In a creative frenzy the past few months, I’ve started at least four blogs, bought a couple domain names, installed apps for this and uninstalled apps for that. The driving need is to find a frame for my 108 interests, 25 personalities and 87 moods so I could do the whole digital-lifestyle-personality-branding-thing for myself that I do for the company I work for.
I get branding and I can tell you with all confidence that, if a woman can be a brand, mine is conflicted as shit.
Mine is the brand that runs an ad where you go, “That’s really clever!” but can’t remember later what it was advertising.
My dad has always pointed out those ads: bad commercial, waste of money. You think it’s funny but tell me later the name of the company that ran it.
I can make you laugh, a little… but not enough to get a movie deal.
Look at any famous person you admire, living or dead, and tell me what comes to mind. There will always be one sentence at most. Emily Post: lonely poet. Bill Clinton: POTUS, philanderer, activist. Beyonce: incredible thighs.
Okay maybe you’d attribute Beyonce with a more respectful description, perhaps mentioning her voice or her class or her activism. But believe me, my respect for her thighs is very real. You can’t buy Spanx or a Vicky’s Secret push-up to get legs like that. You have to want the burn.
Every cool person you know has a tagline. It may not be official or trademarked but it is real nonetheless. No one hears “Beyonce” and thinks, “Nuanced woman into a variety of hobbies and passions including politics, cooking and sewing.”
She is doubtlessly nuanced. Everyone is. But you don’t become famous as a “Renaissance woman” in the era of the hashtag. You become famous as one, singularly memorable hashtag.
Right now mine would be #goditsbeenalmostayearsinceihadsexwhendidistarthatingmenwherearemypaintbrushes.