Ooh, ooh. More online executional madness for the limited-edition Scion tC in Galactic Gray. (Only 2300 available! Get your booster bait before it's gone.)
The ATTIK effort is a lot like this one for the limited-edition Scion xB Series 5, which is more likely to blind you with its mica sheen.
Outdoor executions will focus on demonstrating to bystanders that the car is just too cool for them. With placement and coordination by malbon Brothers Farms street teams, the car will literally move away when people draw near. (Hence the campaign name "Out of Reach.")
We love a good throwback ad. To get a feel for how the past can put everyday brands in perspective, we give you "Love Quiz" ("...for married folks only!"), from the days when Lysol was -- wait for it! -- a douche.
But this post is about current products that have been given a dated spin, courtesy of Worth 1000 (thanks, Dario!). Take a guess on what product is behind:
o The color TV-compatible joy machine
o That envy-stirring Hollandaise easy-rider
o Sassy and scandalous women's outtakes -- with wonderful Cole Porter songs!
o How video games benefit your children
For its latest site redesign, Modernista tossed caution to the winds. It did away with elaborate imagery, hype-laced content and the notion of using a website at all.
Now, users that run a search for Modernista -- and that click on the link to Modernista.com -- will be redirected to the search engine they used. In the upper left-hand corner they'll find a funky red nav bar. (Look past the bizarre 'net-speak and spelling; it is so Web 2.0.)
This is only marginally disgusting. Also, it's a promotion for "Test Your Breath," a campaign for Scope by the charmers at Dentsu and Crush.
Test your toxicity -- er, breath -- at the website.
Here's our big question: why does the guy in the elevator know what rhino shit smells like? Even even if somebody's breath did smell like rhino shit, our heads wouldn't immediately go there because we lack the appropriate frame of reference.
We'd be like, "Ooh. Stale bacon mixed with carcass of month-old monkey fetus." Because you know, we deal with that stuff in everyday life.
In this article, CNBC writer Darren Rovell uses convoluted logic to ask what consumers, in their childlike naivete, are supposed to extract from relationships between athletes and the brands that sponsor them. (And their trainers. And their trainers' websites.)
Here's the puzzle the column poses: say you're a kid, and you want to be the next LaDainian Tomlinson. Tomlinson is part of Nike's SPARQ training program. He also wears Nikes on the field. But Todd Durkin, Tomlinson's trainer, has a website sponsored by Under Armour.
Assuming you're wack enough to think this will fundamentally alter your destiny, what do you BUY? Nike trainers or Under Armour's? The author's so stuck on this that he's even taking a poll. (Who would you follow: athlete or trainer?)
We'd laugh this whole thing off, because it really is ridiculous, but then we got to thinking. Do sponsored associations between people and products really mean something?
In conjunction with Fuel Industries, McDonald's Europe is launching digital "toys" for Happy Meals through April and May.
The "Fairies and Dragons" universe (for girls and boys, respectively) can be accessed via CD-ROMs inside old-school McD's Happy Meals. The campaign and associated characters are original creations by Fuel (for mommies who get moody about rampant product placement).
DegreeRookie.com's hosting a sweat-inducing six-part mini-series based on 24. It won't have any of your favourite characters, and indeed has nothing to do with the show's primary plotline, but we're sure nobody'll notice as long as 24 is visibly associated with whatever's streaming.
But that's not all Degree Rookie's serving up. Try balance. And freshness. It's Degree Absolute Protection.
Story Worldwide helped input GPS capabilities, imaging and nav in the site. The Unilever-sponsored series is part of a collabo between Fox and Brightline.
Check out the JellyBeats, which are like jellyfish you can alternately identify with and fantasize about eating. Each is themed with a genre of music (folk, easy listening, acid house -- wouldn't it be funny if that whistle was a pacifier?) and comes equipped with its own playlist.
The JellyBeats represent Aardman and Digital Outlook's attempts to cash in on the 14-18-year-old crowd. They launched on Bebo last week. Individual JellyBeats come with film shorts, downloads, special dances and lingo. And they're all embeddable on other social networks. ('Cause if you can't be everywhere at once, you FAIL.)
For interior design site mydeco, TAMBA put together a swanky Facebook app for all the users that are getting too old to cash in on their .edu cachet.
The My Dinner Party widget enables users to create a "dream dinner party" with famous and fictional characters, as well as actual friends. (Then again, everybody's equally actual and fictional when they can all appear on your Top 8. Which is also an app!)
And because no inet offering is worth anything unless it comes with opportunities for validation, friends can change seating arrangements, organize private fetes and rate the dinner parties they attended. How fancy. These days, any plebe can play blue-blood. Who'd've guessed that Wonderland would be so ... democratic?
Imagine The Warriors took place in present-day Manhattan. But replace the vicious gangs with refugees from Flashdance.
Before you virtually bitchslap us and go, "Why would we EVER do that?!", be forewarned: somebody already has.
Can -- you -- dig -- it?
The client: MTV.