It all started with a visit to Aroma Sanctum to see my friend Akuura who creates a special blend of perfume just for me that gloriously envelopes me everywhere I go. We talk about the power of scent, how powerful our noses are, and our favorite memories of our grandmothers' kitchens. All this talk about how things smell, including me, reminded me of several stories.
I'm at a preschool on one of my visits. It's "Play With Auntie Amya Day" and today I'm teaching them duck-duck-goose. Japan is not known for geese--I've seen none in my 20 plus years here--so before the instructions can be explained, we spend time establishing what a goose is. We all settle on a "big duck." I'm the first goose, and "duck, duck, duck" several kids before pegging one "goose!" and proceed to run in a wild circle. I'm caught, so I start over. This time I slide in, just barely, to the spot vacated by the goose and am cheered by the kids. A great miracle, indeed. The goose just stands there, and I pick up on the fact he's too shy to go out on his own. I get up, lean towards him and ask if we should "duck duck" together. He nods shyly. I asked quietly so it's our secret. We touch heads together but I let him whisper "duck, duck"and we make our way from kid to kid. I soon become the adopted goose, a defacto Mother Goose of sorts, and I make the way around the same circle with each gosling, "duck-duck"ing everyone.
I lean down towards one girl as the gosling and I "duck" her head, and she leans up, craning her neck towards mine and says, "You smell like my mother." I melt. Pure words of acceptance, those are. I'm touched. Since that day, whenever I'm in her class she comes up to me leaning in for a hug and smells my neck. "You smell good." I love this.
At another preschool, the focus is on my nose and not my scent. Since childhood, the size of my nose has been a commonly discussed topic. The most used phrase is, "Your nose is high." High, as in a tall building, or as in someone who's tall. This is not the same as "You have a big nose." High does not mean big. I've not grown up being told I have a big nose. This is important.
We're playing tag in a (different) preschool playground one day, and a boy runs past me and says the words I've never heard to date, "You have a big nose." I practically fall over. I almost call back "HIGH! Not BIG!" but don't. He doesn't mean it the way it sounded. He means well. He's five. Let it go.
To noses like mine, whether they're considered big or high, scent matters. Sean Connery's words about the American Express card, spoken in a television commercial twenty (?) years ago, "Don't leave home without it" applies to perfume for me. I do not leave home without it. Ever. Which is why, evidently, this one taxi driver needed to point this out to me.
Whether or not I end up talking with any given taxi driver is like rolling the dice. There's no pattern. Some days I'm hit right away with a "You're foreign, right?" comment, while others won't say a word. On this day, the driver saved his questions until the last thirty seconds. About to pull up to the corner where I asked to be dropped off, he looks at me in his rear view mirror and says, "You're not from here, are you?"
"No," I smile. "I'm not."
"You know how I knew?"
Do I want to know the answer? How bad can it be, right?"
"No. How?"
"You said 'hello' when you got in the car."
What?? This is news to me.
"People don't say 'hello' when they get into your taxi?"
"No way."
I ponder this. While I'm mulling this over, I hear, "And, you smell."
"Really!?" I must have sounded really shocked.
"Not bad. You smell good. But, you smell. Like perfume."
This conversation took me back to another taxi driver's comments about how he almost didn't pick me up (following that statement with a quick bow and an apology). "I picked up a foreign woman once before, and..." bowing again, "...she smelled so bad. I had to air out the taxi for hours to get the smell out." I'm flattered he picked me up, after hearing that.
Whoever it belongs to, the nose knows. For better or for worse, the nose knows.
Showing posts with label commercials. Show all posts
Showing posts with label commercials. Show all posts
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Ultimate Telling Off
The 2012 Best Television Commercial Award in Japan went to Toyota and the series of ads they created for the Prius. Here again is one of these "I can't make this up" stories. Look up on YouTube "Toyota Prius CM" and "Kimura Takuya" or "Beat Takeshi." The commercials are called "Toyota ReBorn" numbering quite a few. Try to start at the beginning. Here's the storyline.
Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, two lords notorious for betrayal, rivalry and war in Japanese history meet in modern-day Japan as Kimura Takuya and Beat Takeshi, two major and current celebrities. Kimura and Beat go on a road trip, with Beat giving the younger Kimura instructions. "Take the highway up north," and several commercials later they end up in Tohoku, Ishinomaki to be exact. Along the way they pick up Matsuko Deluxe, an popular and obese transvestite who's seen hitchhiking in a flowing black gown (looking very much like the grim reaper to me) who ends up being the wife or mistress of one of the two men. (I've forgotten enough of my Japanese history that I don't understand the historical significance of this woman. Google "Oichi-no-Kata" for more details.)
Once in Ishinomaki, they visit what used to be an evacuation shelter (now boarded up). While there, Beat says to Kimura, "Let's go to the ocean." What comes next is the best, most honest telling off--of the ocean. Beat screams, face twitching, the ultimate Japanese version of "F*** you." Technically, yelling "Bakayaro!" at the ocean that destroyed Ishinomaki and countless other cities and towns along the coast, he's calling the ocean stupid. Anyone who knows this man, however, knows he doesn't just say "stupid." His language is much more coarse. Not known for being nice or polite, Beat is absolutely, most definitely saying anything akin to just "stupid." In this one word, he does what we've all wanted to do since March 11th. The commercials are strong, powerful, and painful all at the same time. They deserve the award. If I were creating these commercials, I might have added Bolero as the soundtrack, but that's just me.
The commercials are worth watching. I applaud Toyota's audacity, their ability to take a subject not the least bit funny, taking two men admired and loved and turning a hybrid car into the medium by which to tell a story, express anger, and remind people to care. Watch it. Laugh and cry. Care.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afzj_J8MizM
Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, two lords notorious for betrayal, rivalry and war in Japanese history meet in modern-day Japan as Kimura Takuya and Beat Takeshi, two major and current celebrities. Kimura and Beat go on a road trip, with Beat giving the younger Kimura instructions. "Take the highway up north," and several commercials later they end up in Tohoku, Ishinomaki to be exact. Along the way they pick up Matsuko Deluxe, an popular and obese transvestite who's seen hitchhiking in a flowing black gown (looking very much like the grim reaper to me) who ends up being the wife or mistress of one of the two men. (I've forgotten enough of my Japanese history that I don't understand the historical significance of this woman. Google "Oichi-no-Kata" for more details.)
Once in Ishinomaki, they visit what used to be an evacuation shelter (now boarded up). While there, Beat says to Kimura, "Let's go to the ocean." What comes next is the best, most honest telling off--of the ocean. Beat screams, face twitching, the ultimate Japanese version of "F*** you." Technically, yelling "Bakayaro!" at the ocean that destroyed Ishinomaki and countless other cities and towns along the coast, he's calling the ocean stupid. Anyone who knows this man, however, knows he doesn't just say "stupid." His language is much more coarse. Not known for being nice or polite, Beat is absolutely, most definitely saying anything akin to just "stupid." In this one word, he does what we've all wanted to do since March 11th. The commercials are strong, powerful, and painful all at the same time. They deserve the award. If I were creating these commercials, I might have added Bolero as the soundtrack, but that's just me.
The commercials are worth watching. I applaud Toyota's audacity, their ability to take a subject not the least bit funny, taking two men admired and loved and turning a hybrid car into the medium by which to tell a story, express anger, and remind people to care. Watch it. Laugh and cry. Care.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afzj_J8MizM
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
What's on TV in Tohoku
Having relied on my computer-guru husband for all things electronic for the past twenty years, I've evidently become quite the techno-dud. Case in point: I can't get my television to work. Now that I'm back in Ofunato and have a television at my disposal, I'm watching. I call it research. Getting caught up on local news is an important part of my information gathering. I'm more surprised than not by what I'm seeing.
Two things strike me immediately. First, the commercials are anything like what I've seen on television in Tokyo (when I actually have access to TV). In the past thirty minutes, the commercials have shown the following: a cemetery plot in a nature park (twice), a new apartment complex inland, a vegetable-delivery service (twice), a pharmaceutical company ad, and a car dealership. There are the requisite coffee commercials, sports drinks, cosmetics, and ramen ads interspersed among the more locally relevant services being provided. The former list is unique to Tohoku, or so I'm guessing. Cemeteries for those who are no longer here, an apartment inland far away from the coast, fresh vegetables unlike those under suspicion, new or used cars for those whose were washed away. These commercials are airing a year after the tsunami?
I have yet to see a commercial in Tokyo advertising a cemetery. Or a we'll-make-sure-your-vegetables-are-safe promotion, targeting the fear of--dare I assume--radiation in locally grown produce?
Then there are the news programs highlighting areas hit by last year's tsunami. The news is, for the most part, not uplifting. The focus is on how much any given town was destroyed, how slow-going the recovery is, mayoral meetings discussing who can assist whom, damaged buildings and hospitals, the continued need for medical expertise (actually mentioning PTSD).
It's been over a year since the tsunami hit destroying city after city, town after town. Surely there's a feel-good story out there. I'm baffled by why there isn't more focus on these. If depression is an ongoing concern here, then why continue to focus on the negative?
Then I heard it. "It will be almost a year since the great disaster." What? They're airing a tear-jerker story from several months ago? Are the reporters on strike? Did the editors play the wrong clip? What's going on?
This is followed by Richard Gere hugging a kid as he drinks a bottle of Orangina. That's followed by an ad for the new show "Let's Make Tohoku Happy" starting April 7th. So there is good news. I'm baffled all over again as to why the focus on the negative, all while images of Richard Gere run through my brain.
Television content in Tohoku is not what I expected. I decide to continue my "research" and vow to keep monitoring the news and commercials to see what those around me are watching. Perhaps someone here can help me make sense of the negativity and commercials unlike those in Tokyo.
Two things strike me immediately. First, the commercials are anything like what I've seen on television in Tokyo (when I actually have access to TV). In the past thirty minutes, the commercials have shown the following: a cemetery plot in a nature park (twice), a new apartment complex inland, a vegetable-delivery service (twice), a pharmaceutical company ad, and a car dealership. There are the requisite coffee commercials, sports drinks, cosmetics, and ramen ads interspersed among the more locally relevant services being provided. The former list is unique to Tohoku, or so I'm guessing. Cemeteries for those who are no longer here, an apartment inland far away from the coast, fresh vegetables unlike those under suspicion, new or used cars for those whose were washed away. These commercials are airing a year after the tsunami?
I have yet to see a commercial in Tokyo advertising a cemetery. Or a we'll-make-sure-your-vegetables-are-safe promotion, targeting the fear of--dare I assume--radiation in locally grown produce?
Then there are the news programs highlighting areas hit by last year's tsunami. The news is, for the most part, not uplifting. The focus is on how much any given town was destroyed, how slow-going the recovery is, mayoral meetings discussing who can assist whom, damaged buildings and hospitals, the continued need for medical expertise (actually mentioning PTSD).
It's been over a year since the tsunami hit destroying city after city, town after town. Surely there's a feel-good story out there. I'm baffled by why there isn't more focus on these. If depression is an ongoing concern here, then why continue to focus on the negative?
Then I heard it. "It will be almost a year since the great disaster." What? They're airing a tear-jerker story from several months ago? Are the reporters on strike? Did the editors play the wrong clip? What's going on?
This is followed by Richard Gere hugging a kid as he drinks a bottle of Orangina. That's followed by an ad for the new show "Let's Make Tohoku Happy" starting April 7th. So there is good news. I'm baffled all over again as to why the focus on the negative, all while images of Richard Gere run through my brain.
Television content in Tohoku is not what I expected. I decide to continue my "research" and vow to keep monitoring the news and commercials to see what those around me are watching. Perhaps someone here can help me make sense of the negativity and commercials unlike those in Tokyo.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
The power of advertising
"I want that," I say, pointing to the television.
"What?" My husband looks up from his laptop and replies with no idea what I'm talking about.
"That," I point.
"What 'that'?" He's looking at the television, completely confused.
"You missed it." I'm annoyed.
"What was it?"
I turn to him. "Frankenstein was painting her toenails."
His look says it all. "Frankenstein was painting her toenails," and he repeats it slowly, making sure I really said what I said. "Whose toenails?"
"Yeah. Frankenstein was painting that woman's toenails. She was sitting by the pool. I think it was somewhere in Florida. I want Big Apple Red."
"You want Frankenstein to give you a pedicure?" He's not sure I'm sane.
"Not a pedicure," and I try not to add a tone that implies I would add "duh" at the end of that phrase. Clearly a complete pedicure would take too long. I just want my nails done. By Frankenstein.
"I want you to get someone to dress up like Frankenstein and paint my toenails. Red."
"Red. Yeah. I got that part. You want me to get some guy to dress up in a Frankenstein costume and paint your toenails? I just want to make sure I'm getting this."
I honestly don't understand what the big deal is. "Yes, I want you to get someone to dress up as Frankenstein, and yes, I want that person to paint my toenails." Duh. "Maybe for Christmas?" I add.
He's deliberate in what he says next. "May I ask why?"
"It looks like fun."
"Fun," and he trails off.
Am I the only one who finds the idea of sitting pool-side, sunbathing, and having Frankenstein paint my toenails serious fun? I think not. The power of suggestion, that this would be absolutely loads of fun, it's so clear to me. Surely this is why whoever is offering the services of Frankenstein's pedicure skills put it on a television commercial. Right?
Commercials are meant to sell. They want us to buy their products and services. Some do a better job of this than others. Case in point. A Japanese credit card company commercial says the following: "What you've seen on the previous commercial, and what you'll see on the next--buy them. Use this credit card." The implication is "buying is good and you should do it through us." No beating around the bush there.
Another commercial, this time for a stew, first starts out with a Christmas tree with lights flickering out from under piles of white snow. Star-shaped lights turn into star-shaped carrots in the stew. Yes, I now want to buy that stew. I also think star-shaped carrots are now officially a wonderful idea. Piping hot stew on a warm winter night with star-shaped carrots? I'm sold.
Commercials for canned coffee make even coffee look appealing. Those drinking them look happy, caffeinated, and ready to hit the day. That coffee is my current nemesis makes the fact these commercials catch my eye and make me wonder about my decision to continue avoiding the drink even a stronger point.
Staying with the coffee theme for a moment.....Some canned coffee advertising makes no sense but still makes one stand up and take notice. I was sitting on a train, absent-mindedly looking around when I see the following:
It'd be great if chicks liked me.
Maybe I'll be a panda.
Chicks like pandas, right?
Pandas are cute. Chicks like cute things.
But, then again, if I were a panda, I'd end up with a panda chick for life.
Hmm. That won't work.
Pandas and human chicks don't mix.
Still, worth a shot, maybe?
What this has anything to do with coffee is beyond me, but I did actually get up from my seat and write down the words from the ad. I didn't buy the coffee, but I had to stifle a guffaw on the train.
I find Japanese advertising to be a mix of subtle, nuanced suggestions mixed with outright "buy this and you too can look like me" statements. I'm not sure I can completely put my finger on what is so different from the ads I see back in the US but different they are. Here is yet another new side of Japan I'm seeing. Why I'm noticing this now is still a mystery to me, but the power of advertising has been a running theme in my life since my arrival.
"I can dress up as Frankenstein and paint your toenails." Evidently, my husband is still figuring out how to look up where to find a company that sends out Frankensteins to sunbathing women.
"Absolutely not."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why'?"
"I don't see why I can't paint your toenails."
"It's not the same thing."
"I don't get it."
"I want a real Frankenstein."
"You realize," and here he pauses, "you make no sense."
"I do, too," and I don't add, "in my world" because even after twenty-plus years there are clearly some things he still doesn't get. Seriously powerful advertising is one of them.
"What?" My husband looks up from his laptop and replies with no idea what I'm talking about.
"That," I point.
"What 'that'?" He's looking at the television, completely confused.
"You missed it." I'm annoyed.
"What was it?"
I turn to him. "Frankenstein was painting her toenails."
His look says it all. "Frankenstein was painting her toenails," and he repeats it slowly, making sure I really said what I said. "Whose toenails?"
"Yeah. Frankenstein was painting that woman's toenails. She was sitting by the pool. I think it was somewhere in Florida. I want Big Apple Red."
"You want Frankenstein to give you a pedicure?" He's not sure I'm sane.
"Not a pedicure," and I try not to add a tone that implies I would add "duh" at the end of that phrase. Clearly a complete pedicure would take too long. I just want my nails done. By Frankenstein.
"I want you to get someone to dress up like Frankenstein and paint my toenails. Red."
"Red. Yeah. I got that part. You want me to get some guy to dress up in a Frankenstein costume and paint your toenails? I just want to make sure I'm getting this."
I honestly don't understand what the big deal is. "Yes, I want you to get someone to dress up as Frankenstein, and yes, I want that person to paint my toenails." Duh. "Maybe for Christmas?" I add.
He's deliberate in what he says next. "May I ask why?"
"It looks like fun."
"Fun," and he trails off.
Am I the only one who finds the idea of sitting pool-side, sunbathing, and having Frankenstein paint my toenails serious fun? I think not. The power of suggestion, that this would be absolutely loads of fun, it's so clear to me. Surely this is why whoever is offering the services of Frankenstein's pedicure skills put it on a television commercial. Right?
Commercials are meant to sell. They want us to buy their products and services. Some do a better job of this than others. Case in point. A Japanese credit card company commercial says the following: "What you've seen on the previous commercial, and what you'll see on the next--buy them. Use this credit card." The implication is "buying is good and you should do it through us." No beating around the bush there.
Another commercial, this time for a stew, first starts out with a Christmas tree with lights flickering out from under piles of white snow. Star-shaped lights turn into star-shaped carrots in the stew. Yes, I now want to buy that stew. I also think star-shaped carrots are now officially a wonderful idea. Piping hot stew on a warm winter night with star-shaped carrots? I'm sold.
Commercials for canned coffee make even coffee look appealing. Those drinking them look happy, caffeinated, and ready to hit the day. That coffee is my current nemesis makes the fact these commercials catch my eye and make me wonder about my decision to continue avoiding the drink even a stronger point.
Staying with the coffee theme for a moment.....Some canned coffee advertising makes no sense but still makes one stand up and take notice. I was sitting on a train, absent-mindedly looking around when I see the following:
It'd be great if chicks liked me.
Maybe I'll be a panda.
Chicks like pandas, right?
Pandas are cute. Chicks like cute things.
But, then again, if I were a panda, I'd end up with a panda chick for life.
Hmm. That won't work.
Pandas and human chicks don't mix.
Still, worth a shot, maybe?
What this has anything to do with coffee is beyond me, but I did actually get up from my seat and write down the words from the ad. I didn't buy the coffee, but I had to stifle a guffaw on the train.
I find Japanese advertising to be a mix of subtle, nuanced suggestions mixed with outright "buy this and you too can look like me" statements. I'm not sure I can completely put my finger on what is so different from the ads I see back in the US but different they are. Here is yet another new side of Japan I'm seeing. Why I'm noticing this now is still a mystery to me, but the power of advertising has been a running theme in my life since my arrival.
"I can dress up as Frankenstein and paint your toenails." Evidently, my husband is still figuring out how to look up where to find a company that sends out Frankensteins to sunbathing women.
"Absolutely not."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why'?"
"I don't see why I can't paint your toenails."
"It's not the same thing."
"I don't get it."
"I want a real Frankenstein."
"You realize," and here he pauses, "you make no sense."
"I do, too," and I don't add, "in my world" because even after twenty-plus years there are clearly some things he still doesn't get. Seriously powerful advertising is one of them.
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