As if further proof were needed that US Vogue's Editor in Chief need finaly step down, the magazine's January 2010 cover seems to want to usher in the new decade with nostalgia. Harking back almost to the days of Anna Wintour's youth, a time when housewives everywhere would long for perfectly coiffed hair and a neatly buttoned cardigan, Hollywood sweetheart Rachel McAdams resembles what can only be described as the American Dream's First Lady. It's not that I have a problem with the seemingly idealistic concept behind the styling, or indeed the choice of the printed silk Dolce & Gabbana S/S 2010 ensemble. It's more the accompanying coverline, referring to her latest role in Guy Ritchie's interpretation of Sherlock Holmes, which reads 'Mean Girl to Sexy Sleuth'. Is the aforementioned nod to suburban living circa 1950 somehow embodying a supposedly feminist, and in Wintour's own words I hasten to add, sexy sleuth? Do spies run around sporting pink lipstick and some serious ear bling? I think not. Come on Ms. Wintour, must try harder.
As far as I can recall, the Christmas season should be filled with much mulled wine quaffing, mince pie munching and general good will to all mankind. So when self-righteous employees of certain air and trainlines decide that their worker's rights are more important than the entire population's festive happiness at this time of year, it does not a very merry Christmas make.
Whilst I can understand the motive behind British Airways cabin crew staff voting to strike for twelve days over the Christmas period (job cuts and contractual clauses incidentally) I can't move beyond the blatant selfishness of such a choice. Like it or not, this is oftentime the one chance families have to be reunited, and whatever their quibbles with Mr Willie Walsh, can't they go for a time of year that is just, well, a little bit more low key?
Add to that the fact that Eurostar drivers have now announced they'll be striking this coming Friday and Saturday over pay disputes, and we're pretty much transported back to the days when travelling on a ship was the only option. Let's just hope we're not forced to ride the Titanic. BA might still be waiting on a High Court Judge's decision to put an end to their cabin crew's antics, but I'll be damned if I will. It's called utilitarianism people. Look it up.
Another year, another X Factor final grips the nation. But besides the fact that all Saturday night television from now until September next year will pale in comparison for us punters, the big bosses at ITV must really be looking forward to Christmas. Why? Maybe it's to do with the 10 million plus viewers who voted over the weekend to choose their 2009 winner, maybe it's to do with the expertly handled prime time scheduling whereby both live finals were sandwiched between fellow X Factor judge Cheryl Cole's 'Night In' and a This is Your Life style program charting the meteoric rise of Britain's Got Talent singing sensation Susan Boyle.
Or maybe it's to do with the fact that Mr Simon Cowell has managed to so heavily PR what remains the equivalent of a Butlins karaoke show, that ITV were selling 30 second ad slots during the live finals for £250,000 a pop. Which means every time Dermot-I'm always chirpy I am-O'Leary winked his wink and told us he'd see us on the other side, ITV bosses were pocketing about £1.5 million. Lord knows what percentage makes it into Cowell's bank account by the end of it, but now that the music mogul has reportedly requested an increased budget for next year's show (I'm not sure how many more fireworks I can handle actually) I can't imagine anyone saying no. Quite the opposite in fact. It looks like Cowell's turning the clock back to the days of the high-waisted trouser wearing, cigar smoking, moobs displaying fat cats who sit round a poker table somewhere in Soho discussing their plans to take over the world. Did I mention he's in talks to launch the X Factor in Las Vegas with rotund retail guru Sir Philip Green? Ah. Point proven then.
Kleenex's latest TV commercial campaign, shot by the renowned Rankin, is one of my favourites at the moment. And this time round, not only have they decided to continue with their hugely successful payoff line 'let it out', but they've also enlisted the help of a diverse mix of celebrities; an ageing rocker famed for his political activism, a pint sized popstar hailing from one of the most successful girl bands of all time, and an ex England football manager best known for sporadic sexual dalliances with fellow Swede Ulrika Jonsson.
Whilst we're all familiar with the power of celebrity endorsement when it comes to selling products, the concept behind Kleenex's casting of Bob Geldof, Emma Bunton and Sven Goran Eriksson is truly innovative. Who would have thought that the things that make you or I laugh or cry might also affect the lives of the rich and famous? Geldof laughs in the face of stern-browed businessmen everywhere, Bunton shakes off the infantile epithet of her Spice Girl days as she rocks out in private, and Sven's childhood dreams of sporting athleticism are at once scuppered and fully realised in one moment as he scores the winning goal with a screwed up tissue.
For me, the power of this campaign lies in its unashamed voyeurism; we are privy to the deepest thoughts and feelings of the very same public figures that hold their privacy so dear to them. Targeting typically hard-to-reach demographics with its universal appeal, this is advertising at its best.
