3/28/2010

My eyes only, never my heart. So there, God & ESPN.

With genuine respect for all the men (real and fantastical) in my life, I’d like to share a story called, Why Professional Athletes Start Thinking They are God & ESPN’s Gift to Women.

I would first like to say that I am not a girl who scopes out men at all times. Not when I’m by myself, not when I’m with Significant Man, not when I’m with my girlfriends, not when I’m with the gay men. Never. I know it makes me somewhat boring, but I’m just not that girl. I’ll admit that I have a bit of a weakness for athletes when they’re out on the court/field/ice. But still, if I’m at a game, I’m not there to look at men. I’m there to scream, cheer and watch a game. Also, I happen to take some pride in not being one of those girls who contributes to the tragically inflated egos that result from Why Professional Athletes Start Thinking They are God & ESPN’s Gift to Women. And no, the Dirk thing doesn’t count. His ego is just fine and if you try to argue with me, well then you will lose.

So a couple of weekends ago, I went to a Stars game. Sure, they were probably going to get their asses kicked by the Colorado Avalanche, but a simple fan like me is just happy to be at a game. Especially when I’m sitting third row from the glass and 10 ft. from the penalty box. Eye contact range.

So there I am, sitting next to the Boutique VIP who so generously shared those great seats, yelling for the Stars, making some noise, wearing green. But I’ll be damned if within the first ten minutes of that game, someone wasn’t sent to the penalty box for fighting – a certain #15 of the Colorado Avalanche. And y’all. As soon as he took off his helmet, revealed his sweaty blond hair and skated into that penalty box a mere ten feet away, I took one look at the blue-eyed, 6-ft warrior on ice (oh yes I did write that) and my eyes popped out of my head. Popped. Out. Of my head. I nearly bruised Boutique VIP’s arm and knocked her out of her seat, screaming, “LOOK AT THE HOT GUY IN THE PENALTY BOX! LOOK! LOOK! LOOOOOOOOK! HE IS HOT. HOLY, BLOODY HELL, HE IS HOT!” God bless the people sitting around me for not throwing me out on the ice. Especially since he was sent to the box a couple more times (#15 is a hell raiser) and they then had to hear me yell, “MATT HENDRICKS. HIS NAME IS MATT HENDRICKS! #15!” and “HIS EYEBROW IS BLEEDING. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING SO DAMN HOT?”

In one afternoon, the girl who never scopes out men reverted back to a boy-crazy teenager. And another pro athlete was wrapped up in a bow and dropped in the lap of my eyes. The tag attached said, “Dirk, Matt. Stop lying to yourself. YOU ARE ONE OF THOSE GIRLS. Love, God & ESPN.”

A brand I can trip over

As part of our creative internship, we make what we call a self-promotion piece. It’s a way to think about how we brand ourselves and how to represent that brand in a small tangible piece that we can use to get our names and faces in front of creative directors. As usual, I went through a few hundred ideas before settling on this:

HAIKU OF A VIOLINIST TURNED WRITER

That damn violin
it’s strings just give me blisters.
Words don’t butcher skin

-bebe Me
recovering violinist, diehard Longhorn and the newest little copywriting intern


If you need some help, please give me a call. I work hard, I care very much about doing my best and I like to think and write. Also, I’m remarkably good at tripping over invisible dogs.


I laid it out, printed it on glossy cardstock, and then handed one to each of the agency's 30 or so creative directors. I met most of them within a span of two days. That’s a lot of faces to remember in two days. You can see why I'm terrified that I’ll run into one of them and blurt out, “You’re the one with the crazy black glasses!” And then, I will trip and sprain my ankle.

A good place

It’s been too many weeks and not enough posts about my internship. But I have a completely unoriginal excuse that you may or may not accept: I’ve been thrilled, exhausted, in love and wanting nothing more than to spend any free time I have in a selfish state of brainless indulgence. Which does not necessarily include writing for the blog because as hard as it is to believe, I really do use a brain cell or two when I write the cotton candy for the brain.

I have lots of stories to post about the internship, but until I can sit down and craft them in a way that won’t make you nod off mid-post, I’ll start out by sharing a few things overheard that remind me that I’m indeed at an ad agency:

We have similar panties, but our bra is more sheer.

-said in all seriousness by another writer


I made the mistake of going to lunch today.

-said in all seriousness by a brand manager


Now if we can just get the cows to quote scripture.
-could have been serious, could have been joking. I’m still not sure. And said by my brilliant writer boss

Back to bebe

A few weeks ago, I got a text message:


Your bebe vacation is over.


I knew what that meant - word had spread among bebe store managers that I’m out of school, back in town and bringing in a bit of money. And this was their way of welcoming me back. Me and my credit card.

You may remember that before I went back to school, I modeled at local bebe stores for the spring and fall premier collection events. It’s a brilliant promotional tactic: bebe gets real live bodies to model the clothing during the event and models get a nice discount on anything in the store that day. And because the models are carefully-selected, top-spending clients, store managers get to hear a sound that's sweeter than the fluttered sleeves of this knit top that evening: screams of delight from the models in the fitting rooms, credit cards being whipped out at the register and multiple tags being scanned. Sales for them, style for us. Everybody wins.

Of course, the rule is that if in the middle of modeling, you tell the store manager that oh, you think you’ll only buy 1 or 2 items, then even faster than you can say “just kid-” she will strip you down and throw you out of the store in your underwear. Don’t even joke around about it. 

You can bet that I never joked about it. In fact, I’d been modeling and rightly spending for so long that when I moved to Austin three years ago, the Boutique VIP asked me if I’d want to model in one of the Austin stores while I was there.  My reply was, “Um, school remember? I have no mon-“  At which point, she hung up the phone.

But this spring, I was back on the floor in 4-inch heels, showing clients where to find the various pieces I wore throughout the night. My favorite: this smokey rose pleat folded corset. And God bless the store manager for not throwing me out when I asked her which store was carrying bebe Sport these days (the line was discontinued a couple years or so ago) and when I took a whole 60 seconds to unearth my club bebe card from the depths of my wallet.  God also bless her and bless the Boutique VIP for letting me on the floor in the first place. Sure I’m bringing in a bit of income - enough to buy more than two items, but certainly not enough to buy the bagsful and hangersful that I once did.  Ether they really do like me or they’re counting on a future of even more very full bags and hangers.

In return for their generosity (and also just because I love the merchandise), I will now properly gush about a few of the looks in bebe stores right now. Just like old times. 

My favorites: Bold tops and dresses with asymmetric lines and cuts in vibrant colors, including hot pink, yellow, and coral.  Stretchy, snug skinny jeans with rockstar embellishments - I picked up a silver-studded pair. Cropped denim jacket (went for it) and leatherette denim jacket with a wicked cool asymmetrical zipper (lusted after, but didn’t get it this time). Clean pencil skirts and short shorts. Unapologetically high heels and wedges with funky straps and crazy studs/bling. Fun metallic or otherwise shiny hairbands.

More looks: Modern ruffled tops. Fitted blazers and military blazers. Skinny jeans, some distressed, some solid, some with a sheen. Long mermaid dresses. Fedoras with bands.

Now if it would just stop snowing out of the blue around here, we could put our sweaters away and start wearing spring. There's nothing like a few new looks to motivate a girl to look forward to another season of Texas heat. Bring it on.