Worst. Girl. Ads. Ever.

WARNING: This post talks about douches and tampons so if that sort of stuff makes you faint, please look away now.

Laugh or cry. You decide. But a few posts ago, I promised to take on douche ads. Then I thought, why stop at douches? Let’s take on feminine hygiene ads from around the world that are more than enough to make any XX, or any XY, cringe. (Nothing like sitting on the couch next to your uncle when one of these beauties pops on screen or winks at you from a magazine on the coffee table.)

First, let’s get past the obvious: blue liquid, waterfalls, meadows, dancing flowers, etc. One of my college roommates had a favorite saying she’d use to describe how she felt after a big night: “I feel like a mud puddle on a dirt road in the rain.” (If I remember correctly, the commercial actually said: “I feel like a country lane after a spring shower.”)  Neither sounds appealing. Guess that’s why it was her code phrase for “I may throw up at any second.”

 Speaking of throwing up, how about this little French number? Have you ever seen a fish on a line…down THERE?  Is it fake? Almost certainly. But it’s so bad, how could I resist? I also came across a creepily clever Tampax® ad online showing a woman snorkeling, surrounded by sharks. Death by period.

Of course, Tampax had the much-awarded Zack16, the story of a guy and his sudden need for Tampax products, but that never went mainstream. And I hate to point fingers, but it really reminded me of an old National Lampoon story I read in my early days called “My Vagina.” They also did a hilarious “My Penis” story too, still ripe for inspiration kick starting. I did love Tampax’s “white” campaign from several years ago. That white strawberry stopped me in my tracks.

My favorite? Hands down the fake endorsement spot from Talladega Nights. Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell) in full racer gear, tells us that  “when you work on your mysterious lady parts stuff, you should have the right tools, too. That’s why you should use Maypax, the official tampon of Nascar.” Comfortably awkward. Nice.

 My least favorite? An ad that looks like it ran in 1961. But yes, it ran in 2010. Summer's Eve®, in a misguided attempt to give us confidence, supplied the world with a "How to ask for a raise" advertorial.

Come on, every “sleep your way to the top” and “judge me by my vagina” innuendo is baked right in. But even more horrifying to me was the idea that I was stupid enough to need a list like that in the first place. I actually thought at first that maybe someone had accidentally placed a fake ad, like in “Crazy People.” Guess not.

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t notice, with fear and trepidation, feminine hygiene ads. Through the eyes of a preschooler, I can still see the gymnast Kathy Rigby wearing a white leotard on the balance beam as she extolled the virtues of maxi pads over tight crotch shots . I think that one was from the days when they put marbles in soup, too. No way that lady was wearing a Kleenex® box-sized thing in her pants.

Okay, enough poking. I do have to give folks credit who keep trying. Especially those who try to do something different. Feminine hygiene has to be harder than just about anything else out there. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. I admire Kotex®’s recent strategic approach and appreciate the packaging every time I have to pick up, you know. Sleek black versus flowers and meadows are much appreciated in the shopping cart.

Still, I’m sure we can do better. A great opportunity exists to create a smart, funny, insightful campaign for feminine hygiene products. If Bridesmaids can happen, so can this. Come on XX’s, we can do this. Perhaps, as my hilarious XX co-worker in New York suggested, we package a box-set of vaginal goods in a 12-pack of beer type box. She suggested we call it Code Red, and just us girls know what’s inside.

Thanks for reading. And I know, picking on feminine hygiene ads is a bit like shooting fish in a barrel. Just ask the French.

Boy/Girl Stuff

My first job was at The Richards Group. Stan loved to hire kids right out of school and once he had a new crop, he’d gather us in his office for his personal orientation to the agency. I know he talked a lot about 401k and the imperative of punctuality, but the thing I remember most was his “no boy/girl stuff” talk. He’d have none of it. If a couple was caught dating at The Richards Group, someone would lose their job. It wasn’t really a big thing for me; I was engaged. (I had purposefully not worn my engagement ring to my interviews, in fear that I wouldn’t be taken seriously. Little did I know it would have probably sealed the deal even quicker.)

Stan is smart guy. He knew that his plot to keep the workplace androgynous was a pipe dream, but he did have a point. Boys and girls are different. He didn’t try to sweep it under the rug.

Neither did a guy who worked for me in my early years as a creative director. I’ll never forget the day he came into my office, sat down and matter-of-factly said: “It’s a good thing you’re a writer. Because if you were a chick AND an art director, I don’t think I could work for you. But the fact that you’re a writer kind of makes up for the fact that you’re a chick. So we’re cool.” And we were. Good thing my creative director partner was a guy or he would have been S.O.L.

But my favorite boy/girl story is the trip my former partner and I took to a boutique hotel chain in southern Florida. My partner is one of those art directors whose work is so beautiful, it makes you want to cry.  You should also know that he is completely harmless. A formal football player, gentle giant, and very married father of three.  I was (and still am) married with two kids so we were two pretty unlikely candidates to race from Miami to Naples to Key West to a private island to experience the romance of our client’s properties. We dubbed it the “race for the sunset” tour because our client had given us specific instructions to be at the bar at each property at sunset. My partner doesn’t drink so he’d toast his Diet Coke and I’d toast my Sauvignon Blanc, then we’d run to our rooms to call our kids.

Our final stop was, without a doubt, the most romantic place I’ve ever been in my life. After checking in, we boarded a vintage wooden boat that took us from the parking area to the private island resort. Rooms were individual huts, complete with outdoor showers, netted bedding, and of course, no tv or phones. Once we convinced the bellhop that no, we were not sharing a hut, we headed to dinner. We gave our names to the hostess. She stood there. We gave our names again. We finally realized that she was frozen because she couldn't comprehend that we weren't waiting for another couple. Fully five minutes later, it sunk in and she seated us for dinner. It was surreal, a perfect setting complete with pink sunset, tiki torches, and lapping waves. All around us were wealthy honeymooners, high-end anniversaries, and others, well I’m not sure their spouses knew they were there, if you know what I mean. As romance swirled all around us, I looked at my partner and said: “Do you want to split the Key Lime Pie or do you want your own piece? "

Stan would have been proud.

One of the guys?

Over the years I’ve heard a lot of women take the angle that they’re just “one of the guys.” Really?

I get it, they’re tying to fit in. To prove they can make it in a male-dominated field. Maybe they’ve convinced themselves that they’re “one of the guys” but I’d love to ask the guys they work with – honestly – are they buying it?

My theory (and some of my XY friends please weigh in) is that it’s pretty hard to overlook the fact that you’re a woman.

Yes, there does seem to be a trend right now in magazines like Maxim to feature insanely hot actresses or models who love weekends of college football and giant, greasy cheeseburgers. But don’t be confused girls. Neither Mila Kunis, Gabrielle Union, nor Brooklyn Decker will ever be mistaken for “one of the guys,” whether she can belch the alphabet on cue or not.

Maybe the women I’ve worked with think guys find this attitude “cool.” Maybe they think sameness is the way to succeed. Maybe these XX’s are confusing being “one of the guys” with enjoying spending time/hanging out/working/sharing interests/being friends with guys.

Also fellow XX’s lest we forget there are some pretty major advantages to guys remembering that we’re not “one of them.” My husband is a runner and he recently had me laughing so hard I was in tears as he explained the etiquette difference between running when “the girls come” and when it’s just the guys. He also inadvertently provided me with years of ammunition that yes, he can control his bodily functions if he wants to.

Finally, don’t get me wrong, I’m far from perfect here. I’ve tagged along with the guys when I’m pretty sure they wished I hadn’t. Sorry for that. And thanks for still hanging out with me. But more often I’ve had a great time with the guys.  Just recently I found myself at a table full of male co-workers at a dinner. I appreciated being included.  I didn’t feel awkward or out of place. (Maybe they did but they hid it well.) But I’m pretty sure that while I put away my food like a guy, no one at that table forgot – even for a second -- that I am, and forever will be, an XX.

Goodbye to one of the gentlest XX’s I’ll ever know

My very close friend and former art director called a little after eight last night. I was firing off work emails as I plowed into a very busy, very complicated week. Suddenly, time stopped. His wife, who had a brain tumor removed a few weeks ago, died unexpectedly yesterday.

I’m on my way there now. Because right before her surgery she called me, and asked if I could fly out if anything went wrong.  

It did.

That was textbook “her” of course. She wanted her husband to have his closest friends around him if she didn’t make it.  As I sit on the plane, the memories flood back. She was a stay at home mom until her kids were well into high school. An Alpha Mom not because she had to be the best, but because she believed her family deserved the best.  In my last post, I talked about being pegged as a “Mommy Expert.” Many of my talents in that area deserve a shout out to her. She was patient and helpful (whether we thought we needed it or not) as my husband and I honked and flapped our way through the Early Years with our children.  She knew just how to burp a baby, just how to change a baby and she knew just what to feed me when I was so morning sick I couldn’t stand up. She was the PTA mom, the volunteer, the one who had dinner on the table every night at six. Yes, she made her own pizza dough from scratch. She introduced me to a world of gluten-free flour and homemade pumpkin baby food, but smiled patiently as I whipped out the frozen waffles on my way to work.

My friend and her husband raised two great kids who loved their mom dearly, even through the teen years. (I was really counting on some pointers there, my Dear.) One graduates from college this December and has already landed a great job. The other, a freshman, is making A’s across the board at school back East. In fact it was only hours after her eldest left for his last semester at school that she went to the doctor with a terrible headache. Even her illness had to wait for a Mother’s job to be done.

But the thing I really want you to know about my friend was her kindness. You couldn’t walk in their door without hearing: “Do you want something to drink? I have cold water in the fridge, chardonnay, I can open a red, we also have root beer, orange or lime seltzer, pineapple juice, I think there’s some rum in the front cabinet if you want that, orange juice, green tea, milk, no you are lactose intolerant I forgot, and I think we might have some Hansen sodas in the basement…let me go check. “ She enjoyed making others feel welcome. And yeah, that girl could talk. I mean talk. She enjoyed talking about the things and the people she loved.

That’s what I will remember. A gentle soul who would fight like a grizzly for those she loved. A Melanie Wilkes of our time. Goodbye my Dear. The world needs more XX’s like you, not less.

A note from XX

Yes, the world needs another blog. Okay maybe not but advertising might. I'm an ad girl, have been for a while now. And do I have some stories. Even more, some ways of looking at the world you may not have thought about. Stories about being the only girl in the room. The last minute "bring in the skirt" requests. Being stereotyped as the "tampon girl" and once I had kids, as the "mommy expert." That's the stuff most of us ad girls have faced. Not that there's anything at all wrong with that. It's hot right now for women to do the women thing.

But I think there's a more interesting world out there beyond douche (Hasn't that been an interesting category the last few years. Maybe we'll talk about that some time.) Yes, I have a pretty good handle on women. I've worked with cool ones and I've worked with the women who give women a bad name. I'm here because like the XXs who lived millions of years before me, I know what boys like. (Tossing out a thanks to The Waitresses for that one.)

Not just THAT. Yes, boys like that. But I've sold long haul trucking, fighter jets, men's clothing and more in my career. I've told fart jokes, talked boy talk and can out-innuendo any dude I've ever worked with. (with possibly two exceptions.) Yes, I've failed a few times but I've also managed to uncover things about guys and selling to guys that a man would never dream of. This blog is about those stories. Things heard in the hall. Even the world occasionally. All through the eyes of an XX. So XY, beware. I'm watching.

Here's looking at you.