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In an advertising agency's office high above the city, two creatives struggle with pills and broken pencils. They’re trying to sell a new drug to make people feel immortal. The walls are covered with failed ideas and words they must not use. “Vitaren” is a business short story about running out of time. Will they come up with an amazing advertising campaign? A transcendental campaign? 1,000 words / 4 minutes of sardonic reading pleasure Keep scrolling to read online.
‘In advertising, not to be different is virtually suicidal.’ Bill Bernbach STEFANO BOSCUTTIVITARENCopyright 2024 Stefano Boscutti
All Rights Reserved Coming up with the brand name for the new drug was the easy part. The advertising campaign? Not so easy. Philip Morris had briefed his best creative team at the Heroine agency three days ago and they’ve been struggling ever since. The walls in their office are lined with discarded ideas, slogans, sketches, doodles, broken pencils. Pills and tablets are scattered all over the place. JOHANN BRANDT is lying flat on his back on the carpeted floor with his eyes closed. A pencil in his mouth like an unlit cigarette. GIOVANNA RUSSO is staring out the window into the sky above the city. She is dressed in all black topped off with a sharp black bob. She dyes her hair every week so the black is blacker than black. ‘You’re the word guy,’ she says. ‘You come up with something.’ ‘Fuck off.’ Johann opens his eyes, gets up, pops a tablet in his mouth, swallows hard. Tosses one to Giovanna. ‘They’re so fucking mild it’s like microdosing.’ Unlike Giovanna, Johann actually read all the documentation the client, Purvue Pharma, had provided to the FDA for the new drug’s approval. Discovery and Development, Preclinical Research, Clinical Research, FDA Review. Read all the paperwork including all the legals. As best he could make out, the new medication was a low-dose selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor blended with a mild semisynthetic opioid, a smooth central nervous system stimulant and a fast-acting tranquilliser. Johann had read all about the pharmacodynamics, pharmacokinetics, absorptions, bindings, metabolism, interactions, indications, usages, dosages, contraindications, warnings, reactions. Reviewed all the double-blind clinical studies. Laughed at the risk of fetal harm given the target market. Glanced at the precautions that would be labelled as possible side effects. This new medication worked across the body and through the central nervous system to multiple receptors in the brain. It relieves anxiety and depression while nullifying pain and boosting mental and physical performance. While promoting relaxation and pleasure. All in a glowing white 2mg tablet multi-scored for 1mg and 0.5mg dosages. Like most medications, the bulk of the tablet is filler - corn starch, docusate sodium, lactose monohydrate, magnesium stearate, colour additive and phosphor. Nine-eight percent excipients and two percent active ingredient. That’s the miracle of attaining FDA approval. Pharmaceutical companies can sell pressed corn starch that costs them ten cents a kilogram with a speck of proprietary compound for tens of thousands of dollars. Purvue Pharma had labelled and trademarked their new medication Oxymethylphelotine. The official positioning was to treat the effects of ageing in older consumers - a growing market worth billions upon billions of dollars. Creatives at the Heroine agency had come up with thousands of brand names. One wall in Johann’s and Giovanna’s office was lined with a shortlist of discarded brand names starting with the letter V. Voxy (sounds too sassy). Vigormethyl (sounds Frankensteinian). Verolox (sounds too clunky). Vitalmex (sounds like a Latino tech startup). Vantine (sound vain). Vivantra (sounds like a carpet company) Veloline (sounds too automotive) Vibraphel (sounds like a musical instrument). Velonephenox (sounds weird). Vitalium (sounds too Latin) Vitacore (sounds like pilates studio). Veridure (sounds like engine oil). Vivura (Sounds like a body part). Vilorix (sounds like a breakfast cereal). Vivium (sounds like a property company). Vivencia (sounds like a town in northern Italy). Vibralix (sounds too brittle). Vistapan (sounds like a piece of filmmaking equipment). Viralin (sounds like a country music singer). Vigorix (sounds like a breakfast cereal with too much fibre). Vividex (sounds like a filing system). Vitalix (sounds too metallic). Vivantra (sounds like a wedding planning company). Purvue Pharma formally approved Vitaren as the name because they felt it offered more consumer appeal, more lifestyle benefits than overtly medical implications. (Vitagen was a close second with the capacity to appeal to a new, untapped generation of users aged forty to one hundred - a generation that currently includes early Millennials, Gen Xs and Boomers. With early Gen Z starting to trickle in sooner than later. A constantly ageing generation without end. A forever demographic.) Philip reminded everyone that as consumers start to age, they don’t want to focus on their ailments. They want to feel like they can live forever. Vitaren suggest vitality, longevity and wellness. Giovanna hated the name. Thought it too clinical, too dull. She had wanted to name the new drug Ava - stylised in all caps as AVA. She’d even designed a blood-red logo, a monogram deleting the cross bars from the letters A and twisting the letterform into a self-perpetuating strand of DNA. Even Johann had to admit it was beautiful. Not to mention a perfect palindrome, impossible to mispronounce, instantly memorable and personable. And open to individual interpretation and meaning. Everything you want in a brand name. ‘We should shoot it in Japan,’ she says. ‘Giovanna, we don’t even have a halfway decent idea for a campaign, let alone a commercial.’ Johann throws his pencil against a wall filled with no-nos. All the advertising stereotypes foisted on older consumers. All the cliches to avoid. No struggling with smartphones. No young people explaining technology. No comical misunderstandings No reading glasses (unless a gag) No hair dyed in wacky colours. No outdated clothing No mobility issues No hunching over No struggling to get out of a fucking chair. No gardening (unless cultivating marijuana plants). No playing with grandchildren No knitting. No playing bingo. No sweet grandmothers (unless twist). No cantankerous old men. No wise sage dispensing life advice. No penny-pinching. No medical conditions. No reference to health insurance. No retirement talk. No loneliness. No dated home décor. Rarely shown in workplace settings. No riding fucking bicycles. No red glasses. No unmarried daughter always visiting/checking. No speaking very slowly. No using dated expressions. No good old days. No yoga mats. No complaints about modern times. No senior discounts. No old-fashioned clothes. No counting pennies. No golf clubs. No pill organisers. No magnifying glass (unless twist - falling through looking glass). No champagne sunsets. No cruise ships. ‘Maybe if we go to Japan we’ll get an idea,’ Giovanna says. She’s been trying to get Johann to Japan since her last trip to the small forest town of Takachiho in the northern Miyazaki Prefecture. There’s a deep gorge carved out by several explosions from the nearby Mount Aso, Japan’s largest active volcano. A shrine dedicated to the Shinto sun goddess Amaterasu. Giovanna flicks a postcard to Johann that shows a row of red cypress torii gates straddling a trail through a verdant forest. Two upright posts and two horizontal crossbars. ‘Why are they red,’ Johann asks. ‘In Japan red symbolises vitality and protection against evil. Torri gates usually lead to the entrance of a Shinto shrine. You step through them to transition from the mundane to the sacred, to leave your impurities behind.’ ‘A gateway to the divine?’ ‘It’s where the worshipped are welcomed. It’s where they travel through.’ ‘A portal to reverence?’ Giovanna smiles as a campaign idea starts to form.
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Copyright 2024 Stefano Boscutti All Rights Reserved
The moral rights of the author are asserted. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or copying and pasting, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. Stefano Boscutti acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorised or sponsored by the trademark owner. This is a work of fiction. While many of the characters portrayed here have counterparts in the life and times of the advertising industry and others, the characterisations and incidents presented are totally the products of the author’s kinetic imagination. This work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It should not be resold or given away. Thank you for your support. (Couldn’t do it without you.) Discover novels, screenplays, short stories and more by Stefano Boscutti at boscutti.com
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