Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Fuck A T Shirt

Thanks to Chris for making me feel compelled to write about this topic of marketing. I think I first got the desire to touch on this on Sunday morning when I sat down for breakfast. I opened up the paper, read the news, and then made my way to the ad's.

I checked out Circuit City's advertisements and checked out the new album releases. I don't know why really, why would I buy a damn CD? But anyway, I saw Bun B's new album II Trill was coming out (great album by the way). Along with the picture of the cover art it had a picture of a t-shirt with the cover art on it. OK, a free t-shirt with your purchase of Bun B's new album (while supplies last of course).

Hello, you, at the record label. Do you want to know what happens to these shirts? They become the lining for a bird cage, a rag to wipe dust off of shit in my room and a bunch of other things that don't include being worn.

Why should I wear this t-shirt? Is the album art particularly attractive? No. Will it make my friends think I'm cool? No. Will it clothe me? Yes. Did I want an article of clothing when I purchased a CD though? No. I can't blame you decision makers at record labels too much though. What can you do to make a person buy a CD nowadays anyway? Maybe offer a free eight ball and a coupon for the local prostitute.

But seriously, nothing can really help the sale of CD's. As far as other products go though, shirts with your logo, don't work. I don't want the shit, even if it's free. Unless you are going to make a creative t-shirt like this to promote your brand, save the hands of these third world children. I will not be a walking billboard for you. Neither will most of my generation. I'm sure some 40 year old out there that wears the first thing he sees in the morning would wear a t-shirt with Bun B's album cover plastered on the front, but not this 21 year old that wants to get some more ass this century.

The only way I would wear your album cover on my chest is if it was that one that I lead this post with.

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