Yep, I wrote a Christmas perfume advert
Ahh, Christmas. The streets smell like joy and gravy. In a factory somewhere far away from employment law and a sense of basic humanity, Amazon frantically lashes its wretched employees with pillowcases filled with soup tins. Respectable women openly brawl in WH Smith over the last copy of ‘I am funny. I AM: The James Corden Story.’ And yes, our televisions reek of pretentious absurdity. Indeed, ‘tis the season for perfume ads.
But rather than rail against this annual festival of the ludicrous, the pompous and the ever-so famous, I have realised that having been beaten by them I have no choice but to join them.
And so here is my open submission to those rascals with their fancy ways, buckets of cash and fondness for moody, mid-distance stares. I have written a short treatment for a perfume ad. The first luxury brand to get in touch can have it for a box of Wine Gums and the ‘Blade’ trilogy on Blu-Ray...
The scene opens in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Brad Pitt is sailing a massive Crunchie across the waves. He is dressed like a big ravioli but he isn’t sure why.
A dolphin leaps gracefully across his path. It has the face of Scarlett Johansson. She swims over to Brad and vomits wristwatches onto his face.
‘Time is the sickness of a moment’ says Brad, a mid-price Tag Heuer dangling from his little beard.
‘I am a mammal. But I have no legs or fur’ says Dolphin Scarlett. Then she transforms into a Sega Megadrive and sinks to the bottom of the sea.
‘Sink. Think. Blink. Mink’ gurgles Megadrive Scarlett, a gang of lobsters (who are also dub step DJs) swarm around her, playing a vigorous multiplayer game of 90s classic ‘Road Rash 2’.
Back to Brad. He is now being propelled across a golf course in a chariot powered by otters. He is humming the theme tune from ‘Quantum Leap’ and throwing jigsaw pieces at starlings.
‘The pieces we miss are the ones we throw away,’ he says. Moodily.
All of a sudden Matthew McConaughey appears. He has the legs of a crow.
‘I like whistling and yo-yo tricks’ he cries. Then he explodes into a cloud of reggae moths.
Brad turns to the camera. He tears off his hair and skin and reveals that he is, astoundingly, the massive Crunchie that was sailing across the ocean.
‘I am man. I am honeycomb. I am existence’ says Brad.
END
Your move Mr Gucci. Your move sir.
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Andrew Boulton is a copywriter at Together Agency. He doesn’t wear perfume and smells like highlighter pens.