By Scott Sullivan
Editor
Glamour
“Know your audience” is a communications axiom. Say you want to sell lawncare products. What better way than send out mass emails peddling “2022’s Most Glamorous Cities in the U.S.”?
“Many of us dream of a ‘Real Housewives’ lifestyle,” it reads. “The mansion, the Bentley, the Rolex, the country club membership …” Boy, do they have me pegged.
Next step in PR Writing 101: introduce a conflict. “But some cities are more ritz and glitz, while others are more Ritz crackers and grits,” it goes on. Clever bait for why you should read what follows.
“So which of the 200 biggest U.S. cities are most suited to a five-star way of life?” it asks, i.e. now they’ll tell you.
I looked for Pullman on top of the list in vain, then realized it’s not big nor a city, even. Saugatuck and Douglas are cities but still not big enough.
San Francisco was ranked first, then New York, Miami and Washington, D.C. … lawncare bastions all. Brownsville was last, then Killeen and Laredo, all in Texas.
Lawnstarter ranked cities based on 35 glamour criteria such as household wealth, access to Michelin-starred restaurants and Fashion Week participation which “indicate exclusivity.” Never mind large cities by definition have lots of people. Death Valley is nearer my notion of exclusive.
Even if “glam’s our jam,” fear not if you too lack means to seek out that “it” factor. Mike Morgan, a business professor at the University of Southern Mississippi (try Hattiesburg for real glam) advises, “If you want to live the lifestyle of somebody making $300,000, go out and make $600,000.” Thanks for that, Mike.
Megan McCoy, a business professor at Kansas State, counsels “Focus on what you think makes you glamorous … If you worry too much about what other people have, you will never be satisfied.” For instance living not in Manhattan, N.Y., but Kansas.
Since my focus is making fun of everything, I got wondering how “Know your audiences” compares with Sun Tzu’s “Art of War” advice “Hold your friends close, your enemies closer.” Successful sales communications thus equate to conquest.
Lawnstarter sending blind emails like this is a service that’s adversarial in that it means to play on my aspirations. If you dream of a “Real Housewives” lifestyle, you may hire them to make your yard look like greens at Augusta National.
Conquer others, you don’t need to worry about yourself, even though I do. “Boss,” I told him. “I’ve lived too long without that ‘it’ factor. Can you double my pay from $300,000 to $600,000?”
He spit out his coffee. “I don’t even pay you $3,” he said.
I play hardball when I negotiate. “OK, $6,” I said.
I walked away with $5 and $1 bills. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” he said.
Good luck not doing that in Saugatuck or Douglas. In Pullman I bought a bottle of Boone’s Farm Exotic Berry Wine and get change back. Too bad it wasn’t the change I wanted. Waking up in the gutter, I found the road blocked by a Freedom Convoy of lawnmower riders.
“What kind of Freedom Convoy,” I asked, “denies other free use of public roadways?”
“We want to be free of mask mandates,” said one.
“So your freedom’s more important than that of others?” I asked. “Your free choice not to be vaccinated trumps others’ not to have you transmit Covid to them?”
“All ethics,” said the rider, “are situational.”
“What about my freedom not to receive blind emails from your employer?”
“You are free to ignore them,” he said.
“Doesn’t ignorance come with its own expense?”
“Aren’t you verbal,” he said. “Are you left-brained?”
“Left it somewhere …”
“Any Boone’s Farm left?”
“Have a swig,” I said. “Why are you in Pullman?”
“More lawns need caring for here than in San Francisco, New York and Miami.”
“But fewer people who can turn $300K to $600K. Fewer aspirations.”
“Why are you here?”
“That’s how I like it.”
“This is crap.” He spat out the wine.
“You don’t like Exotic? Listen, I live somewhere else,” I said.
“Got a lawn?”
“Not here.”
“Fire ‘em up, boys! We’ve got us a job!” he cried.
As the Freedom Convoy advanced on my postage stamp-size yard, I saw Kim Kardashian, Prince Andrew and other glam seekers chasing them. How could I sate their appetites with just dregs of a Boone’s Farm bottle and bottom of a Ritz crackers bag? So I led them down Lakeshore Drive instead.
“Which of these homes is yours?” the lead driver asked.
“They all are,” I lied.
“Nice lawns …”
“Speed up,” I said as we neared the washout.
“But it says ‘Roads Ends’ there.”
“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom,” I quoted William Blake and waved them by off the cliff.
When life gives you lemmings, make lemingade, I thought. That must be a Boone’s Farm flavor. There’s not much more glamour like this that I can take.