Thursday, August 22, 2013

.. of Personal Style


I'm wicked pissed today and I've found at least 3 opportunities to bitch in your general direction (including J.Crew charging $138 for a pair of polyester drawstring pants) but I have restrained myself. Well, no more.

Above is a photo from Marissa Mayer's spread in this September's issue of Vogue.

And below is what some dumbass had to say about it.

"Dan Schawbel, author of "Promote (blah blah blah: something about success deleted)" says the photo makes her seem like she is on vacation while her staffers toil at work -- an unfortunate message... for someone who'd done away with flexible schedules."

I'm not even going to read the other reviews because I'm sure they are equally as pedestrian, patronizing, and intentionally quotable.

First thing's first, Mayer has already made it clear that by "flex-time" she simply means that at least 50% of the time has to be spent working and a maximum of 30% shall be spent looking up "Anna Kendrick naked".

Second, I know a lot of programmers, and they are happiest when they are left to "toil" / browse reddit. In fact, they most likely prefer her out of the office because if she was there they would probably have to be in a meeting.

And finally...

Really?

Like this picture of Bush when he was President, while we were, oh I forget what it was, oh yeah AT WAR!


Yes, yes, wave Mr. President. Wave to the masses while we "toil".

As far as I know, and I could be wrong, but as far as I know, no Americans died at Yahoo! while Ms. Mayer was lounging.

Fuck men. Seriously, just fuck 'em. Especially "powerful" ones, powerful being a euphemism for it no longer mattering as much how big their dick is because women will sleep with them anyway.

Stop blaming women, and for that matter the hispanic/black/asian/foreign population for your steady decline in usefulness in society. Stop blaming everyone else for your emasculation as a whole. I can tell you from the sheer number of men who cannot find their WIFI connection in a public place that it is not our fault, it's yours. You should have seen it coming. First we took over in the home, check.

Then business, check.

And now your precious tech industry where, probably because of us, it is no longer acceptable to spend half the day browsing porn sites in the office. And god forbid Marissa Mayer be attractive, and intelligent, and fashionable. I mean that just won't do! Hey, Dan, why not just say...

"That lounging position is making it difficult for me to button my trousers so can you refrain?"

Because it's not her problem, it's yours.


Female executives are able to take advantage of a medium you are not. That's right guys. The real reason you're mad is because Vogue, and let's face it, the fashion/beauty industry as a whole, is an outlet entirely unusable for you as a marketing tool, either professionally or personally. As if anyone wants to see one of these guys in a spread of any kind. Even this one hurts my eyes. I shutter to think what is happening out of frame. Let's call it boob envy... What? You mean that's not a real thing? That's just something made up by women? Huh... go figure... and all this time...


"Wait, what is she implying?" Hold on to your suspenders there Warren, it's gonna get bumpy from here on in.


"Listen, young lady..." Just kidding, I haven't been called young since I turned 30 and aged out of the program. If you haven't yet reached this point yet and are unfamiliar with the program, it involves being fuckable by any man under the age of 60... aaand after this, I won't be called a lady anytime soon either!

Moving on...


"Eh, don't worry about it fellas. She's what you call a "female" meaning of the feminine species... weaponsofmassdestruction."

Listen up and listen good...

As long as you believe that your "success" is somehow inversely related to anyone else's, you're gonna have a bad time.


By the way, this is Dan Schawbel...


You really missed the mark on this one Vogue. This was a missed opportunity if ever I've seen one and frankly, I'm a little disappointed.