Truth in Advertising by John Kenney Page A

her. She treats men the way the worst kind of a man treats women. For some reason I’ve never been able to figure out if she likes me.
    Pam on advertising: “Fuck off.”
    STEFANO & PAULIE, ART DIRECTOR AND COPYWRITER
    Stefano was born in Spain to an Italian and a Spaniard and, so I’ve heard, moved to New York twelve years ago, where he took a number of design jobs, retooling the look of many well-known magazines. He speaks five languages, though English must surely be his worst. He likes to use colloquialisms at every chance, often inappropriately. His accent remains heavy. I don’t know how old Stefano is. He looks to be a few years older than me. A man far more European than American when it comes to matters of the gym, of exercise, of anything, actually. He claims that it is impossible to find edible bread inNorth America and that coffee here is largely undrinkable, though he drinks between five and eight cups a day. Similarly, he quit smoking a year ago but still smokes several cigarettes a day. He claims that this doesn’t count.
    Paulie is a copywriter and a wisp of a fellow, maybe 5' 5", 130 pounds. At lunch sometimes, or when he’s bored, he goes to the fifteenth floor, where the agency’s telephone operators are located, and answers calls. He says he likes to give the other operators a break, time for a smoke or a coffee. Ask him an employee’s extension and eight out of ten times he knows it immediately. There was a period, before he met his wife, when he had a band and would play shows at small clubs around the city. He’d be out until four in the morning. It made weekday mornings tough for him, and for anyone close enough to smell the liquor seeping through his skin. On some of these mornings he would come into my office, particularly hung over, close the door, and nap for a time on my couch while I quietly typed at my computer. I would often unplug my phone, so the ring wouldn’t disturb him.
    Paulie on advertising: “There’s the yin and yang of it, Fin D. You get to travel and stay in great hotels and eat great meals and drink expensive wine and be treated like someone on a movie set. Yet it’s not art and deep down we want it to be. We need it to be beautiful. We need it to mean something. And it does, for the first twenty-three seconds of the spot. Then the voice-over comes in and talks about chicken tenders.”
    Stefano on advertising: “I don’t care for it. And would prefer to say this: Do you know what I think every morning when I wake up? I ask myself, ‘How can I seduce my wife today?’”
    MALCOLM & RAJIT, ART DIRECTOR AND COPYWRITER
    Malcolm and Rajit came over a few years ago from the Y&R office in Sydney. They claim that, for several months, the Sydney office didn’trealize they were gone and continued paying them. They once presented ideas over the phone—from our very offices—to a gathering in Sydney, saying they were both home with a stomach bug. Malcolm wears his dark blond hair long, often in a ponytail, and has unusually large, gleaming white teeth. He has the easygoing, worry-free demeanor one associates with Australians. You can’t help but like him, smile back at him, as he casually says something in his heavy accent, like, “I was adopted as a child.” To which you find yourself responding with an equally large smile, “That’s great.” He says “Hey” before saying my name, which makes my name sound like “Hyphen.” He would be the ideal companion to be lost at sea with on the famed Sydney-to-Hobart sailing race. He’s single and often spends his weekends with Rajit and his wife (they live in the same building in DUMBO).
    Rajit—Raj to most—is his diminutive, portly writing partner. Raj is also Australian, born of Indian parents. Raj himself will be the first to tell you this, though it is unlikely you will understand what he is saying as his