have guarded that seat. Especially when the wine was still being served. Was I purposely sabotaging the relationship (or was he)? Thanks to the benevolence of a local cabbie (another bonus of treating service people right), the girl did get home, but was my little detour really necessary?

The windup?
My aching feet did recover.
The relationship did not.
But I still take my lamb spicy.

Yesterday I spent the better part of the night consoling a friend. Well, actually I was talking him off the ledge. And no it wasn’t because the USA was trampled by Eastern Block boys during the World Cup. My friend was in the midst of a heated dispute with his company, things were ugly, and he was all ready to – yes, say it with me – hand in his resignation. He was convinced that quitting rather than staying in the game was to be the most brilliant of moves, and the perfect *f–k* you. Yes, it would had been a kick in the pants, but not to the company. I also knew that any feeling of victory would had been short lived. Kinda of like how you feel after you realized that in one single sitting, without any assist from others, you’ve eatten a whole pint of Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Chocolate Chip ice cream. Or perhaps, like you feel when you walk out on your date. Hmmm.

Is a properly placed dramatic exit effective, or not?

Is it now politically correct
to be fiscally responsible?

Shopping at discount stores is making more sense to an increasingly dollar-conscious consumer. Yes, I am dollar-conscious. Despite what my dad (a.k.a. my creative accountant) might think, I know exactly where my conscience is, and exactly where my dollars are spent. Yet, I still enjoy the ever-so-decadent stroll through a fashionable boutique, and the rush of the even more decadent purchase. I do realize that any drop at such a store could potentially buy a season’s worth of outfits at Target for my five nieces – as my sisters are quick to remind me. There was a time my new pair of Manolo Blahnik or Miu Miu shoes would draw looks of both envy and respect from them – hence honoring the trifecta of shoes, watch, haircut. But is it me, or my brand conscience, that now sees a disapproving gleam in those looks? One that triggers memories of Sister Mary Austin back in high school, eyeing my too-short uniform skirt. And memories of my mom’s icy glare (which her genes transferred to me) as the girl went in for a second helping of the – “do you really need those?” – mashed potatoes. (I *love* mashed potatoes.)

Is it wrong that the shoes on my feet cost as much as a swingset at Costco? (Yes, both Jenn and Christine, told me.) In my defense, both the shoes and the swingset carried loads, and they both serve a purpose for each household. Plus, I can swing in my Blahniks. Even though I live in a household of one with enough disposable income for more, should I always be pinching pennies?

Everyone loves airline startup JetBlue.

They’ve captured the hearts of travelers from back-pack toting students to the Donald Trump-esque briefcase-carriers. Up on a rooftop bar in Manhattan, discoursing about business and blondes (there is always some story about the blonde. They’re good ones, but nonetheless, they’re about blondes.), the CEO crowd is bound to bring up their latest JetBlue flight. They may be more accustomed to traveling in a private jet, or more comfortable in first class (who isn’t), yet when in a clinch, what makes them spend $300 to fly cross-country instead of chartering for megabucks? These boys say that JetBlue saves their day. They like getting where they need to be without fuss – and without paying a gazillion dollars. They are happy to make the tradeoff, because they know up front what they’re getting, or not getting, like food. But really, when flying coach, does food really matter anymore? Instead, JetBlue serves up what people want most: affordable, efficient, on-demand flying. They’re penny-smart and stylish.

And JetBlue provides consumers with affordable options, like planning last-minute getaways to a tango festival, or perhaps a rendezvous with Mr. Sometimes. It has also aided me in learning more about my audience, including Mr. Sometimes himself.

My Mr. Sometimes, who desperately wants to be considered an International Man of Mystery, was recently back in the States, in San Jose. We had planned to meet later on in his trip. Then, he called to cancel our plans – feeding me a story about not being able to get flights – and adding a dash of testosterone in the form of a story about not wanting to lead a girl on./p>

Hellooow!

First of all, despite what my tango partners may think, these days a girl is only led where she chooses to be led. But more importantly, this girl instantly went online and called his bluff, given she knew damn well that he could have been within her radius within hours and within budget, thanks to JetBlue. He was blowing smoke on both counts.

The moral of the story?
(Whether brand or boy,) before you board, check your flight times, seat selection and testosterone level to get your story straight. Customize your message correctly. Otherwise, be prepared for no sale – and possibly no return.