Truth in Advertising Page 0,33

baby goes through five thousand diapers before being potty-trained. Because ninety-five percent of these diaper changes are disposable diapers, most of them end up in landfills. Fifty million of them get thrown away each day. Each one takes up to five hundred years to biodegrade.”

Everyone is listening. He is looking around the room, making eye contact. He’s talking without notes.

He says, “Disposable diapers are the third largest contributors to landfills in the world and yet only five percent of the population uses them. Diapers in landfills in underdeveloped countries are especially problematic because they often aren’t properly disposed, and excrement leaks into the local water supply. No diaper—not even biodegradable ones—can break down in an airtight landfill. How many people in this room have children?” Forty percent of the room raises its hand. “How many of you plan to have children?” Another forty percent goes up.

Martin says, “Diapers? Soda? Candy? Toilet paper? Disparage it, make fun of it, call it dull, but never, ever say the products that touch the lives of billions of people every day don’t make a difference. And what we’re asking of you here today is to speak to the world. There are worse ways to make a living.”

He lets the silence play out and then turns back to Alan. “Alan. You were saying?”

Alan continues. “Okay. What business problem-slash-opportunity is the campaign designed to address?”

He walks through the document, Jill jumping in to help. They read almost word for word what’s on the page, skipping parts that are included on every Snugglies brief, such as “Tone and Manner” (fun, informative, positive, upbeat, inspirational, unique, hopeful, anthemic, breakthrough).

Martin’s phone rings and he steps out of the room.

Jill says, “The point we’re trying to communicate: New Snugglies Planet Changers are the first one-hundred-percent biodegradable, flushable diapers.”

Alan says, “This is nothing short of a revolution in disposable diapers. It is a breakthrough of epic proportions. It could change the world. And no, we can’t use the Beatles song ‘Revolution’ because it costs too much and because the mayonnaise group used it last year for their new low-calorie mayo launch.”

Raj says something. Malcolm says, “He says what do you mean by the word toxic on the last page?”

I hadn’t seen it, as I hadn’t really been paying attention. But there, on the last page, at the bottom, in smaller type, is a paragraph with the word toxic. In fact, the word toxic appears several times in the paragraph.

Ian says, “Oh, goody. The fun part.”

Alan says, “Malcolm, thank you for pointing that out. I was coming to that.”

Jill smiles. “Good catch.”

Alan says, “Let’s talk about the mechanics of the diaper for a second. What makes them work is super-absorbent polymers.”

Raj says, “SAP.”

Malcolm says, “SAP.”

Alan says, “SAP is the gel you find in disposable diapers and it’s a miracle. It can absorb something like three hundred times its own weight. Chemicals, polymers, the genius of American innovation, right?”

No one so much as nods. Jill says, “Absolutely.”

Alan says, “Of course, no product is perfect. In certain studies, SAP has been linked to an increase in childhood asthma and a decrease in sperm count among boys.”

Stefano says, “Unfortunate.”

Alan says, “Most of you are too young to remember this, but SAP was removed from tampons in 1985 because of its link to toxic shock syndrome.”

Paulie says, “Can we mention that in the spot?”

Alan ignores him. “The industry did studies and found no connection to toxic shock in outerwear, including diapers, incontinence products, and feminine napkins, which all contain SAP.”

Ian says, “The industry study found it was safe?”

Alan says, “They hired independent researchers.”

Paulie says, “I’m sure it was completely unbiased.”

Alan says, “Am I sensing sarcasm within the ranks?”

Ian says, “Alan. Light of my life, fire of my loins. You just told us Christmas is canceled for a world-beating product that lowers sperm count. I think we’re all just processing this information.”

Alan says, “Totally understood. And we’re here to help.”

Paulie slips a piece of paper in front of me. It says, Know what’d be a good name for a TV show? My Dad Is the Pope.

My cell phone rings. The screen reads Unknown. I’m eager to step out of the briefing, so I answer as I get up and walk out of the room.

“Fin. It’s Eddie.” My brother. Shit.

“Eddie. Hey.” I’m not sure when we last spoke. Three years? More?

“I called you a few times, left messages,” he says, sounding annoyed.

“I’m sorry. Completely my fault. Work’s been busy.”

“Yeah.”

I say, “So how are you?”

Eddie has no time or