To Market To Market

120131

So I’ve been thinking a lot about marketing lately. As most of you likely know, I’ve got this little video production company on the side, but what most of you might NOT know is that I also take pictures! Great pictures! Lots of them! While you ponder that, let me ask you this:

If you were in the market for boudoir photography, how would you go about finding it?

It’s a market I want to get into, and I have some really amazing work samples, but I can’t see it being anything but shady just tossing this stuff up online. Like, I just went to upload some so I could link off that last sentence, but I got worried and chickened out at the last minute. I know there’s people out there that read, and I know that at least SOME of you are ladies, so! Ladies! Riddle me this! How would YOU want to be presented with boudoir photography?


And then I saw it:

120129

ECA_9089

ECA_9092

 

ECA_9103

 

ECA_9109

ECA_9111

 

Rural Pennsylvania, 8am on Sunday, and I’m shooting an actual nuclear power plant. Nuts! See more on Tumblr.


Glad it’s not MY job.

110505

I’ve never understood businesses that put people in funny costumes and trot them around the sidewalk. Liberty Tax? The gentleman dressed up like the statue does nothing to instill my confidence in your tax prep capability. That Chicken Place down the street? The teenage girl outfitted as Big Bird makes me consider revisiting my days as a vegetarian. Unless you are a children’s store, and the subject in question is wearing a giant puppy suit, this notion that costumed mascots create some kind of uptick in business makes no earthly sense to me.

There’s this rug store on my way to work, and I always kind of feel bad for the place. They’re sort of on the outskirts of town, they always have a sign out front advertising “Rug Cleaning!”, and I’m steeling myself for the eventuality that there will one day be a liquidation sale banner hanging in the window. So I’m driving by the other day and there’s this giant box with legs waving at me.

It was a very confused few seconds before I realized that I was looking at a man in a carpet suit. A CARPET SUIT. I mean, really. Take a second to wrap your head around that! Like, someone was actually like, “Come on, Phyllis, let’s get the carpet suit out of the basement. Business is slow, it’s time to make some money.” I’m totally baffled.


It’s all Greek to me. Mmm. Olives.

110406

B! and I met in 2003, when I signed up to be a PA for his self-produced indie feature. I seemed like I had cred, since I was working for a real live production company, and we treated each other with the respect of fellow cinephiles. His encyclopedic knowledge of film history made him disposed to reference the Great Directors as part of everyday vernacular – every conversation led to Scorsese – and I would smile, nod, and politely change the subject.

I couldn’t let on, you see, that I have no interest in movies.

I mean, I WATCH movies. I ENJOY movies. I’m just not INTERESTED in movies. Like, I have no HEAD for them. I could sooner tell you the first ten digits of Pi than tell you who directed the last film I watched, and I’m horrible about remembering plots. I once sat through an entire hour and a half of  “Audition” before realizing it wasn’t the movie I thought it was. (An aside: does anyone know of *another* Asian gore flick that involves pretty girls and piano wire?) But I couldn’t let B! know this. Especially while we worked on the next four films together.

I’m telling you, this went on for years.

So OK, it’s last night, 2011. We’re flipping through the Netflix queue the other night, and he’s like, “Let’s watch ‘The 400 Blows‘”, and I’m like “God, is it one of those movies that has no PLOT?”

He looked at me, quizzically, thinking I was making a (somewhat incorrect) generalization about French New Wave. His mind tried to wrap itself around who I could be talking about, and, after a brief cataloguing of the collected works of Francois Truffaut, settled on Godard as a resting place. “I mean, ‘Breathless‘ was kind of weird”, he thought. “Sort of.”

I took a sip of wine, musing. Those black and white movies with no plot. I got into those for awhile, so I’d be able to talk about things like I knew things. I suffered through so many of those damn boring films, all subtitles and jester suits… Which one was the worst one, which one did I have to turn off?

“Like ‘8 1/2‘” I blurted out.

B!’s face drained of color as I realized my mistake.

“FELLINI??!”

His voice was a whisper, not a shriek.

I fumbled for an explanation, knowing that insulting The Great Fellini was like kicking his sister in the neck. I felt exposed (shamed!), for not only had I not LIKED 8 1/2, I hadn’t even REMEMBERED who directed it. I’d completely shown my hand, totally blown it,  effectively ended nearly ten years of a well-played charade.

“I mean, that’s not even FRENCH NEW WAVE!!” His eyes were like saucers, they poured me a whole new shade of cream. “That’s ITALIAN!”

Completely trapped, I dissolved into hysterical laughter. I couldn’t bear to tell him that Fellini and Truffaut always seemed like kind of the same thing to me.


SHAMELESS self-promotion

110120

HEY HEY GUYS! GUYS! I’M ON THE INTERNET! FOR REAL THIS TIME! If I haven’t already compelled you to watch these videos through Facebook, LinkedIn, or Gmail bombardment, I beseech you one last time to indulge me. I am so proud of these little pieces – I edited “Activities“, “Classes“, “Friends“, “Home“, and “The Key Twirl” – and it was such a blast to work with the footage. It’ll take literally less than a minute. Then come back here and tell me I’m awesome.

 


%d bloggers like this: