Doodling my heart out about all things 'creative' ...
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Show me the money, honey!
How much money is ‘enough money’? I always have people come up to me and ask, “What do you do for a living mate?”. And after I’ve given them all that spiel on ideation and creativity, they go, “So how much money do you make?”. I mean what the F man. Half these people (well, make it nearly ALL) are stuck up in ruddy jobs that only lets them exercise their rusty thumbs to do a Ctrl C and a Ctrl V. They create absolute zilch their whole lives, going about their zombie-ite existence and making their parents go, “Oh, my son works for this fancy company you know. Makes money in dollars”. And all of this, only for that pseudo satisfaction of being able to count xyz rupees at the end of the month. Nobody wants a career. All they want is a job; and still, unfortunately so, THEIR cheeks are what all relatives want to pinch and squeeze in every fucking social gathering.

Now before I send out the wrong signal, lemme clear the air. I don’t want any grubby hand on my cheek, however adorable the intent maybe, squeezing it in an affectionate fit. My girl pinches me enough to compensate for the rest of the populace and boy am I glad for that or what! What I hate, is people signing me off as a no-brainer the minute I tell them I’m making a fraction of what their s/w engineering nincompoops are making.

WTF! I probably tax my brain more than all those s/w geeks ever do in their entire swathe of 24 hours. My profession necessitates I think round the clock, address real world problems, and solve them successfully. Every application my s/w counterpart writes a program for, has only a handful of algorithms that ring right in the binary scheme of things. The solution is a given and the codes they write are well, already defined. I write programs too. I write them for real people, mapping the entire spectrum of human emotions, which if laid in a straight line, would encircle our planet a zillion times and more.

It’s easy writing a program for a car accessory that needs to beep if something other than a perfect fit of a key is shoved into its arse. But it’s definitely not easy writing an ad for a vodka that is pink in colour, costs over 3 grand, can be drunk neat, targets the ‘muaaaaaaah daaaaaaaahling’ crowd, and goes by the name of Pinky! It’s easy writing code for an investment bank whose coffers once filled will spew out the exact amount figure that’s crammed in, right down to the last dime. But hallelujah, it ain’t easy understanding why people would shop in a Stella McCartney shop, or buy a Gucci bag (try asking Paris Hilton why she likes sporting Gucci bags. Even with all that drivel in her head, she’ll probably come up with umpteen number of reasons why the bag’s gonna make her go “wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!”). It’s probably easy writing a program for the electronic Rolex inside the hallowed turfs of Wimbledon. Every time Freddie hits an ace and his pleasantly plump girl smiles beatifically at him, the camera also pans on the Rolex and the time it screams with pin point precision. But try writing an ad for a Tommy watch and understand the sea of ‘Should I, shouldn’t I?’ thoughts a consumer goes through before he makes the purchase, and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

I’m not saying all techno geeks are dumb. I’m only saying that my thinking and involvement with my gray cells to offer communication solutions to brands is greater than what my friends with fancy job titles and pay packages do. Money’s gonna come with time. And hopefully, so will fame and flashbulbs. And that’s when I’ll look at you, you cheek pinching dumb aunty, and say, “Fuck You”. Till then, you can do all the googlee-wooglee-wosh you want to guys with big pay checks and uninteresting lives. My time’s gonna come; not to get pinched, instead to give you the finger.


posted by Mister Avant Garde @ 7:07 AM   25 comments
About Me

Name: Mister Avant Garde
Home: Bangalore, Karnataka, India
About Me: Have just started making money... Done studying (gosh, and to believe, i started this sojourn when i was all of three)... That's a lot of time i have spent cooped up within a classroom... Shucks, no wonder my DNA reeks of chalk powder!
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