Celebrity Product Endorsements – Why Wolfgang Puck Deserves to be Dismembered and Stoned to Death

Becoming an overnight A-list celebrity, while cool, would probably be stressful. A little bit of advance planning would, I imagine, go a long way in making the transition less traumatic. One of the things all major celebrities have to grapple with is what products they will endorse. So, in case I wake up one morning to discover that I’ve become a megastar and the whole world wants to know what I eat for breakfast, I’ve given some thought to the best way to shape the parameters of my product endorsement portfolio.

It’s impossible to discuss anything relating to product endorsements without considering Tiger Woods. The Tiger Woods brand is an industry unto itself. Tiger Woods could very possibly be the single most marketable individual ever in the history of the universe. And that’s not an exaggeration. The things about Tiger that marketers seem to like are that: 1) he is one of the greatest athletes in history; 2) he is a perfect, racially ambiguous, super-humanly fit specimen of human beauty; 3) he either really does not do, or is incredibly adept at hiding doing, anything even remotely controversial or non-mainstream; and 4) he is appealing to every demographic between, and including, toddlers and vegetables. And for those reasons, Tiger is compensated with more endorsement money than God. The several million annual dollars Tiger earns from actually winning golf tournaments are Frappuccino money for his swimsuit model wife compared to his endorsement earnings, which are approaching the $100 million per year mark.

I’m not necessarily trying to compare myself to Tiger Woods (though, upon some reflection, we do actually have quite a bit in common, in my opinion). But you never know. Being a fit, beautiful sports megastar is in vogue today. But come next fall, will that still be the case? Or could it be that the new rage will be short Jewish guys with slightly hairy backs who weigh 135, of which 35 is beer gut? Who am I to say.

The perfect embodiment of what not to do when choosing products to endorse is Wolfgang Puck. Wolfgang Puck is a chef who, way back when, was a legit player in the culinary world. He became somewhat of a name brand and used his new cache to expand the reach of his restaurants. My hometown, Ithaca, NY is one of four remaining towns in the civilized world whose airport does not now have a Wolfgang Puck Express restaurant. No problem yet. Brand, expand, bring in the bucks. Good for Wolfgang. But then, Wolfgang decided he needed to expand into the sexy world of corporate office coffee supplies, including the coffee pods and coffee machine in my very own law firm office.

When I get into work at 8:25 every morning, I drop off my briefcase, boot up my computer and trudge down the hall to the employee break room. And at that moment, when I'm standing – tired, confused, listless, vulnerable – in front of the coffee machine, the one single thing I want from the universe is a simple paper cup full of hot coffee. And at 8:25 in the morning, pre-coffee, I don't have the emotional wherewithal to read the office manager’s illustrated 10,000 word treatise on how not to screw up the coffee brewing process. And so I put the pod in the slot and push the button and watch as coffee grinds and murky sludge leak out of the side of the coffee maker and listen to the horrible, unnatural sound of metal on metal and stuck, motorized whining and wheezing and think about whether it’s really even worth it to go on living. And when I look over at the machine and the stacks of coffee pod boxes, whose smug, happy, smiling face do I see plastered all over all of them? Wolfgang. Fucking. Puck. And while I’ve never met or talked to or even seen Wolfgang Puck in person, at that moment every morning, I want to hunt him down and drag him into an alley and beat him with a metal pipe, and dismember him and stone him to death and watch as buzzards rip the organs from his dead bloody corpse.

And when you’re thinking about what reaction you want people to have when they see your photo on a product you’ve endorsed, that is not the one.

Exhibit B to the “are you sure this is really the image you want” chapter of the celebrity endorsement textbook is the licensing by the Allman Brothers of their beautiful, enduring-throughout-the-years song “Blue Sky.” The Allman Brothers have a sort of complex image. They’re clearly good ol’ boy southern redneck bikers. But they also have very solid musical roots in jazz, a loyal hippy following and more than a few in-touch-with-their-feelings sensitive guy tunes. So they’ve got some pretty broad licensing options, and their tunes have been used to endorse all kinds of products over the years. But I really had to scratch my head when I flipped on the TV one day to hear one of the nice licks from “Blue Sky” being played in an ad for – and, sometimes I need to specify this: I am seriously, truly not making this up – the menopause awareness website knowmenopause.com. Of course, if you have a business that provides helpful information about menopause, that’s great, and there’s nothing wrong with spreading the word. And there’s nothing wrong with the Allmans making a buck. But, well, I’m really not sure what to even say here. You get the idea. To their credit, at least they were just playing part of a tune. I would have packed up my possessions and wandered off into the forest forever if the ad had included Gregg Allman talking to the camera about how, whenever he had any menopause informational needs, the first resource he always turned to was knowmenopause.com.

Getting back to Tiger Woods, he’s picked some winners and some duds. Here is a quick rundown of a few of them. Nike golf equipment and clothes: No brainer. This is the stuff he actually uses, and I think Nike has a whole factory devoted just to making Tiger the stuff he wants. Hanes: Sure. Even if you’re a multi-mega-gazillionaire, it’s probably nice to get free cotton briefs. Gillette: Why not. It’s hard to have a real emotional opinion one way or the other about what kind of disposable razor you use. If someone offered me eight figures to switch my brand, I believe I’d accept. Buick: Horrific. The average person who buys a Buick has already been dead for 6.5 years. It hurts me a little to watch Tiger smile as he hops into a some geriatric boat of a GM car in the ad. The amount of money they must have given him for that, even in public company dollar terms, must have been extraordinary. Hopefully enough for Tiger to buy his own television network, which would never play those ads, so he’d never have to see them.

So, in light of all this background, what products would I endorse? My first choices would be products I already use and like. If Calvin Klein, Sony and Sam Adams wanted to do a spread of me sitting around on the couch on a Sunday afternoon in my tighty whities drinking beer and watching golf on TV, that would be cool. Or even products I don’t use but like. Rolex? Ferrari? The Ritz on Maui? I’d be game for that. Second choice would be products that, even if don’t particularly like, I have nothing against. Kellogg’s Corn Flakes? Ryobi power sanders? HP high gloss, no jam laser printer paper? That would be fine. And, actually, who am I kidding? If Wolfgang Puck wanted to cut me in on a piece of the action, or if knowmenopause.com came knocking, and if the price was right? Yeah, I could probably be convinced.

My Four Word Solution to All That’s Wrong With Religion

Since shortly after the dawn of time through today, the major religions of the world have provided benefits to billions of members of humankind but have also caused some pretty serious problems. And, while it's maybe a little presumptuous for me to say so, I think I've figured out how to fix religion. You never know where inspiration will come from. My epiphany in this case came from a bumper sticker on the back window of a pickup truck (not the first time this has happened - see this previous post). Plain white font. Black background. Four words (a major plus in bumper stickers; while I like the sentiment behind "it will be a wonderful day when schools get all the funding they need and the military has to have a bake sale to buy a new bomber," I wonder how many people are killed every year when their cars veer off the road while trying to read the tiny font required for such a ridiculously long statement).

The bumper sticker I saw said - "Don't Be A Dick"

There is was. Shockingly brilliant in its simplicity, this teaching, if applied to all world religions, could revolutionize the conduct of adherents to organized religion and fundamentally reshape how individuals and whole populations treat one another.

I'm not religious myself, but I've read enough Newsweek articles to understand that organized religion has been somewhat important in shaping world history. The purposes of religion, it seems, can be broken down into three primary components: 1) helping people find meaning and purpose in a world that is confusing, scary and sometimes horrible; 2) providing a sense of identity, culture and community; and 3) setting forth guidelines about how people should treat one another. Components 1 and 2 are all well and good so long as they don't create negative externalities that harm other people. 1 and 2 are OK if there’s enough number 3 in the mix. The problem is, that's not always the case. Some moderately annoying things and some truly horrific things have been done in the name of religion. Colonialism, not letting a Jewish guy into your country club, genocide, being mean to your interfaith daughter-in-law, bombing your neighbors into a parking lot, rape-n-pillage, etc. can too often be justified as being ordained by whoever wrote the religious text in question. And in these cases, the sometimes extensive rules that comprise component 3 can be twisted around so as to somehow not be technically violated.

It may be that most of the horrible things done in the name of religion were the result of cynical individuals tricking their followers / subjects into believing that religion justified the bad things they wanted to do. I think most serious religious scholars would tell you that the "Don't Be A Dick" principal is nothing new, and that Jesus, Muhammad, the Buddha and whichever other icons I'm forgetting would all agree that this principal is exactly what they were trying to get at in their teachings. That the teachings were intended to be, in essence, a comprehensive set of rules demonstrating how not to be a dick. Maybe all that's needed is an overarching clarification that would make it harder for such aforementioned cynical individuals to follow what we lawyers like to call "the letter but not the spirit of the law." How hard could it be to chisel out a retroactive 11th commandment - "thou shalt not be a dick" - or to slap an appending sticker onto the last page of all of the holy texts saying something like "notwithstanding anything to the contrary contained in pages 1-7892 hereof, the point of this text is to remind you, Don't Be A Dick" (bold / ital / underline)? If I'm right about the original intent of all the best selling religious writings, this clarification wouldn't have any effect on all of the people who use religion as an agent for positive change while at the same time putting the kabosh on people who have been engaging in assorted nastiness that surely would have been frowned upon by all the original prophets. Sheltering tsunami victims and disinfecting lepers? Not being a dick. Smiting first born children of another race and claiming that you have been ordained by God as a ruthless dictator? Being a dick.

What's more, the "Don't Be A Dick" concept applies just as readily to non-religious life. Even if you're a strident non-believer, you could measure each component of your personal conduct against this simple and easy to remember standard. It would be perfectly logical to incorporate the concept into civic life, i.e., a social contract based upon which it is understood that I will refrain from acting like a dick if, in turn, I can enjoy a reasonable degree of certitude that my fellow countrymen will not act like a dick back to me. "E Pluribus Unum and Donotus Beist Dickunium" (I never studied Latin, but this is probably close enough).

You might recognize the "Don't Be A Dick" concept as an offshoot of the "Golden Rule" - do unto others as you would have them do unto you. There's nothing wrong with that incarnation, but when advocating for massive social change, I find it's always best to try to avoid using the word "unto." Also, there has been some confusion in recent decades because of the newer Murphy's Law version of the Golden Rule - the one with the gold makes the rules. "Don't Be A Dick" is just sort of the Golden Rule for the new millennium.

For those who think a little dose of capitalism might be required to effectively spread the word, think of all the "Don't Be A Dick" crap you could merchandise. Just look at the whole line of "Life Is Good" junk that's managed to remain on the scene for all these years. Or chastity rings. Or No Fear / Fear This stuff. Maybe it would become as popular as WWJD (What Would Jesus Do) merchandise and we could start hawking DBAD jewelry and coffee mugs and henna tattoos. "Mean People Suck" paraphernalia was popular for a while, but that was more of an observation than a command. To turn that concept into an action item, you'd have to say something like "mean people suck, and you're being mean, so you suck, so stop being mean, then you won't suck." And that's too cumbersome.

The "Don't Be A Dick" credo would have to be somewhat custom tailored to make sense in different languages. As part of the extensive research conducted in connection with this posting (thank you Brenda, Mitra, Guy, Epaminontas and Ora), it came to my attention that calling someone a dick doesn't make sense in a lot of languages. In Hebrew, it would be more common to call someone a "bastard." An "asshole" in Mandarin. In Greek, there are even different words for "dick" depending on whether you really mean it or not. But no worries here. I would bet my life that there does not exist a single language in the world that does not recognize the concept of a person being something akin to what is referred to in the American English dialect as a "dick."

As you may have learned from a number of my earlier postings, the world is going to hell in a hand basket. But at least on the personal interface front, there could be hope. Diminishing worldwide dickishness would be self-reinforcing. The more times a person leaves the house and interacts with a stranger would who is not a dick, the more likely it is that that person will himself choose not to act like a dick. This will explode exponentially and, before we know it, a new wave of non-dickitude will wash across the globe. Society as we know it will be kindler and gentler.

What can you do to help crusade for this worthy cause? Get yourself a "Don't Be A Dick" sticker and slap it on your car, or, if you don't have one, on some other possession. Repeat the mantra to yourself throughout your day. Internalize the message. And, if you've been being a dick, knock it off.

The Running of the Pasty Accountants – JPMorgan Chase Corporate Challenge 2009

Last week, I participated for the third time in the Boston leg of the annual JPMorgan Chase Corporate Challenge - a 3.5 mile run / walk that now takes place in 12 cities around the globe. Here is my analysis:

The JPMorgan Corporate Challenge raises a little money for charities and, by my quick calculations, a pile of money for JPMorgan Chase (it's possible that, in the current banking environment, the race is JPMorgan's most profitable arm). 12,000 people took part in this year's Boston event. The idea behind the corporate challenge is that, for one hour a year, it's fun to coax a bunch of the city's pasty professionals from out of their cubicles, see their reaction to the sun, and watch them try to trudge up and down Back Bay. Watching this race is probably every bit as entertaining as watching the Boston Marathon, albeit for different reasons.

Finish times this year ranged from just over 17 minutes to a bit under a week. Some participants always walk the whole course, which is fine, but those taking up the extreme rear of the group have to keep an eye on the ambulance that follows the last person. It's hard to drive a motorized vehicle that slowly, and the slightest spasm of big toe on accelerator can cause an ambulance driver to run over the very people he's supposed to be looking out for.

There are always some hardcore runners that take part in the race, but there are a lot more people who, for the 364 days between the last race and the current one, have not burned more calories in any one day than it takes to flick on the power switch of a dictaphone. Going from that to self-locomoting their own bodies over 3.5 miles of asphalt has to be a shock, and I am positive that there are hundreds, possibly thousands of fatal heart attacks during the race each year. Yet I've never heard a report of a single person dying during the race. My guess is that JPMorgan uses some of the funds raised in connection with the race to "disappear" the victims like they used to do in South America. Maybe agents, dressed up as cheering fans, run out to the victims and, pretending to give them big supporting hugs, pull them off the course, Weekend-At-Bernie's-style, and dump the carcasses into some discretely circulating sanitation vehicle. If a lot of families are curious mid-June of every year as to whatever happened to that guy who used to be at the breakfast table every morning, maybe they just never got around to asking any questions and realizing that similar things were happening all over town.

As implied by the name of the race, only employees of companies can participate; no individual stragglers are allowed. There are detailed rules about who is considered an employee, and minimum sizes for the teams. The quest to come up with the best, funniest, most stylish and most pithy company tee shirt is a major component of the race. What better way could there be to build company team spirit and get people to sign up for an after-hours work event than to promise a free, colorful, all-cotton tee shirt! The main categories of tee shirt hilarity are: post-race beer drinking jokes ("if found, return me to 222 Berkeley St., and please settle my tab"); industry-specific references (Superman glyph that says "New England Properties - able to lease tall buildings in a single bound!"); and plain old boring ("Acme Accounting - running for a brighter tomorrow"). It's not a surprise that most of the shirts are so milquetoast. Whatever strengths big companies may have, coming up with edgy, amusing tag lines is not usually one of them. And so it is also not surprising that the best tee shirt I have ever seen at the Corporate Challenge, hands down, looked like it was homemade and was worn by what may have been a vigilante non-corporate-affiliated runner. It said: "pass me and our intern loses a finger." Now that is funny, but most definitely not something you're going to see make it through a law firm vetting process.

The Corporate Challenge does not differentiate between types of corporate participants, which is, of course, highly unfair. The winners are always people who work at Nike or City Sports or Healthworks. For those types, whose corporate culture encourages going out and doing an Ironman triathlon at lunch, running 3.5 miles is about the law firm equivalent of making a copy or sticking a label on a file folder. On the other hand, bragging to other runners about kicking ass in the corporate challenge is, I imagine, about like bragging to rival gang members in the prison exercise yard about beating up a kindergartner and stealing his lunch. Not something that wows crowds.

Overall, it's great to see - and the whole point of the corporate orientation of the race is to promote - people out there getting some exercise who otherwise wouldn't. That being said, there is a reason we dress our executives in full suits and ties - so that we only have to see about eight square inches of their flesh. It's good to bond with your coworkers, but there's something to be said for making it through your whole career without ever having to see a skimpy pair of running shorts riding up the top of your boss' pale, hairy, naked thigh. Never mind. Try to forget that thought.