Mister Armani you have a typo on your very, very chic website. Yes you do. It’s about the usage of ‘a’ and ‘an’. Okay, so having saved you a blooper, can we now talk business? Will you kindly offer me a job in your esteemed organization as an anything? While creative consultant for Armani sounds really cool, I am okay with a proof-reader’s position too. Only if you could fit in the word creative somewhere, err a creative proof-reader maybe. Pretty please?
Just so you know I am not a stickler. It’s just that when you call your frames – frames of life [nice name at that], price it upwards of $150, and have a killer website, you are better off not having a silly typo.
Now, moving on to prettier things, things like luxury.
“Real luxury is just a state of mind that allows you to live each day in a unique and authentic way. “
I am not sure if these are the exact words from the man himself, or thoughts of an over zealous writer at Armani Co. Whatever it is, for anything Armani this definition of real luxury does not work. At best it sounds pretentious and patronizing. Does my bitter interpretation come from the realization that I won’t be able to afford an Armani anytime soon? Possibly.
Coming from a super-luxury brand, how am I supposed to believe this take on real luxury? Humor me please.
[This place looks like a typo-free zone to me.]
Believe you me, I tried to make a post of it right after it happened but just couldn’t. Typographical errors often do that to me. They numb me. They render me incapable of doing the only thing I know [or so I think] well.
On the first day of my job, my boss told me it would help me if I were paranoid. Which I was. But then as days go by, I forgot my lessons and the ignominy that follows.
This recent typo episode wasn’t even a typo. As in it wasn’t a spelling mistake nor was it a grammatical error. You could say it was trivial. But it was big enough for the client to call up the account executive and ask for an explanation. So, a typo it was. And I once again pledged to never walk that path again. To be afraid, very afraid.
a typo is very bad...
It's a very bad feeling. A combination of feelings actually, extreme grief, denial, anger, damn-you, how-could-I, I-am-no-good, this-ain't-the- end-of-the-world, or-maybe-it is, etcetera. The world's suddenly not a pretty place anymore, everything ceases to matter and all you are left with is a crazy sick feeling.
Needless to say, I do everything to avoid a copy error – check the ad or any copy based deliverable until my eyes hurt, until the account executive snatches it away from me, until the art director threatens me with his I've-had-enough look, or until I decide to not care enough about my job. Most often, none of these happen, and I go on checking every word, like a maniac.
Yet, there's no sure-fire way to avoid a typographical error. Just when you think you are absolutely certain about the headline, the subhead, the bodycopy... you have screwed up the address, or the baseline in the logo. And likewise.
I remember every major copy mistake I've ever made. When I say major, I mean, a mistake that cost my agency a lot of money/cost my client a lot of money/cost my agency the client/almost cost me my job.
It's a weired feeling that refuses to go, nothing helps, not even hours of retail therapy, not even a comforting never-mind-that-sweety mail from a friend, or a it's-okay-let's-learn-from-mistakes mail from the boss. Only thing that gets that horrid feeling out, is the next piece of copy that you write, the perfect copy. The typo free copy.
And all will be well again.
Mister Armani you have a typo on your very, very chic website. Yes you do. It’s about the usage of ‘a’ and ‘an’. Okay, so having saved you a blooper, can we now talk business? Will you kindly offer me a job in your esteemed organization as an anything? While creative consultant for Armani sounds really cool, I am okay with a proof-reader’s position too. Only if you could fit in the word creative somewhere, err a creative proof-reader maybe. Pretty please?
