MAD MEN ON THE SUBWAY.

      I just saw a great ad on the subway. It's so good that Mad Men's Don Draper could have written it. The ad shows two pictures of the same attractive, young woman in a T-shirt. In one, she's frowning while holding a pair of tomatoes in front of her chest. In the other, she's smiling while holding grapefruits. It's  an ad for plastic surgeons! GET IT?

     How does such a simple ad achieve such immense power? By drawing on three sure-fire sources of humor: poor self-image, elective surgery and comparing women to food. Then using the humor to zero in relentlessly on it's target market: women who choose surgeons for their personalities. It's a small market, but only because surgeons - unlike game show hosts - don't cultivate their personalities. They tend to be pragmatic, "See the hill, take the hill" types and polishing their wit and humor usually takes a back seat to being able to tie a knot inside a nut shell.

     The success of even the best ads, though, depends to a large extent on the proper advertising medium. This is where I part company  with our scalpel-wielding friends. I'm not sure subways are the best place to advertise plastic surgery. (Don't think for a second that I'm a snob about subway advertising. I am constantly asking myself, "Is it too late to learn English, become a TV repairman and is my baby getting the proper nutrition." For the record, I speak English -
don't write it too well - am baffled by remote controls and don't have children.) Getting back to the subway, the advertiser in question is depending on a commuter to look up from her paper and think, "Hmm. Maybe I need plastic surgery?" Whereas the opposite happens ALL THE TIME. "That person needs it, that person needs it and that person really needs plastic surgery. In fact, everyone on this subway car needs it except me."

     There's also the issue of price. The price of most surgery - even with insurance - is out of the range of most subway riders. Our clever carvers, though, know how to bypass sales resistance. They publish the price. By offering a breast enhancement for $3900, they lock up the business of every woman who's ever thought, "I'd pay a lot for a boob job, but four grand is my squealing point." It's not a perfect strategy, however.They may also be alienating the women who think, "For four thousand bucks, I want more than grapefruits. I want melons!"

     Answering that concern is the role of advertising copy. One could, for instance, say that this surgical practice can meet the demand for any kind of fruit. A perky pair of cantaloupes? Done! Unfortunately,there's very little room for copy on subway ads - even with small type.  So, our advertiser  is limited to saying - in very large type - that they perform a BRAZILIAN BUTTUCK LIFT. I have no idea what this procedure involves, but, harking back to Mad Men days, it sounds like a cold war maneuver in which the U.S. parachutes buttocks into Brazil to keep the country from turning communist. Calling it a "butt lift" would be more clear, but might be in bad taste.