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A Copywriter Writes

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DAN WATSON

Kiwi copywriter.

Illustrator on the side.

This blog is filled with stuff that simply comes to mind that's too long to tweet.

It's mostly my observations as I try to make it in the advertising industry. It keeps me writing and, hopefully, gets you reading.

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  • August 3, 2012 11:51 am

    My Favourite Ten: My Holiday Season Fail or, The Girlfriend I Created Out Of Thin Air

    image

    A reblogging of my top ten posts since I started.



    TWO: POST #2 (18 Dec, 2010)

    As if the holiday season isn’t stressful enough with all the preparation that goes into Christmas; getting ready for the big day of visiting and feasting and most of all, gift buying. 

    But to add on top of that, retailers are shouting at you to buy their crap as the ideal gift for whoever you just happen to be shopping for.

    The worst of this lot are the Israeli people who have travelled to New Zealand to share with us the treasures that the Dead Sea has to offer; a.k.a. Seacret.

    Now, I know promoters. I work as one. I know all the tricks and all the hooks. Many people do; as shoppers, it’s indoctrinated into us to keep looking straight ahead, and pick up the pace. But for some reason, I wasn’t prepared for this:

    “Excuse me, sir! What are you getting your girlfriend for Christmas?”

    Now, me, I’m currently single. As are a lot of people, I would imagine. So, the ideal response would probably be: “Already sorted. Cheers!” And then continue.

    But for some idiotic reason, I hate admitting I’m single (technically, it’s saying the words, “I don’t have a girlfriend”), especially during the holidays.

    Don’t ask.

    Read More

  • January 10, 2012 2:31 am

    An Awesome Night Out or, Fuck It

    I’m gonna go ahead and apologise to my father right now, who reads what I write often. He’s mentioned to me once or twice about the language I use on my blog. I foresee extended use of the F word.

    Katt Williams talked about a special hormone that is released into your system from time to time that physically enables you to have a good time.

    It’s called ‘Fuck It’.

    It specialises in the breaking down of inhibitions and when you ask yourself ‘Why?’, it askes ‘Why not?’

    Most people choose to induce this hormone with alcohol and recreational drugs. However, you have to get the dosage just right, otherwise you risk overshooting the Fuck It mark and just end up Fucked Up instead.

    But sometimes, the conditions are just right for the natural production of Fuck It and when that happens, it’s fucking sweet.

    My most recent successful experience with Fuck It happened just a couple of days before Christmas. Lucideas was having their Christmas party.

    Being the only guy in the office with facial hair, I thought I’d dye it white and be the resident Santa Claus for the evening. Why?

    "Because fuck it. That’s why."

    It’s looked hilarious. We pulled out a Santa suit that we’d been using for a client before and they said I should wear it and give out all the Secret Santa presents.

    "Fuck it! Where do I change?"

    I donned the suit and became the cheeky, foul-mouthed, wandering-handed Santa that made every single person in the agency sit on his lap and open their presents. 

    After which, the music was too good to just sit around and quietly drink beer with everyone else.

    "Fuck this! Let’s dance! Come on!"

    After getting five or six people from the agency to dance, the suggestion of taking this party to a club afterward surfaced.

    "Dan, you should totally wear the suit to the club!"

    "Alright, you’re on. We’re going clubbing!"

    The party started to wind down around 10pm and a group of us met up at a pub for pre-drinks.

    "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas everybody!"

    I bellowed at the pub.

    A very satisfying cheer was shouted back. My Fuck It levels were rewarding me handsomely.

    A guy came over to our table and presented me with a pint of Guinness.

    "There you go, Santa."

    "Oh, thanks very much!"

    *sip*

    "No, all of it."

    "What? Skull it?"

    "Yeah."

    "Alright then."

    That’s when you gotta watch those Fuck It levels. You know you’re in the red zone when you start saying ‘yes’ to everything, even when there’s potential for bad consequences.

    "Yay, Santa!"

    "Yeah *burp* Great, whatever. Thanks for that."

    Fast forward.

    One of Lucideas’ designers and I pulled up outside Zouk, one of Kuala Lumpur’s many dance clubs and sauntered in.

    That classic feeling when everyone who looks at you, smiles.

    That less than modest feeling that you just became a line in someone’s story about their night.

    "And then Santa walked in!"

    We went to a private booth and ordered drinks.

    "Fuck it. I’m embracing this. If you want me, I’ll be on the dance floor."

    High-fives, handshakes, hugs, kisses, a couple of lap dances and many, many photos soon ensued.

    I met many people and forgot many names.

    This was vague, but I was told some guy had to drag his girlfriend away because she was getting too friendly with me.

    I’ll take that.

    I managed to ride that wave almost to dawn.

    The night was epic to say the least.

    And all because I decided to fuck it and do something I had never done before.

    These are the kinds of things that happen when you take opportunities as they come and dive head first into the unknown.

    That’s how I want 2012 to be.

    More ‘fuck it’ moments that lead to awesome happenings. In my social life and my work.

    I’ve already made the resolution to go back to Zouk at Chinese New Year, dressed as the God of Prosperity.

    Happy New Year 

    -Dan

  • December 19, 2010 11:42 am

    My Holiday Season Fail or, The Girlfriend I Created Out Of Thin Air

    As if the holiday season isn’t stressful enough with all the preparation that goes into Christmas; getting ready for the big day of visiting and feasting and most of all, gift buying. 

    But to add on top of that, retailers are shouting at you to buy their crap as the ideal gift for whoever you just happen to be shopping for.

    The worst of this lot are the Israeli people who have travelled to New Zealand to share with us the treasures that the Dead Sea has to offer; a.k.a. Seacret.

    Now, I know promoters. I work as one. I know all the tricks and all the hooks. Many people do; as shoppers, it’s indoctrinated into us to keep looking straight ahead, and pick up the pace. But for some reason, I wasn’t prepared for this:

    "Excuse me, sir! What are you getting your girlfriend for Christmas?"

    Now, me, I’m currently single. As are a lot of people, I would imagine. So, the ideal response would probably be: “Already sorted. Cheers!” And then continue.

    But for some idiotic reason, I hate admitting I’m single (technically, it’s saying the words, “I don’t have a girlfriend”), especially during the holidays.

    Don’t ask.

    So, because of this inhibition, I hesitated; missing my opportunity for a quick getaway. And began to string together the saddest set of lies I’ve ever told.

    "Uh, I’m not sure."

    "Well, let me show you something. Give me your hand."

    "Oh! The nail buffer thing!" (Here’s my chance!) "Yeah, I got this for her last year."

    "Really?"

    "Totally. She uses it all the time when we go out."

    Unnecessary? Totally.

    "Oh, wonderful!"

    "Yeah, so thanks, but I…"

    "Well, let me show you this, sir. Does she have the mud mask?"

    I hadn’t been prepared to take the lie further.

    "Uhh.."

    "Come here. Give me your hand."

    I then find myself with a scoop of mud being smeared and rubbed into the back of my hand whilst being told that the Dead Sea salts inside did wonders for your skin that no one can comprehend.

    I was way too deep into it now. There was no pulling out. Well, that’s not true; I could have sucked it up and got away. But instead, I perpetuated my lie further.

    "What kind of girl is she, Dan? Like, more face or more body."

    "Face, I’d say."

    "And, how old is she?

    "22. A couple of months older than me."

    Sorry, what?

    "Does she have problems with her skin?"

    "Oh, no. Not at all. Her skin’s beautiful. She takes great care of it."

    Are you serious?!? Who are you talking about?!

    More demonstration follows with a moisturiser and then the time came for the sale: A pottle of mud and a pottle of moisturiser for a total of $225. No way was I buying this.

    "Hang on, you know what, Dan? I like you. And you seem like such a nice guy. I want to do you a deal. I will give you the mud and the moisturiser plus a glass-tipped nail file for just $125."

    "Yeah, I don’t know…"

    That’s right, just turn it down. You’re nearly there.

    "Imagine the brownie points you’ll get, Dan, when you give her this really nice Christmas present! She won’t know I gave you a deal and she’ll think you spent over $200 on her."

    "You’re not wrong there…"

    Yes she is! This girl you’re both talking about isn’t real, you dipshit!

    She had me. By the balls. And the worst thing was, it was mostly my doing. All because I have terrible insecurities about my marital status. Why create this facade? Who knows? Perhaps later, I’ll deal with it my means of expensive therapy.

    But, no matter how much she made me believe I was buying a present for a beautiful, flawless-skinned 22 year-old who was waiting for me at home, I could have always pulled out.

    Nevertheless, a card swipe and a pin-number later, I had bought a $125 Christmas present for no one. There was no reason not to take the deal and my girlfriend was going to love it.

    Except the girlfriend didn’t actually exist.

    Sigh… Fuck my life.

    ***

    Merry Christmas,

    Dan