I don’t mean that it’s waiting on deck for the Pearly Gates in hospice, or being read it last rites. I mean the era of Mad Men has full-on flat lined. With a Super Bowl ad boasting an infamous price tag of over $5 million in 2017, the appeal of purchasing 30 seconds of airtime for the cost of a series A seems less attractive than an ex-girlfriend in bad mood. Consumers yearn for something authentic. They want you to earn their attention, on numerous platforms, in a split second through raw emotion, true value and a unique proposition.
The walls of my makeshift room rattle to the bass of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.” The floor under my back rumbles from the impact of heavy weights hitting a concrete floor. With my head pounding and my eardrums aching, I slowly stand. My bloodshot eyes open to the sunlight peeking through my cardboard-covered window. I peer through the crack and my nightmare is realized. It’s 5 a.m., I live in a gym and there’s a damn CrossFit class outside of my door. My day has begun.
As a kid I dreamed of becoming a professional athlete. I fell asleep to the smell of freshly-mowed outfield grass and dozed amongst thousands of cheering fans. I wasn’t the only kid having these sensational dreams, though, and it wasn’t long until I woke up to the realization that I would never make it in the big leagues. In the fall of my junior year I tore my ACL and MCL and finally had to accept my sports fate as that of a “casual athlete.”