What do you do if a competitor keeps insulting you in their ads? Insult back, meowww...!? No, we gotta do it in style and PC has an answer: Discredit your competitor.
With the help of ad agency TBWA\Media Arts Lab and direction of Steve Jobs, Apple Inc. began a series of humorous PC-attacking commercials in 2006, featuring a casually dressed young man representing Mac, and a frustrated-looking stereotyped chubby mid-aged middle management type portraying PC. Each of these commercial tells PC users what problems they could have avoided if they had a Mac, hoping to encourage brand switch. The commercials are usually funny, light-weighted and stylish with minimalist white background, which make them highly recognizable and memorable; and have also received pretty good acclaims from their viewers even though some consider them mean-spirited.
Now after three years of bombarding PC, die-hard PC users have began to feel irritated each time they see these Mac vs. PC commercials. Many PC users, including myself, do not want a Mac, will not spend $1,000 for a slow laptop, and we are tired being reminded of the problems we are quite aware of while watching our favorite shows!
With great patience, PC waited for this tipping point when PC users became fed up with these Mac vs. PC commercials, then it launched a brilliant counter-attack. With all the excellent track records of success of Apple’s commercials (the campaign received the Grand Effie Award in 2007), does PC need to come up with something even smarter or more stylish? Perhaps, and that’s the usual practice; but it not only will take a lot of dollars and thinkings to launch a proper attack-back strategy like that, it could also get really ugly between Mac and PC if such campaign takes place. That's not good for either company's brand image. Instead, PC asserts itself by showing what it really is through a series of “I am a PC and I am x years old” commercials, which stylishly discredit Apple’s portraits of PC.
What are the results? Not only PC has successfully communicated their core-competencies against Mac, Apple now has to wait for a proper time to launch a new campaign, and spend time and millions of dollars to come up with a brand new communication strategy because these discredited commercials would now look foolish. Way to go, PC!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Train to the North
I arise from dreams of you, savoring all contentment that your presence has given me each time. My dreams of others and other things always have surreal characteristics and they change constantly with surprising and sometimes, ridiculous twists. But the dreams which you are in seem to be all the same. Heavenly dreams. We never talked. Not that I’ve forgotten your voice, but it seems that, in our dreams, conversations are redundant.
We were on the train to the great north. The train was uncharacteristically stable, making very little sound. Why was the train heading north that I do not know but we were leaving home. It seemed permanent. I felt that we have packed lots luggage. They must have been stored elsewhere. The train was empty, running across the great plain. I looked out of the window and saw a dark green line of horizon. There’s nothing but the cloudless sky and the great plain on which endless short grass reflecting the sun.
You sat across from me. As I fixed my sight at your face, I was a bit surprised noticing how pale you were. Or should I say, blur. So blur that you could vaporize anytime. I wasn’t worried, though because everything seemed permanent. The sun shined through the large glass window and casted a light shadow on the left side of your face. That beautiful face of yours! You weren’t looking at me nor did we talk. What were you reading? It seemed that you have been quietly reading for a long time. I sat across from you, staring at you. I wasn’t excited or happy. It was calmness and contentment all around us as the train taking us to the unknown north.
Now I have reached the north after years of lone traveling. Will you come? Will I ever see you again?
We were on the train to the great north. The train was uncharacteristically stable, making very little sound. Why was the train heading north that I do not know but we were leaving home. It seemed permanent. I felt that we have packed lots luggage. They must have been stored elsewhere. The train was empty, running across the great plain. I looked out of the window and saw a dark green line of horizon. There’s nothing but the cloudless sky and the great plain on which endless short grass reflecting the sun.
You sat across from me. As I fixed my sight at your face, I was a bit surprised noticing how pale you were. Or should I say, blur. So blur that you could vaporize anytime. I wasn’t worried, though because everything seemed permanent. The sun shined through the large glass window and casted a light shadow on the left side of your face. That beautiful face of yours! You weren’t looking at me nor did we talk. What were you reading? It seemed that you have been quietly reading for a long time. I sat across from you, staring at you. I wasn’t excited or happy. It was calmness and contentment all around us as the train taking us to the unknown north.
Now I have reached the north after years of lone traveling. Will you come? Will I ever see you again?
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The Biker Boy
I have had many dreams of Jeun these few months, the boy I fell in love with when I was 12.
What a rebel he was to my little mind! His grades were never good, definitely among one of the ignored students (by the teachers) in the class. He was a bully, or at least he tried to act like one. The only fist fight I’ve got myself involved in was against him. Nobody won. We both were furious and later on, felt sorry. He was however later punished for it by our lead teacher while I was spared because the teacher presumed that he threw the first punch. I was a student with good grades and therefore, to the teacher’s eyes, I couldn’t have started a fight. The teacher was wrong. But Jeun decided not to tell the teacher what actually happened – that it should have been me to receive the punishment, a fierce slap on the face.
One would imagine that a well-behaved student with good grades wouldn’t get along with someone like Jeun. That’s right. We did not get along in other classmates’ eyes. Somehow we managed, with a silent mutual understanding, to make believe our relationship to surface in that level, maybe because it was odd for two 13-year-old boys to show their tender fondness for each other.
I might have an idea or two why I had those feelings for Jeun. That rebellious character of his was something new and exciting to someone like me who grew up in a strict family. Under that tough personality that he projected to the world, there was a soft heart. Among many incidents that I can use as an example: a classmate that I wasn’t close to died of leukemia shortly after the diagnosis. Jeun cried when he heard the news during a class, with his guards completely off. Later on I learned that Jeun visited his tomb alone regularly for many years.
Of course he also had the look that I liked. He was dark and strong. He was good at sports. I thought he was very beautiful. And deep inside, I knew that he cared for me.
We went to the same after-school tutoring center and often he would offer me a ride on the backseat of his bicycle to save me from a long walk. On rainy days, we would share an umbrella if one of us didn’t bring one. Returning from a trip with his buddies to a national park by the sea in the south, he brought me a shell, the one that’s very delicate and easily broken. He must have found a way to protect the shell so it’s completely intact when he gave it to me. Few years after we graduated from junior high, I told Jeun that I was somehow harassed for money by this guy he also knew, who happened to attend the same senior high school as I did. It was nothing big as the guy gave up borrowing money from me after two attempts, which I emphasized when I told Jeun about it. Regardless, Jeun brought in a gang to my Catholic senior high school during an open celebration for Christmas to deliver a warning to the guy who tried to borrow money. I did not know about it until a mutual friend of ours told me later on. I wasn’t sure then if I should have thanked him. I was upset and worried by the fact that he was a part of a gang although, knowing him, it was not a surprise.
We got into different senior high schools. I was not particularly sad because I lived 10 minute bicycle ride away from where he lived – I thought I was still able to see him often. But it was not the case. My school was very demanding and I barely had time to see my old friends. Soon after graduation from senior high, I left for the US to attend university. We have not spoken since.
My dreams of Jeun are all alike. But yesterday’s dream was particularly vivid. It was the first dream in which we were both adults. He was driving a black motorcycle, something that suited him quite well. And like what we used to do when we were kids, I was offered a ride with him. It was beautiful and warm and I was content like all other dreams that he’s in. We rode along the seashore, seemingly. The surroundings were not clear but somehow it looked and smelled like sea. I felt the wind; the wind belonged only to seashore. As we were speeding on the completely empty seashore express under the sun, I smelled Jeun’s scent; the scent of his that I have long forgotten. Somehow I managed to sit in front of him, facing him, as the motorcycle raced so fast it blurred the scenery. And then I hugged him. I had my arms around his neck, my chest pressed against his chest, and thought, I’ve loved you so long.
What a rebel he was to my little mind! His grades were never good, definitely among one of the ignored students (by the teachers) in the class. He was a bully, or at least he tried to act like one. The only fist fight I’ve got myself involved in was against him. Nobody won. We both were furious and later on, felt sorry. He was however later punished for it by our lead teacher while I was spared because the teacher presumed that he threw the first punch. I was a student with good grades and therefore, to the teacher’s eyes, I couldn’t have started a fight. The teacher was wrong. But Jeun decided not to tell the teacher what actually happened – that it should have been me to receive the punishment, a fierce slap on the face.
One would imagine that a well-behaved student with good grades wouldn’t get along with someone like Jeun. That’s right. We did not get along in other classmates’ eyes. Somehow we managed, with a silent mutual understanding, to make believe our relationship to surface in that level, maybe because it was odd for two 13-year-old boys to show their tender fondness for each other.
I might have an idea or two why I had those feelings for Jeun. That rebellious character of his was something new and exciting to someone like me who grew up in a strict family. Under that tough personality that he projected to the world, there was a soft heart. Among many incidents that I can use as an example: a classmate that I wasn’t close to died of leukemia shortly after the diagnosis. Jeun cried when he heard the news during a class, with his guards completely off. Later on I learned that Jeun visited his tomb alone regularly for many years.
Of course he also had the look that I liked. He was dark and strong. He was good at sports. I thought he was very beautiful. And deep inside, I knew that he cared for me.
We went to the same after-school tutoring center and often he would offer me a ride on the backseat of his bicycle to save me from a long walk. On rainy days, we would share an umbrella if one of us didn’t bring one. Returning from a trip with his buddies to a national park by the sea in the south, he brought me a shell, the one that’s very delicate and easily broken. He must have found a way to protect the shell so it’s completely intact when he gave it to me. Few years after we graduated from junior high, I told Jeun that I was somehow harassed for money by this guy he also knew, who happened to attend the same senior high school as I did. It was nothing big as the guy gave up borrowing money from me after two attempts, which I emphasized when I told Jeun about it. Regardless, Jeun brought in a gang to my Catholic senior high school during an open celebration for Christmas to deliver a warning to the guy who tried to borrow money. I did not know about it until a mutual friend of ours told me later on. I wasn’t sure then if I should have thanked him. I was upset and worried by the fact that he was a part of a gang although, knowing him, it was not a surprise.
We got into different senior high schools. I was not particularly sad because I lived 10 minute bicycle ride away from where he lived – I thought I was still able to see him often. But it was not the case. My school was very demanding and I barely had time to see my old friends. Soon after graduation from senior high, I left for the US to attend university. We have not spoken since.
My dreams of Jeun are all alike. But yesterday’s dream was particularly vivid. It was the first dream in which we were both adults. He was driving a black motorcycle, something that suited him quite well. And like what we used to do when we were kids, I was offered a ride with him. It was beautiful and warm and I was content like all other dreams that he’s in. We rode along the seashore, seemingly. The surroundings were not clear but somehow it looked and smelled like sea. I felt the wind; the wind belonged only to seashore. As we were speeding on the completely empty seashore express under the sun, I smelled Jeun’s scent; the scent of his that I have long forgotten. Somehow I managed to sit in front of him, facing him, as the motorcycle raced so fast it blurred the scenery. And then I hugged him. I had my arms around his neck, my chest pressed against his chest, and thought, I’ve loved you so long.
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