Thursday, April 29, 2010
A not to be named DBSF reader requested a non-sports post. Always one to accommodate moderately loyal, quasi-interested readers DBSF acquiesces.
When most people think of the greatest marketing campaigns of the last decade, Justin Long and Apple, or LeBron and Nike probably come to mind. (For DBSF female readers replace the LeBron and Nike example with any ad with Robert Pattinson. Literally, any ad. It could be for kleenex, for a mid-sized accounting firms, a public service announcement warning against piracy off the coast of the Horn of Africa, whatever as long as Robert Pattinson is involved.)
But, none of these came close to the best marketing campaign of the 2000s. Do you know what it was? Febreeze. That's right. The stuff you spray on your couch to freshen it up, or on your clothes when you failed to wash them. You probably have a bottle lodged somewhere beneath the passenger's seat in your Corolla right now.
Why Febreeze, you ask? DBSF will oblige. The marketing people for Febreeze actually made us all believe that their spray creates million of microscopic bubbles that are actually mini waste removal vehicles a la a the 1966 film Fantastic Voyage. These vehicles descend upon whatever should have been washed or thrown out on our living room floor, collect the dirt, leave a fresh fragrance, and then transport the dirt to some undetermined location. This last part is what caught DBSF's attention.
Where does the dirt go? How do the little mini waste removal vehicles know where to take it? What if they run out of whatever fuel or energy source they use to descend, collect dirt, and haul it away? Do they just drop, or crash into your carpet or a wall, like a Kamikaze pilot?
It's around this point in DBSF's ambagious rationalizing that he came to the conclusion--Febreeze is just watered down perfume. It's air deodorant. There are no microscopic vessels hauling dirt from the throw blanket on my couch outside. It's just masking the odor, like an agreeable fart.
And, that . . . that's the marketing febrilliance of Febreeze. So, the next time your friend, who has two large German Shepards and a Weimaraner, tells you that it's okay to sit where Molly (the German Shepard that pisses whenever it gets too excited and bites people when they hold eye contact with it for more than three seconds) just pissed because she Febreezed it, you can tell your friend that standing will suffice because you know the truth about the quote [and make the quotation motions with your two fingers] "Febreeze microscopic dirt removers".
(Note: DBSF suggests withholding the latter part on "knowing the truth of the microscopic dirt removers" when discussing such matters with professional colleagues, and potential in-laws. Unless, of course both parties are crazy and likely to be fascinated by into such inanity.)