I'm lookin' at you, Taylor Swift.
Am I a big fan of Taylor Swift? Not really. She has that one song about breathing or something that's kind of okay, but I really only like that because Boyce Avenue covered it. I love Boyce Avenue, and I really wish they were touring closer than Chicago. But I digress.
Anyway, one thing I love even more than Boyce Avenue is free shit. I'm not the most wealthy gal in Indiana, so I really enjoy receiving free samples of things in the mail. I sign up for at least one free sample per day. And then, it's like Christmas every day! You know, if Christmas were some shitty third-world holiday in which you receive about a teaspoon of shampoo, fiercely rub your head for five minutes trying to make a lather with that little shampoo, and gain a perplexing and ultimately undeserved sense of accomplishment.
I had one of my free samples sent to work last week, just to mix it up a bit. It was a sample of Taylor Swift's new perfume. It's called Wonderstruck. I felt mysterious just looking at the envelope.
Don't mind if I do, Taylor. Don't mind if....
Why... of all the places on this entire card.... did we put the mystical gateway to Smell Good Land right on your... eh...
I mean seriously... let's re-examine this:
Don't even try to tell me it wasn't intentional.
Seriously, if we're going to be this weird about our marketing, let's just complete the presentation with an equally awkward slogan. Something like, I don't know...
Yeah, that'll work.
At this point upon "enjoying" my free sample, I was laughing so hard that my boss literally came from across the building to see what was happening. Tears were streaming down my face. It was just so absurd.
And before anyone makes the argument that I'm just being immature, let me ask you this: If it's truly so innocent, then why was I immediately asked to remove it from the door to our room? By my supervisor, who happens to read this blog, and has an awesome sense of humor?
I rest my case. Someone is either a marketing failure, or a total perv. Or maybe both.
(oh, and yes, the sign on the left on our door is indeed about Mr. Biffles. )