Lisa Hates A Thing: Upselling

I know what I want.

At least, I know what I want in terms of how I want to spend my money. Other stuff? Not so much. Do I want to stay at my job or quit? Do I want to stay in the country or piss off and be an expat? Do I want to date this person, that person, or all of the persons?

I don’t know, so STOP PRESSURING ME. Jesus. And stop asking me about wanting god damn kids then giving me shit about my answer. I don’t trust anyone who wants me to do something that’s potentially going to give me a cloaca.

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I once told a doc I was thinking about having a baby and she said, “OUT OF THERE?”

Upselling is ubiquitous in consumer culture. Throw in an extra feature? Sure! How about this other option? Of course! Seems like a good idea! In the end, we wind up spending far more than we intended and hating ourselves for our weakness and gullibility. How did we not see that the salesperson was just trying to sell us more stuff????

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She obviously wants to come to your….ummmmm….whatever the hell it is.

My previous job at the Waffle House taught me everything I need to know about upselling. Mostly what it is and why I don’t want to do it. The training video showed me how to upsell chocolate or lemon pie…at no benefit to myself. Have you had chocolate or lemons pie at the Waffle House? At which hospital did you wind up?

This is the only thing you need to know about why Trump won.

Upselling is about suggestion. Suggesting more products or services than the buyer intended in the moment. Is the buyer here for a meal? Sell him desert. Is the buyer here for a haircut? Sell him a shave. My irritation is that I understand this is happening. I KNOW. I know when I’m being marketed to and I know when I’m being upsold to because I’m not a moron. However, too often this happens only when another human being holds my hair in their hands.

Recently, I got a haircut. This doesn’t sound like a huge deal, but I assure you, it is. See, where I live, women’s haircuts are fucking expensive. Most start at sixty bucks. Sometimes, you can find a place that starts at fifty. Thus, haircuts only happen for me maybe three times a year. Four if I have a Groupon.

So, this salon in an up and coming neighborhood* had an opening and only charged $45! Fan-fucking-tastic! I’m in the chair…getting my hair cut by a very pleasant woman…..then……

“What are your long term goals for your appearance?”

THE FUCK?????

My long term goals for my appearance are god damn simple: I want to look pretty, OK? I want to feel good about my hair, so that means a getting a good haircut.

Ohhhhh, but it didn’t stop there.

“Have you thought about tinting your eyebrows? It would add more definition to your face.”

NO I AIN’T THOUGHT ABOUT TINTING MY EYEBROWS!

via GIPHY

“If you didn’t want to tint your brows, an overall blonde would suit you. We could do an ombre. That would be so pretty on you.”

Bitch, you had one job. Cut. My. Hair.

But, you had to upsell. And not even products! I’m used to being upsold pomades and shit because they make my hair look like a photo shoot. You had to upsell treatments to make me feel like a more acceptable human female.

And now, even though the haircut you gave me is OK and only cost $45, I’m not coming back. Because you made me feel like a work in progress.

TINTING MY FUCKING EYEBROWS. ARE YOU GOD DAMN KIDDING ME?

You’ll never tint my eyebrows.

Fucking cunt.

*I’ll deal with this shit in another blog post.

Lisa Hates A Thing: Viral Marketing

Your viral marketing plan is bullshit.

A few years ago, a massive sculpture of a single mac n’ cheese noodle popped up in Philadelphia near Love Park. In a city known for public art, a giant bit of mac n’ cheese wasn’t terribly out of the ordinary. After all, this city has a statue of a giant clothespin:

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A representation of all of our disapproving mothers.

Along with oversized recreations of game pieces:

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Because Philadelphians are sore losers.

And a statue that might just be of poop:

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A fiber problem?

Cheddar yellow and emblazoned with the phrase, “You know you love it,” the mac n’ cheese statue was immediately a draw for photo ops, which went all over social media. It as so fun! It was so Philly!

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Note the punctuation choice. A period rather than an exclamation. This statue is an asshole and knows it.

It was so viral marketing. Copies had been placed in several cities by Kraft. Because….I guess there are people who don’t know about mac n’ cheese?

How empty must their lives be? Had they been locked in a bunker? Why is there a need to market mac n’ cheese? It’s the perfect snack, it’s easy and fast, and it’s everywhere. Mac n’ cheese is beyond marketing at this point. It permeates the snack-o-sphere. You don’t need to market that.

Just keep churning out new ways to enjoy it, Kraft. If you want to market, buy some fucking add space like the giant conglomerate you are. Don’t act all start-up, you corporate piece of shit.

Which brings me to Lady Gaga.

I’m barely aware of her music anymore, but her imagery is everywhere. I can’t go on the internet without seeing her photo everywhere in promotion of her new album, Joanne.

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I’m part of the problem.

She’s permeating everything, much like pumpkin spice. So, I about lost my shit when I saw this stencil defacing public sidewalks all over Philly:

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Someone went to college to deface this public sidewalk.

It’s the mac n’ cheese statue all over again. Only now it has a fucking hashtag.

This kind of marketing is for start ups and indie bands, not an artist with a multiple number one albums and a recording deal with fucking Interscope. Jesus.

Fuck corporate viral marketing.

Lisa Hates A Thing: Bumble

In the world of dating apps, there’s losers and there’s losers. The losers are all of the apps. The other losers are everyone on them. Let’s review our dating app options:

Tinder (people who want to fuck). OKCupid (people without smartphones who want to fuck). Match (people with $25 a month to burn who want to fuck). Hinge (stalkers who want to fuck).

Then there’s Bumble.

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The logo looks like a bee hive AND a vagina.

The so-called feminist Tinder, which requires the woman to initiate conversation. Sounds great! But, those assholes at Bumble put a fucking 24 hour time limit on making contact. You match…..you have 24 hours to message your match…..he or she has another 24 hours to respond. This slows shit down considerably.

It also turns everyone into an asshole. Know why?

Because you’ve sent your clever initial message and then…. THERE’S LITERALLY A TIMER COUNTING DOWN ALL THE HOURS THAT BASTARD/ BITCH ISN’T RESPONDING.

That’s what I like in a dating app: building resentment immediately. I’m going to resent you eventually anyway, so let’s just cut right the fuck to it.

And the fucking action photos!

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“Maybe someone at the bottom of this lake will love me!”

I’ve spent some time on OKStoopid and I’ve seen to truly terrible profile pics. Mirror selfies. Bathroom mirror selfies. Bathroom mirror selfies that are obviously in a public loo in some shit establishment. And driver’s seat photos. So many driver’s seat photos. Why are you taking a selfie in your car? And why aren’t you smiling? Jesus.

Bumble is pic after pic after pic of people skiing! Cliff diving! Wind surfing! Hiking! Bumble is full of people who Do! All! The! Things! Like they don’t want to just make a cocktail, sink into the sofa, and watch Netflix like the rest of us.

He really wants to watch Black Mirror, but is worried his friends will think he's a nerd.
He really wants to watch Black Mirror, but is worried his friends will think he’s a nerd.

As a point of contrast, my photos fall into two camps: 1) me singing at karaoke and 2) me leaning against a brick wall.

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My spoken word album cover

How the fuck is anyone supposed to keep up with that shit? How is anyone supposed to feel OK about what they actually do when they’re confronted with another social media construction of a fabulous life?

Guess what, Bumble assholes? You’re not really fabulous. You’re just like everyone else, except with a couple more action photos. And I guarantee that I had more fun drinking whiskey and binging Snuff Box than you did on the ski trip where you took your profile pic. You know, the trip where you fucked that waitress then called your girlfriend a whore because she smiled at your cousin.

Fuck Bumble.