I was sitting at the beautiful bar of the Paddock the other night, drinking a glass of red wine that tasted suspiciously like bourbon, when I admitted to a friend that I had given myself a gift.
“Oooh, look how shiny,” I exhaled as I showed off the exquisite John Hardy on my right hand*. “It’s my annivorcery next week.”
My friend promptly announced that “right hand bling rings” are so 2005, and had already been the subject of one of those nasty “Diamonds are forever” ads.
Honestly, who came up with this copy?
I see red wine with my right hand?
My left hand talks? That just makes me think of puppets, for some reason. Probably not what they were going for.
Raise my right hand? Wasn’t that a deodorant ad?
Am I doing the Hokey Pokey? Should I shake it all about?
I’m so confused.
Anyway, I’ll raise a glass (in either left or right hand) to the women who put on the mascara, ride the subway, feed the kid, clean up the dog poop, change the frickin’ lightbulb, close the deal, iron the skirt, negotiate the trade agreement, cure the disease, write the novel, run the marathon and yes, buy their own damn rings because they want something pretty and shiny and it makes them happy. And not because some ad tells them that it’s alright to love themselves.
Now THAT would have been a good ad.
* John Hardy is a jewelry designer based in Bali, who I am certain relies on the expertise of 12-year old schoolchildren traditional Balinese artisans.