There was a growing frenzy online, this past week, about the imminence of #BlogHer12. And an even more harried scramble to get sponsors for it. You see, blogging is not the most rewarding enterprise, financially speaking. Often, it's a hobby, with its author (usually a creative, prolific, but unknown writer), trudging along, day after day, post after post, waiting to be discovered and whisked off to the next Oprah (does she still do shows nowadays?) or Good Morning America show. At best, it's still not the most lucrative career, certainly not enough to warrant shelling out, from one's own pocket, for the costs of a conference, hotel, plane or train tickets, clothing, food, and other incidentals.
The way it works, for you my one lone non-blogging reader (hi, nice to meet you), is that companies are now turning more and more to bloggers for their PR endeavors. They give us (and I'm using the pronoun us loosely of course) some manna from heaven called "swag" which we then "review" with the understanding that our readers will be so enthralled with our endorsement that they will go out and buy it, thereby fulfilling the advertising aim.
It often works. Just ask The Bloggess and Perez Hilton. (They are the big-league where blogging is concerned).
But, for the rest of the non-celebrity and non-celebrated authors, it does, sometimes, pay a few bills: some sell the swag, some turn the relationship into an advertising opportunity, while others fully appreciate the use of the nice freebie. Swag seems to be the "it" thing. For seasoned bloggers. Of which I am not yet one.
Who doesn't like free stuff?
Especially good, free stuff?
Which made me ponder about whom I would welcome as a sponsor, should they fall off a horse and incur a serious brain injury, then flip open their laptop which magically would be cued to this here blog, and they'd have no choice but to be wowed by my charm and wit. Can you blame them? I'm adorable! (I AM too)
Hey, it could happen!
So who? Who? Who would be worthy of my reviewing my butt off for their ware?
Why, Valentino Garavani of course. Silly you, don't you know about my purse fetish and my solemn worship of the god of all that is holy in purseland?
And, it COULD too happen!
Hear me out: So he gets around, now that he's retired, right? Which means that he occasionally does visit friends of his on their lovely estates. Those estates sometimes have lovely horses, well groomed and with impeccable pedigrees. He does get asked to ride them, and since he's a polite man and guest, he acquiesces. Ergo, the scenario could (theoretically) unfold as foreseen by me... unfortunately for him, but very fortuitously for me, of course.
So, in the event that this particular incident should happen any time before Blogher 2012, this is the speech that I've been practicing all morning, in front of my mirror:
"Why, Mr Valentino, are you sure? Me? Little ol' me? You want me to your ambassador at #BlogHer12? Why, I'd be honored of course! Excellent choice, by the way, you have good instincts, which, incidentally, I am glad were not too terribly damaged in that horrendous fall. But of course I have been a loyal client of yours, at least on the three distinct occasions when I 1) Won a buttload tidy sum at the Blackjack table in Vegas, 2) Scored a nifty deal on eBay, and 3) Combined my wifely present-credit for Xmas, wedding anniversary, Easter, Mother's Day, and birthday and "surprised" Norman (the old poop) with the gift I bought myself in his name. What? You want to give me a second bag for my purse-buddy Karen? I'm sure she will be delighted!"
It never hurts to be prepared.
You must be thinking that my mind has taken a bizarre trip to some parallel universe where wishes, when verbalized and put out there, do come true. I don't blame you, it indeed appears than I've gotten completely slightly delusional about this. But, just in case that parallel universe decides to diverge from its trajectory and collide with the one I inhabit, I have a few choices lined up. Of course, any and all "swag" would be great, you won't get any complaints from me, no sirry, none, WHATSOEVER...
In no particular order, befitting my conference-going arm, any one of these will do nicely:
To continue reading, click here (there is no way I will even attempt to upload the purse photos on this post while Denise is on vacation)
February 27, 2017 - 8:39am by Elisa Camahort