Flack Files
As our favorite flack wraps up market week, she’s got a few choice words for the sales side.
Dear Sales Rep,
I loved spending time with you last week at the trade shows. Nothing gets the day off right like standing in line to collect a badge you SWORE you registered me for, and then haggling with some zit-faced intern at the check-in desk for 45 minutes about why my name should be on the list. Thank you so much for not picking up your cell phone to expedite the process! It gave me such joy to later read your snide, superior email, with our client in cc, that after I left the booth (to go back to WORK) a “major editor” from a Hearst publication stopped by. Flack you! When I checked the name of this editrix goddess, she came up as a closet assistant’s assistant….so I’m now tasked with drafting a perfectly passive aggressive email to share this news with you. TBH I can’t wait. Regardless, now you’re going to take credit for any editorial to ever hit the pages of that magazine due to this deep connection. It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m personal friends with this youngster’s DIRECTOR. Of note: thank you so much assistant assistant editor for confidently telling my client “you’ve never heard of the brand before and are so excited to discover something new.” Seriously, I sent your boss 17 emails last week about this client’s craptastic personal care line and she wrote me back and politely gave me the meaningful “we’ll keep in mind for future stories” line. So yeah…she knows about it.
Here’s a quick tip to you sales folks: 99% of real editors who actually schedule appointments to meet you during trade shows will attend with the publisher. So while she’s sitting there preaching about how this jewelry could be perfect for covers, he’s sizing up your ad budget. In closing, I can’t wait to avoid eye contact with you when I head to Tranoi to scout for new business (AKA my excuse to expense a Parisian getaway). I’ll spend 15 minutes racing through the Da Vinci Code-inspired basement of the Louvre, conveniently never passing by your hideous booth, and then I’ll duck out for all you can eat buttery croissants and a stroll on Rue Saint-Honore. I win!
May we never speak again,
Your Friendly Flack
