Truth in Advertising Page 0,21

new drug that helped relieve what the account team referred to in meetings and e-mails as “NVD,” which I soon found out was pharma-speak for the family of symptoms known as nausea-vomiting-diarrhea. So Ian and I thought it would be interesting to personify them. We’d cast guys who looked like they might be nausea or vomiting or diarrhea. The amazing thing was how many actors in New York and Los Angeles actually look like nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea.

In our imagined commercial, the NVD would stand together, in what looked like a stomach, and talk to the camera about how horrible it was to be them. We’d use grotesque sound effects. We thought it was funny in an incredibly childish way. We thought the client might laugh and say, “Okay, where are the real ideas?” Except they loved it. They thought we were serious. They thought we’d found a window into the “soul of the brand.”

At the presentation, the head client leaned across the table, all but reaching out for our hands.

“You get it. No one wants to be nausea or vomiting or—God forbid—diarrhea. But they are. And we can help.”

The problems arose during casting. Nausea and vomiting were relatively easy to find. And the client loved our casting suggestions. Nausea (perhaps not surprisingly) was a balding, stocky guy with a mustache and very hairy arms. Vomiting was a tall, incredibly pasty guy with the most pronounced Adam’s apple I’d ever seen. His mouth hung open and he had bad teeth. He was also balding. Diarrhea had a full head of slicked-back hair and an unnaturally yellow tint to his skin. He was an oddly shaped man, like a pear, and he wore his pants quite high. Joey Beetie was his name. “No one beatie Joey Beetie, huh?!” he’d say, and then laugh like a hyena. “C’mon!” He hit on almost every woman at the casting session (including Pam, who simply stared him down). He was physically and emotionally repugnant. He was, to our minds, the perfect embodiment of diarrhea.

Except the client didn’t like him. I know their exact words because I’ve saved the e-mails.

“While we like Nausea and Vomiting very much, we’re having a problem with Diarrhea. We feel strongly that Diarrhea simply isn’t aspirational enough for the brand.”

The account team responded.

“Our understanding of Diarrhea was that he should be repulsive. Obviously we’ll continue to cast, if you feel strongly about it, but creatively we feel like we really have Diarrhea.”

The client e-mailed back.

“We feel you’re missing the point of Diarrhea. While repulsive, Diarrhea is also very much part of the brand. Much like a family black sheep that is still embraced. Diarrhea is bad but Diarrhea is the reason for the brand. In that way, people should aspire to the brand. Thus Diarrhea should be aspirational.”

Agency: “Could you suggest guidelines as to what aspirational Diarrhea might look like?”

Client: “Young (thirties), clean-shaven, not too tall, wears sneakers maybe. If he weren’t Diarrhea he might be in a beer commercial playing the part of the friend. We feel strongly that the audience should like Diarrhea as an idea more than an actual symptom. What about someone with a lisp or a harelip? You feel sorry for them in a small way, perhaps, as if being Diarrhea isn’t necessarily their fault. Looking forward to seeing options.”

In the end, the client chose a boy-next-door type, bit pudgy, perennially lost look on his face, the kind of guy you see on a street corner in New York in the summer, looking down at a map, then up, then back down. Matt someone-or-other was his name. Nice guy. I asked him what he thought Diarrhea’s character might say if he could speak. The client was standing with me. Matt thought for a moment, as if I’d just asked him if he believed in the afterlife.

He said, “Well, like, if I were Diarrhea? I think I’d, like, say, ‘Uh-oh.’”

The client turned to me, smiled, and nodded. We knew then we had Diarrhea.

I tell Paulie it would be the highlight of my career to win an award for that spot.

Paulie says, “Hey, Fin man. You have to talk to Stefano. He’s turning forty next month and he’s wiggin’ out. Maybe it’s an Italian thing. Thinks it’s the end of his manhood. He has this plan.”

“Why am I sure this is going to be a very bad idea?”

“He wants to break the four-minute mile.”

“Makes sense for an overweight smoker.”

Paulie puts his guitar down. “Have you decided on the