Today at work a major controversy arose. Our main client, a major retailer with a flyer that looks like Disneyland if Michael Eisner was even greedier and more afraid of offending people, sent us some women's underwear.
They send us women's underwear a lot. We hire the appropriate models and take the appropriate pictures. A curious 13 year old without an internet connection could not get excited about the end product, although a lot of the merchandise is a bit racy....mostly thongs.
What we got today was sheer though. Really sheer. By the time it gets stretched across a model it will provide a hint of colour, no more. My first impulse was to phone a honcho and explain the situation. I'm not in charge of this, though...the art director is.
His first tactic was avoidance...he pretended it wasn't happening. The stylist leaned on him a bit though. She said, "I don't know if the modelling agency will put out a call for girls who shave." The art director put a doll's head in the panties, mumbled something about flesh tones, then wandered off. He clearly had given no thought to bikini spiders and how a forest of them might look squished under sheer purple panties. He certainly wasn't willing to discuss it with a woman present.
The stylist looked at me. I said, "Ask the agency and if they don't have anybody hire a stripper. There's no way this is going in the flyer anyway."
The stylist said, "So you want me to call up the agency and ask for somebody who shaves their....twat?"
She's also a nurse and almost as old as me, so I asked, "Is twat a medical term or are you my real Grandma?"
She whacked me in the head in what I hope was a playful manner and said, "I'm not really comfortable with this."
"You haven't even thought of the worst of it," I said, "There are things that nobody can shave off. These panties are made to draw attention to them." I showed her the layouts, which seemed to have some kind of Judo theme.
"Oh shit," she said.
So we discussed things for a while, using the "c" word in more or less a scientific manner and pondering the mysteries of the artist's mind. We came up with some poses that almost match the layout and still maintain some modesty while showing the underwear. The thing is that the underwear have no front and no back and disappear completely at the sides, so it's kind of hard not to show one crack or another and still show the product.
Anyway, because nobody has the balls to call the woman who is going to reject the shots, rightfully so, from the flyer and tell her that this isn't going to work, we're going to shoot it. The photographer will no doubt be happy and the art director will insist on being in the studio for a change.
Not me though...I'll sit in the studio next door while the shoot is on. I have more important things to do at work than stare at models. When the call comes though...that call full of ugliness and recriminations that I know will result from this...I know somebody is going to be hollering for me.
I plan to give my best shrug and wander back to the shipping room to drink Mexican beer and chainsmoke Indonesian cigarettes at that point. Why not? Those are the spoils of the art director's last act of cowardice, after all. I caught hell for that one too...
They send us women's underwear a lot. We hire the appropriate models and take the appropriate pictures. A curious 13 year old without an internet connection could not get excited about the end product, although a lot of the merchandise is a bit racy....mostly thongs.
What we got today was sheer though. Really sheer. By the time it gets stretched across a model it will provide a hint of colour, no more. My first impulse was to phone a honcho and explain the situation. I'm not in charge of this, though...the art director is.
His first tactic was avoidance...he pretended it wasn't happening. The stylist leaned on him a bit though. She said, "I don't know if the modelling agency will put out a call for girls who shave." The art director put a doll's head in the panties, mumbled something about flesh tones, then wandered off. He clearly had given no thought to bikini spiders and how a forest of them might look squished under sheer purple panties. He certainly wasn't willing to discuss it with a woman present.
The stylist looked at me. I said, "Ask the agency and if they don't have anybody hire a stripper. There's no way this is going in the flyer anyway."
The stylist said, "So you want me to call up the agency and ask for somebody who shaves their....twat?"
She's also a nurse and almost as old as me, so I asked, "Is twat a medical term or are you my real Grandma?"
She whacked me in the head in what I hope was a playful manner and said, "I'm not really comfortable with this."
"You haven't even thought of the worst of it," I said, "There are things that nobody can shave off. These panties are made to draw attention to them." I showed her the layouts, which seemed to have some kind of Judo theme.
"Oh shit," she said.
So we discussed things for a while, using the "c" word in more or less a scientific manner and pondering the mysteries of the artist's mind. We came up with some poses that almost match the layout and still maintain some modesty while showing the underwear. The thing is that the underwear have no front and no back and disappear completely at the sides, so it's kind of hard not to show one crack or another and still show the product.
Anyway, because nobody has the balls to call the woman who is going to reject the shots, rightfully so, from the flyer and tell her that this isn't going to work, we're going to shoot it. The photographer will no doubt be happy and the art director will insist on being in the studio for a change.
Not me though...I'll sit in the studio next door while the shoot is on. I have more important things to do at work than stare at models. When the call comes though...that call full of ugliness and recriminations that I know will result from this...I know somebody is going to be hollering for me.
I plan to give my best shrug and wander back to the shipping room to drink Mexican beer and chainsmoke Indonesian cigarettes at that point. Why not? Those are the spoils of the art director's last act of cowardice, after all. I caught hell for that one too...