More or Less

You would expect nothing less from Trump, because who is more of an asshole than him?

This high class gent just paid close to $1,000 for that bed and who knows how much for the professional escort. But that smug look tells me money doesn't matter to him. He's all about rubbing it in your face the next day on the golf course.

Rebel Without a Plan

When I first caught the headline that Harley-Davidson and its long-time agency Carmichael-Lynch had parted ways, I thought it was the typical case of the client firing the agency. Turns out it was the other way around. Ad people love that kind of story. Kicking a big, stubborn client to the curb is the dream of many. 

Everyone knows that Harley is fairly stuck in a groove (perhaps a rut) of selling its wares to people of a certain demographic: suburban, middle-aged, professional, white; people for whom the motorcycle is a mere hobby, albeit a somewhat serious hobby - and an expensive one. Living in a state that attracts motorcycle enthusiasts, and particularly Harley enthusiasts, year-round for gatherings, events and hanging out, I can tell you that the stereotype of Barbie and Ken Biker is an accurate one. It's almost to the point that Harley is the opposite of what it wants to be - what it used to be: cool. How cool is it to have the same bike as everyone else when everyone else is a grey-haired guy playing biker on the weekend?

They were on a wild ride for a long time. Big, loud, shiny and expensive, with an official accessories line that includes branded clothing for infants and HD-branded doo-rags for the dudes who don't know how to tie a real bandana into a doo-rag, but Harley has finally been slowed down by the economy. You can't sell a $15,000 toy to a guy who isn't sure he'll have a job next month, even if you do offer your own easy financing. I'm not saying Harley didn't do things right. They had perfect pitch for the high-rolling times they thrived in.

But now is a dangerous time to be Harley, and if they keep doing what they've always done they will only sink further. There are a few directions they can take this, and each will require bold thinking and a fair amount of risk. But since Harley prides itself on the rebel image, maybe they'd be willing to prove that image by actually being what they've only pretended to be for too long. Harley's CMO, Mark-Hans Richer said, "the company feels good about its creative direction." OK, Mark-Hans, you keep doing it your way and we'll keep seeing headlines like this.

I hear Wisconsin is beautiful this time of year. Send the corporate jet down to fly me up and I'll give you the pitch. I'll do it off-the cuff, Don Draper style. Should only take a couple of minutes. Afterward, I'd like to tour that $60 million museum if there's time. Then maybe we can catch a Packers game from your skybox at Lambeau.

It's a Quarter to Noon, You're Drunk in Your Room

Monkeys swinging from the chandelier in the hotel's crest suggest playfulness, I guess. But announcing that your new hotel represents "a new paradigm in luxury hotels" is a bit of a stretch, not to mention a worn cliché. I suppose if there are actually giant hand mirrors in the rooms and the keys are a foot in length and the ocean is just behind the curtain, that would be a new paradigm in luxury hotels, and playful. But a visit to the hotel's website shows your basic luxury rooms, and only as artist's renderings.

I do like the surreal Dalí meets Alice in Wonderland style, which is carried through on the website. (The model sprawled on the floor is getting a little overplayed these days.) But the creators of this ad didn't go with the standard luxury hotel ad style. They avoided the tired and overused white-gloved doorman opening the limo door, or the beautiful couple sharing a pre-sex drink in the darkened, trendy cocktail lounge. And there's always the cougar and her boy toy lounging by the pool approach. This ad just keeps it all vague and mysterious and the viewer is left intrigued.

The book in the lower left reads "Soft Like Silk, Sexy Lace Stockings, Sleepy Little Sigh." Continuing with the SLS theme, the website's tagline is "Something Lovely's Starting." It's pretty typical stuff; a celebrity chef, renowned designers, places to eat and drink. But the playful copy along with the vague and surreal photography represent a fairly fresh approach when there are no "paradigms" left in luxury hotel advertising.

Style & Luxury Above & Beyond

That's the "Edwin Toe Cap Croc" from the Cole Haan "Collection." Price: $1,200. A handsome shoe, no? No, I agree, it is not. It should be worn exclusively by independently wealthy diplomats from far away countries. And likely is. Maybe some Wall Streeters or Midtown real estate investor types can pull off this look, but I'd be pretty damned embarrassed to be seen in $1,200 shoes.

But I obviously know nothing about footwear fashion, since I wear generic leather flip flops most days, and Vans^® if it's cold enough. So this two-page inside cover ad struck me as I was browsing through the Sunday New York Times' "Play" magazine, dedicated to sports and style. The copy explains that this is the new "state of the art driving shoe created in collaboration with Nike Lab." Driving shoe? DRIVING SHOE? Wait...Nike Lab?

I am now in need of a computing shoe, a sitting and having a beer shoe, a Frisbee^® shoe, a watching TV shoe, a mid-morning coffee shoe and a chips and salsa shoe. Maybe two pair of chips and salsa shoes, because the ones I wear with the medium salsa aren't quite right for those times I want to do the extra hot salsa.

Cole Haan needs to sell shoes; understood. But they've now invented the "state of the art" driving shoe. I just did a Google search for "driving shoes," (in quotes) and was presented with 107,000 results. I had no idea this market existed.

I'm tellin' ya, if you own shoes just for driving, you'd better be employed as a Formula 1 race car driver. I can put the pedal to the metal of your luxury sports car with my flip-flop and make it go just as fast. And my foot won't slip. Get a life, preppy idiot loser with too much money. They're laughing at you when you stop at the diner up the coast on your Sunday pleasure drive, wondering if you are an off-duty nurse.

Note to Frisbee, Vans and salsa makers: I accept gifts. (Size 10.5 to 11)