Heads up: I’m going to use some cuss words, and this is a long read. You’ve been warned.

So last week an interview from 2006 with an Abercrombie & Fitch head-honcho was released where he had some choice words about who the ideal A&F client is, and more importantly, who it isn’t (hint: it’s not fat people. They hate fat and/or uncool people.*)

For a full analysis on what Mike Jeffries said and how he potentially screwed the pooch financially, go here.

Now before I go on a tirade about women’s bodies and clothing sizes (if you want to know what I think about that, click here) let me make one thing clear: I don’t care about Abercrombie & Fitch’s marketing ambitions and motivations. They have every right to target the cool kids and go after them. It’s ugly, but it’s how capitalism works, and to suggest that A&F is alone in their elitest advertising is naive. It’s just that normally this kind of exclusivity is practiced by those at the haute level, and they have the decency to discriminate with their prices as well as their words.

I digress.

I have a bone to pick with Mr. Jeffries over his rhetoric rather than the message behind his words. When asked about why his store didn’t offer extra large clothing, he could only answer by saying he wanted to target the cool kids. Which would have been fine if the question had been about cool.

But it wasn’t. It was about size.

By responding to a question about size with the issue of cool, Mr. Jeffries drew a not-so-subtle connection between skinny and cool. If you fit into his clothes, you’re cool. If you don’t, you’re not, so please don’t come into the store, we don’t want you to get your XL stink on anything. (And by the way, this only goes for the girls. Abercrombie & Fitch offers XL sizes for boys who are obviously only so big because they’re athletes, you guys.)

I’m not blaming skinny people, either. Lots of people are born thin and lean, and many work really hard to create the bodies they want. If that’s you and you’re healthy and happy, that’s beautiful.

But as if curvaceous and overweight women didn’t already feel invisible enough, this out-of-touch, has-been jock, this locker-room bully with a peter-pan complex, refused to acknowledge them while he explained that he’ll never acknowledge them.

His comments make him sound like such an asshole it’s almost comical. He’s like a combination of Billy Zabka in “Karate Kid” and Matthew McConnaughey in “Dazed and Confused”; really mean, and too old to be hanging out with high school kids.

My point here is that there is a way to connect with “cool” and “All-American” kids, the ones with “a great attitude and a lot of friends” without sounding like a complete jag. There is a way to indicate that you don’t want the “not-so-cool kids” shopping at your stores without making them feel like social refuse and that their weight grosses you out.

If Mike Jeffries had simply said something like, “we sell to athletic kids who play as hard as they work” he could have praised his target market without alienating everyone else.

And I mean everyone else. I’ve never been in an Abercrombie & Fitch before, probably because I’m too old and can’t understand the appeal of over-priced Ocean Pacific** re-runs, but I promise you I’m never going in. And let’s not forget that for the very small population of kids who fit the bill for A&F, they might not take too kindly to being put on such a high pedestal if it means their friends can’t join them.

Lastly, cool happens at any size. It’s more than the by-product of specific measurements and exotic bone structures. It’s the synthesis of attitude, intelligence, character and class. It’s the absence of pretension, judgement, and expectation. It would be pretty cool if Mike Jeffries got that.

Keep at it,

Annelies

*”Fat” is anything over a teen sized ‘Large’ so for the rest of the world, I’m going to equate this to a Small/Medium.

**Back in the 90′s we called Abercombie & Fitch “OP”

PS: What’s the deal with the “All-American” thing? He knows there are stores in Canada, right?

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How very Pinteresting…

Just so Mr. Jeffries knows, the zeitgeist has changed since the 80′s. Nerds are cool now. #nailedit.

May 12, 2013

Dear Mom,

As you said in the garden in Ottawa, balanced precariously half-way up a ladder that was half-way down the window well so many years ago: your mother didn’t raise no sissy. If I may echo those sentiments, you didn’t raise no sissy, either.

In order, thank you for:

• Teaching me that whenever I felt left out, it was my job to “get in there like a dirty shirt.” (I’m still not sure what this means, but no victim, I get that now.)
• Being a class parent on school trips so I got to go straight home with you at the end of the day.
• Gymnastics lessons (applauding my efforts even though I never lived up to my Soviet coach’s expectations.)
• Swimming lessons (bringing your knitting, waiting and watching, and giving me a thumbs up when I flipped out because I thought there were sharks in the pool)
• Piano lessons (listening to 18 years of sour notes, counselling me through complete emotional meltdowns to and from lessons, suffering through the nerves with me before every exam, and taking me for timbits after.)
• Placing a call to a stylist to find out exactly what was in order when I wanted to dye my hair rainbow. (Also thank you for putting your foot down and not letting me go through with it.)
• Basketball camp (I’m starting to think you just wanted to go so you could catch a glimpse of Tony House and/or Leo Rautins)
• Driving me to school and picking me up. Every day. For 16 years. (“What do I want for dinner? How the f%&* should I know? It’s 7:15 in the morning!”)
• Your firm but fair no-makeup-outside-the-house-until-you’re-16 rule. (In retrospect it was an excellent decision)
• Not bursting out laughing when I confessed my pathetic love life (all the way from preschool through university to now. You truly have a saint’s patience.)
• Not kicking me out of the house when I gave you every reason to.
• Supporting my entrepreneurial goals (and refusing to let me give up.)
• Making every house we’ve lived in a home, no matter how we got there or why we left the last one.
• Holding off on having kids after me. We both know my ego is too fragile to have risked a sister.

You taught me to expect the absolute best from myself but to practice self-care as well, to celebrate my successes with humility, and face adversity with grace and guile. You taught me how to hold my head high, my reputation close, and not unimportantly, my drink like a champion.

I would refer to the past 25 years as a roller coaster, but we both know that even the Leviathan has nothing on us.

Thanks for being precious.

Luff,

Lieske.

PS: Remember in the early 90′s when you had that David Bowie haircut? What was that all about?

Tweet me your questions @anneliesf or by email annelies@descriptor.ca

Thanks for watching and keep at it,

Annelies

Consider me epiphanized. Ok fine, “epiphanized” isn’t a word and considering my commitment to linguistic excellence I probably shouldn’t be so cavalier. However! I had more Aha moments on my trip than I did glasses of wine, so maybe a little creative license is on order.

I spent a lot of time away thinking about how I could share my experiences with you. I didn’t want to post my pictures here because a) the important ones are on facebook and b) looking at photos from someone else’s vacation is as much fun as watching people eat McDonald’s while you’re on a treadmill: must be nice, but you’re still working your ass off.

So I’ll share a story instead.

My step-sister, her daughter, and I went to Canterbury. It was awesome. I had spent months in university studying the Canterbury Tales, and to actually go to the pilgrimage site was a rewarding full-circle moment.*

After enjoying the grounds of the cathedral, we went for fish and chips (when in Rome, England) and in a naive attempt to off-set the ridiculously high calorie-count of our meals I ordered 2 bottles of water.**

After I stated my order, the (I’m guessing) former-sailor-turned-proprietor on the other side of the counter stopped, stared right at me and said (imagine I’m using a patronizing English accent here) “woooh-taaah.”

I was stunned.

This guy was correcting my English. More importantly, he was correcting my pronunciation! As a seasoned stutterer, I get pretty peeved when anyone corrects the way I speak because I’ve put so much effort (and tears, and feelings of shame and inadequacy) into shaping each word and saying it properly.

So I made the best “game on” face I could, looked him right in the eye and said “woooh-taaah.” He gave me the drinks, I turned, and left.

The moment was a weird one.

As I thought about the exchange later on, it occurred to me that English (or really any language) is like light in a prism. It can be broken up into different colours and tones and each one is as correct as it is different. Think of the cover of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. Any linguistic group is like that white light that comes in on the left and then gets busted up into a prismatic range of accents and dialects.

And as I like shiny things, I’m using the prism image to shape my business. Communication is great, but it’s only one facet of the whole gem stone that is me/my business. The other sides of the jewel are just as important, and I can’t wait to polish them and show them off!

So with that glittering rhetoric, I bid you happy Monday.

Keep at it,

Annelies

*Paying £9.50 per adult to get in was not.

**I don’t know who we thought we were kidding because we’re talking about deep-fried white fish, french fries, mayo, ketchup and vinegar.

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And while I’m at it, here in the colonies we say “flashlight” because a torch has fire on it.

Is space. Little Star Trek humour to start the day.

A little while ago, I made mention to space in a post script and I was referring to a little something called proxemics. In the spirit of brevity, it’s the study of the space around us and how we use it.

Imagine yourself at the center of concentric circles. The one closest to you is called intimate (or private) space, the next one out is personal space, then social space, then public space. Whether consciously or not, we are always maintaining the integrity of these spaces. Their borders are why we feel affronted and put up our defences when someone gets too familiar too quickly. Conversely, they are also the way we know we are onto something good when others let us stand in their inner circles.* In essence, if someone let’s you stand in their personal space, you’re doing something right. Seinfeld’s “close talker” is a perfect example of the discomfort (and ensuing comedic hilarity) of someone who violates the parameters of proxemics.

When speaking to a group, it is always a great idea to move around. Travel the stage, maybe even walk around in the audience (if it doesn’t get too distracting; this can start to look like a gimmick after a while) but always stay in the social space. 

Once you enter the personal space (about a foot and a half away from the person) of someone, you change the subtext of your conversation and relationship significantly. If you are going to stand in the personal (or worse, intimate) space of someone, there needs to be intention. Otherwise, to the wrong person, it can be viewed as threatening or intimidating. Best case scenario, they’ll feel put on the spot. Worst case, they’ll defend themselves however they feel necessary.

I for one, am about to go way out of my intimate, personal, social, and public space, and for the next 5 weeks will be updating from abroad. I will be leaving the confines of my living room and pirouetting around Western Europe for the foreseeable future, so let’s hope that I make excellent use of some new public space.

While I’m gone, I’ll do my utmost to update. But while I’m away, I want you to think about the following two questions:

1. What is your story?

and

2. How are you telling it?

I’m not being trite, but it’s spring. It’s a time of a renewal, a time to rejuvenate, a time of personal renaissance, so think about how you are using your story to connect with your audience. Are you owning your story? Owning your voice? Or is something missing? Is there more you want to tell, need to tell, but don’t know how? Think about that, have a great day, and I’ll see you soon.

Keep at it,

Annelies

PS: follow me here!

That ‘x’ is you, and I have cleverly swapped out the circle titles with an assessment of the risk necessary to breach them 

*I’m just speculating here, but I’m pretty sure this is where the idiom “inner circles” comes from. The better you know someone, the closer you’ll let them stand next to you.

I’m lumping together Commandments 7 through 10 in the spirit of brevity (or Commandment 4, really) so here we go:

7-10: Get to the Point

Every great story, every great conversation, every great speaker has a rhythm, and it looks a little something like this: Take 2 lines to set up your idea, and 1 line to drive it home. In that order. (Notice 2+1=3?) 2 lines to develop an idea, and 1 line to explain why that idea matters. Then develop that point further using the same formula.

This isn’t a structure unique to public speaking, either. Stand up comedy (the scariest form of public speaking) uses the same ratio. 2 set up lines : 1 punch line. Those 2 first lines give context and background, and the punch line tell us why it’s funny.

The reason for this rhythm? Your audience wants to know that you’re going somewhere with your speech. They want to know that you have a destination in mind, and that you are capable of guiding them intelligently toward it.

This then asks the question of why people care if you have an intellectual destination in mind or not. The simple answer is that attention spans are really short these days (5 seconds, maybe 10 if you’re lucky) and your audience is either going to commit to going on this journey with you, or they are going to check out and think about anything else (grocery shopping, dry cleaning pick up, car pool, dinner tonight, sister’s wedding, cottage prep, summer camps, etc.) The determining factor will be how well you organize your thoughts, and how quickly they can formulate the logical destination for your speech.

So.

Get to the point. Get there eloquently and elegantly, but get there.

EXCEPTIONS TO THE RULE: If you are speaking at an event which is predicated upon deep analysis and discussion (I’m thinking along the lines of an academic defence,) then privilege the process over the point. If you need to explain the “how” more than the “so what” of it all, then by all means side-step this rule. Everyone else though, get to the point.

So that’s it! In case you missed the first rules, they are as follows:

1. Lose the sunglasses
2. Shake hands like a boss
3. List in 3
4. Keep it short
5. Quit hiding
6. Ideas over memorization
7. Get to the point
8. Get to the point
9. Get to the point
10. Get to the point

I hope the 10 (actually, 7 Commandments) have provided you with some tools to get speaking like a pro. Have a great week!

Keep at it,

Annelies

PS. Follow me here!

You have 5 seconds to get my atten- SQUIRREL.

Yay for Pi!

Math is not my strong suit, so instead here are some fun facts about pi:

• It is the 16th letter of the Greek alphabet (not the Cyrillic as I definitely thought)
• It has represented 3.14 &c since the 18th century
• The uppercase symbol Π indicates a product operation (kind of like Σ meaning summation)*
• In legal script, Π indicates the plaintiff
• π was the bane of my existence as a struggling math student
• It is a constant (*self-five*) source of OCD anxiety as it never ends and the numerical distribution follows no pattern.
• Linguistically, π is a voiceless bilabial stop which just means that it makes a consonant sound, you need both of your lips to do it, and it doesn’t linger like say an “f” or an “m” or an “s.”

However you celebrate it (hopefully with whipped cream and/or ice cream,) I hope your Pi Day is an exceptional one!

Keep at it,

Annelies

*I officially have no idea what that means.

I hope your Pi Day resolves itself neatly and with great satisfaction, unlike a certain constant we all know.

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As I am a sucker for theme-writing, I wanted to share a collective noun that was related to St. Patrick’s Day. I quickly learned that this was going to be difficult because a) there is no collective noun for leprechauns and b) shillelaghs are inanimate.

So!

Please enjoy the tenuous connection as follows:

A group of finches is called a charm. I’m not sure how Irish finches are (I’m going to guess not very) but March 17 celebrates luck and boasts a bevy of charmed talismen, so there you have it.

That aside, we continue the 10 Commandments of Communication.

For those of you who are counting:

1. Lose the sunglasses
2. Shake hands like a boss
3. List in 3
4. Keep it short
5. Quit hiding

Number 6: Ideas over memorization

For everyone who flips out at the prospect of memorizing, this one is for you. 

Many of my clients are career perfectionists. They only understand success as an outcome which matches (or best case scenario, exceeds) their carefully laid expectations. If they can’t be perfect, if everything doesn’t go according to plan verbatim, there is no point in trying. 

This is a deadly mindset in speaking because it presupposes that there is a perfect speech to give. If you don’t give it word for word as you planned it, if what you want to memorize doesn’t exit your mouth the way you intended, you have failed. A little word to the wise: there is no perfect speech. There is the speech you plan, the speech you give, and the speech you wish you had given. That’s it. 

Privilege the content and implication of your ideas over the precision of your words. Dedicate your time to sharing the big picture, and don’t invest time and energy in getting every word right. You are the only one who will know whether you delivered your speech word for word, but everyone will remember if your ideas resonated with them or not. Focus on the authenticity and value of your ideas, and not the perfection of your memory.

Keep at it,

Annelies

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pac-man eats the greater value.

I have worn glasses for 20 years. I love them. They are inextricable from my personality and essential to the way I conceive of myself. If I have to identify myself to someone without having met them, I’ll say “long hair, glasses.” My glasses are as much a part of my face as my bones, skin, brows, lashes, lids, nose, and lips, and I feel like my own doppleganger without them; almost me, but not quite.*

Glasses hold a special place in the realm of non-verbal communication. Frequently they are the cue to indicate that someone is brainy, authoritative, trustworthy. Remember Walter Cronkite announcing the death of JFK? Remember those thick, black spectacles that shared the screen with him? There is no better way to tell people that you are capable of sober, well-measured thinking than putting on a pair of glasses.

In the abstract, think of the time-honoured cliche of the sexy librarian. This bibliophile vixen would be nowhere without a pair of frames. With her glasses on, she is aloof, precise, analytical, the keeper of the Dewey decimal system. When she removes them however, she reveals an insatiable she-wolf.** 

My point here is that glasses have power. They influence the way others form their opinion about you, so you need to make sure that your glasses are contributing to a positive image.

If I can offer a few musings on working a pair of glasses:

• Removing your glasses at the right moment can drive home a point better than words can (see: Walter Cronkite, JFK)
• Pushing your glasses up your nose once or twice is endearing. Do it repeatedly and you look befuddled. Get them tightened.
• There is a fine line between character and caricature: make sure you are wearing the glasses and the glasses aren’t wearing you.

Keep at it,

Annelies

PS: Twitter much?

*I wish I could go back in time and explain to the 5-year-old version of myself that she doesn’t need to break down and cry when the opthamologist tells her she needs glasses. That astigmatism will do wonders for her once she’s old enough to use the glasses-removal-transformation-move to her social favour. Hindsight, quite literally, is 20/20.

**Think of Scooby Doo: there’s a reason Velma wore the glasses and not Daphne.

All terrible puns aside, glasses are really wonderful things.