But how can we sell good work? What’s the best way to push it through?

1. Nailing down smart strategy statements. Take the clients words, use the research and back up every single creative element. We’re using red because… Our tagline begins with a verb because… Using their words and their approved phrases to sell creative means you’ve listened. And you’re on strategy. And clients love it when you listen to them. Repackaging their words validates creative executions–if they’re on strategy.

2. Build a good relationship. Not an easy thing to do. And it takes time. You can just make jokes or laugh at theirs. You have to understand the ins and outs of their job. What it takes to do what they do. Who they answer to. The best client relationships I’ve had happen when I’ve stood in their shoes and understood the environment they work in.

3. Complete a thorough Competitive Analysis of every competitor in the industry. What’s their position? Graphically, what are they trying to convey. Using your work as a means of difference will help sell your idea through. Warning: This is a time-intensive project. But it’s worth it because it shows your client that you’ve done the research and you’re doing your best to make them different from others.

4. Remind them of their fears: The phone not ringing or their product gathering dust on the shelves. Scary stuff. But this stuff happens when advertising isn’t on-point and doesn’t take risks. Bad advertising isn’t just ineffective. It’s ignored. And that’s a waste of media dollars.

That’s just a partial list of tips. There’ll be more including anecdotes from conference tables and real-life situations. Stay tuned.

“Can we start #FatGirlFridays and talk about all the foods we like to eat in the privacy of our cars?”

Instantly, I was bombarded with DMs or Direct Messages, which are private messages that do not meet the public world. Everyone had a fat girl confession. From eating greasy fries to downing milkshakes. We were all hiding something.

But no one wanted to admit it. I quickly felt alone. And worse: FAT. No one wants to feel fat. And what’s wrong with splurging on food? Everyone I know loves food.

When no one would comment, I decided to punk my friend, @Kara_Schwab with a fake Retweet (or forwarded message)

“Too funny! RT @kara_schwab: I just ate 3 Whoppers in 2 minutes. No holding the MAYO this time! Hooray for #FatGirlFriday!”

And of course, she posted a fake Retweet too:

“RT @beccabernstein i just dove into a bag of oreos, ate the whole bag, and now i’m wearing it on my head. #FatGirlFriday.”

It became a fun game of fake retweets and silly comments about food. And throughout this entire process, I kept getting DM confessions.

People wanted to talk about their relationships with food. But they wanted to do it privately. So, I’m figuring out what to do with this. I just purchased FatGirlFriday.com and FatGirlFriday.net and I’m thinking about writing a book or a collection of Fat Girl confessions. Or a reality series that focuses on Fat Girls and what we like to eat.

It’s all in the works and it’s a fun pet project for me.

Please stay tuned. And in the interim, please tweet on Fridays with the hash tag #FatGirlFriday about your secret fat girl confessions. I’d love to hear them.

Sincerely,
Fat Girl Friday

When I arrived, Cory, the woman at the front desk, greeted me. Then she sat down beside me and told me about the company, the people and work. She was so personable, so open. I liked her instantly. And I knew this place was for me.

And then I met Carol. The President. She had an MFA in Renaissance Lit, married her tennis partner and had a kitchen with a sky painted on the ceiling. She was everything I wanted to be. And she trusted me. Here I was, a blushing red head, fresh out of school, and she hired me to start an inside sales department for her company.

The thing is: I belonged there. And I knew it by talking to Cory. She was a barometer to the culture and the company. Sitting in the lobby beside her, I knew this job was the perfect fit. And my instincts were right on. My gut pegged it in the lobby. I loved that job. And more importantly, I listened to my gut. And even though there are times when I’ve ignored what it had to say, one thing holds true: it’s never been wrong.

She never expected Hollywood. But Hollywood expected her. She instead, was set to become a Dental Hygienist. “When I was discovered, I was workin’ my way through school. But the guy I was with, served me up heartache by marrying some one else. So I left home and went looking.”

And then she became a goddess. A gorgeous and yet semi-awkward goddess. Watching her move while she speaks—is odd. Her shoulders turn, her head tilts and lips smack around her face. She’s the woman bitching on the subway and Foxy Brown. When she talks to the waiter, she points to the menu. When she holds a glass to her lips, her head tilts forward, and her curls play suicide along the rim. Chewing ice, she answers my questions.

ME:

How do you respond when someone interrupts you? Are you irritated?

PG:

Yeah. Especially that call waiting beep. Always beeps in right before I get the juice. The scoop. Makes me so angry.

ME:

I pulled that question from a career compatibility test.

PG:

A test? You think that’s how you gonna find the answer? Can’t plan that shit. It’s decided. Already decided.

And then Pam tells a joke. She moves closer, her elbows make elongated V’s on the table. “How do you make God laugh?” she asks. Loose em’s and ha’s spill out before the punch line: “Make a plan.” And with that, Pam’s back returns to the chair. Her breath stops hitting my face and for a moment, she relaxes.

Full Disclosure

I’ve been trying to catch up with Pam Grier for a while. But she never returned my calls and to be honest: I never called her. But I still wanted to interview her. And I thought, we’ll, maybe I’ll just pretend to interview her. And so what you just read, is what I think we would have talked about.

Previously published in Charlotte Magazine, December 2005. (Page 28)

He’s the lead singer of the band U2, a political activist, screenwriter, orator, thespian, clothing designer and the most superstitious person I’ve ever met. That’s why we’re sitting at Jason’s Deli pounding pudding.

Bono eats pudding before every performance. When he forgets: “a dark cloud hangs over the stage.” And so here we are, in the back booth off Woodlawn. And even though I’m lactose intolerant—I’m eating the hell out of some pudding.

Bono practices countless rituals to keep his home healthy, his crops plentiful and his life balanced. As he puts it: “Sanity isn’t free. You need to earn it.” And sometimes that means doing strange things.

When his daughter, Memphis Eve, got meningitis, he repainted the entire house DayGlo orange. “It killed the poison.” (She recovered three days later.) When he’s feeling writer’s block, he prank calls Gilbert Gottfried. “Sometimes it’s hard to meet the muse. Writing Achtung took a lot out of me. I buzzed Gottfried then banged out ‘Acrobat.’”

And every night before he goes to bed, he takes a tall glass of asparagus juice. “It chases away the foxes.” (Urban foxes are common throughout Dublin.)

ME: You’re full of it.

BONO: No, this is the way it is. This is the price of life.

ME: Either you’re one good storyteller or you’re a damn good liar.

BONO: They’re the same thing.

And with that, Bono pushes his rose-colored glasses up the brim and heads back to the pudding.

DISCLAIMERS:

I love Jason’s Deli but I’m not a fan of their pudding.

Sometimes I’m lactose tolerant and sometimes I’m not. It fluctuates.

I never ate pudding with Bono.

Bono may or may not be superstitious. I’m not really sure.