Oblivious #3

How a bill really becomes a law

I used to believe in the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, and the Tooth Fairy. Then, I wised up, became jaded, got grouchy. I stop believing in obvious lies. So I thought. Today, I’m the subject of today’s oblivious (when you read that word say it in a scary voice and add a maniacal laugh).

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If you’re in any business you get a magazine with an important sounding title. A friend of mine is in the dry cleaning business. She subscribes to Fluffier & Folded. The man who runs it tells her how white her shirts can be.

Stories in magazines like this sound like they will teach you how to save lives or make money. Modern Bridgebuilders will trumpet the improved safety of using 3 1/8mm grapple grommets. Hoteliers Today will explain how your vacancy rates will drop by 32.6% if you put Fess Parkers on the wall.

A wise man once said, “Don’t believe the hype.” Well actually two people said that — Public enemy and, my man, Danny Weisman. Seriously bro, let’s dump this bloggy stuff and get back to the comradeship of LinkedIn.

Danny sees a story that waxes poetic about a brand that did something. He strips off the waxy buildup and reveals truth. His posts are the like the warning that comes on cigarette boxes that tells you that you’ll get addicted and die. Or, the warnings that follow an anti-fungal cream ad that tell you cancer is a side effect and you’ll die. Or, the warnings on S-1 filings that tell you that investing in this soon-to-be-public company will cause you huge financial losses and your spouse will kill you.

I thought I was in on the joke. I mock folks who build dreary PowerPoints decks that embody the intricacies of the latest How To. On LinkedIn, I use the clap emoji to applaud Danny’s take downs. Being a sucker was for other people; not for me.

My trade mags have names like DigiDay and AdAge. I read them or people die. Or, worse — use outdated marketing techniques and leave money on the table. My friend Evan doesn’t subscribe to the adage that you never want to see how the sausage gets made. He’s always right. This week I saw Diggy’s sausage.

You can figure out the reporter but don’t bother. This is not about him/her/they/them/it/other/all of the above/none of the above. It’s about the system.

On August 28, this reporter posted a question on LinkedIn asking people to share their story of how [this particular social platform] screwed them as an influencer with their “woeful” payment scheme. That post got two responses. Two.

Four days later, the story came out. The title was: TWO INFLUENCERS SHARE THEIR INSIDE SCOOP ON WHY [THIS PARTICULR SOCIAL PLATFORM] SCREWED THEM OVER WITH A “WOEFUL” PAYMENT SCHEME.

Hardly unbiased, objective, write-where-the-data-takes-you journalism.

There’s no blame here. A reporter. On a deadline. Words to write. Pages to fill. To appease editors. And a publisher. To get a paycheck. Has to write something. You have an idea. You confirm it with two sources. Two. The journalistic threshold. Like that time Seth MacFarlane optioned a Dennis Miller rant about Fischer Black and Myron Scholes for one of the Family Guy cut scenes. For all twelve subscribers. Who don’t appreciate that you get up before the crack of dawn. Wait. I’m getting off topic. Just read this ‘graph as, “System.”

Any-who.

I would’ve read that story or at least the headline — because: paywall. As we know, the headline is the story. All caps. Influencers. Social. Money. Intrigue.

I would’ve huddled with Evan on Slack to discuss how we pay influencers on our platforms. We would have spent hours discussing how this save lives/makes money input should inform our strategy.

I would’ve talked about it with others. I would’ve commented on DigiDay’s post, liked it, and texted it to my friend, Rob.

I would’ve been the oblivious schmuck that read the misinformation reporters warn us is out there and I would have propagated it.

And, I would’ve thought how stupidly oblivious somebody would have to be to not know it’s fake. Here, I define fake as broad enough to include skewed, slanted, or set up.

Not anymore. Not me. To quote the unMonkees, “I’m not a believer.”

So, I don’t put teeth under my pillow anymore. I don’t leave cookies for Santa. I don’t ask the White House to include me in their Easter Egg roll. I know how a bill really becomes a law.

This time, I’ve really wised up, I’m really jaded, and I’m really grouchy.

Really.