Out in the Open Under Cover

My job is highly satisfying. In fact, a large portion of my total satisfaction with life right now currently derives from my job.
According to the block of management classes I took last spring, this is because my fundamental Maslovian needs are being met, as well as some of my higher needs. Basically, I feel safe and work with nice people -- I don't have tons of job security relative to my fellow county pions, but the value of my job is apparent to me. On a higher plane, I am challenged, I get to use my unique skills, I participate in decisions that affect my work, and I get to go undercover to break the coorporate cycle of selling out health. I spent last Friday night at party in Pioneer Square sponsored by RJ Reynolds to roll out its new Camel cigarette for women, No. 9. Before I continue, let me dispel any worry that I am blowing my cover by writing in such a public place; tobacco execs can't operate the internet because their cloven hooves don't interface well with computer keyboards.

Camel is the biggest tobacco sponsor of independent art in Seattle. Their brainwaash branding revolves around enabling smokers to "express themselves," "live outside the lines," and "avoid experiencing those boring last few decades of their lives." Though not the biggest market share company (which is Philip Morris powered by the Marlboro brand), they do just fine, thank you, and their smokers have clear brand loyalty. But the hard part about being a tobacco company is that your regular customers keep dying premaurely and you are constantly trying to find ways to get the young 'uns hooked. Enter No. 9. You know who doesn't smoke enought? Women! We are about 4% points behind men in prevalence. And the women who do smoke mostly don't smoke camels because, according to market research, camel doesn't have a product they identify with.

No. 9 is Camel's answer. The new cigarette deflects the normal camel branding into phrasing like, "dressed to the nines," and evokes chanel's numbered line, as well as love potion number nine. The packaging is black with minimal hot pink (rose) or green (mint) script and art.
As you can see, the tagline, "Light and luscious" is a feminine twin to the "Wide and delicious" sported by the more manly camel brands (body image for sale, anyone?).

Camel is kicking off the product with sponsored parties in key markets, a category that includes Seattle, much to the thrill of myself and my fellow preventionists. My job on Friday was to increase knowledge about industry marketing. It turns out the best way to do this is by flirting. I am not sure if Alias-style interrogations fall into basic or high-level job satisfaction needs, but they are certainly in the pyramid. A highlight of Friday night was "accidentally" bumping into one of the lackeys highered to swipe ID's and administer surveys goody bag line:

Me: I am soooo sorry!
Lackey: That's ok. You having a good time?
Me: Yeah, this event is awesome! Do you get to go to all the camel parties?
Lackey: No, just the ones in Seattle.
Me: So, when I can next see you?
Lackey: Well, we have an event on the 22nd, and then April 5th.
Me: So you, like, work for camel? What's that like?
Lackey: Oh, I work for _____. Camel highers us to do these parties. But a lot of camel coorporate is here tonight.
Me: Cool! Where?
Lackey: That guy. And that women. Oh, and that guy over there . . . .

Mission accomplished. Lookout, Jennifer Garner.

However, my complete protrayal of mission success is betrayed by the whistling sound at the corners of my satisfaction coming from the gap between the resources and power of the tobacco industry and the resources and power of myself and fellow life-saving do-gooders. The party featured Dj's flown in from New York, multiple wall-sized screens dazzling up custom camel images, male and female go-go dancers, and a VIP room with masseurs, manacurists, temp tatoo artists and a four foot white chocolate fountain. These things are pretty hard to write into a county purchase order, say. In fact, tobacco marketing is so superior that the longer I am in my job, the harder I am finding it not to become a smoker. Standing in line with the other ticket holders before Friday's event, I wondered through my teared up eyes at how smoking made the co-eds looks so sophisticated. I had to run statistics from the Surgeon General's 2006 report on secondhand smoke through my head just to resist asking for a drag.

Did I do any good on Friday? Besides requisition an entire bag of camel shwag for King County property. In interest of job secruity, maybe it's ok to let the problem run its course for a while.