Alas! The Queen’s official Bra Fitter has lost her Royal Warrant. And all for mentioning the Royal Baps in a tell-tale book. Apparently.
Now, I can’t understand why anyone (who’s not in a straitjacket) would want to read about Madge’s norks. But still – the book is out there. So the palace ain’t happy. And said fitter is left warrantless.
She’s now but a humble trader, with no royal seal of approval.
Anyway – that’s by the by. It brings me onto a hot topic: the power of endorsement. Something you, me and Uncle Tom Cobley and all should be using. A lot.
Yeah, I know it’s daft that grown adults can be influenced by someone else’s buying habits. As in “Ooh the Queen had a McFlurry on Tuesday, I fancy one of them”. But you know how it is. As a species, we’re a bunch of sheep – so where others lead, we will follow.
So, question: what can you do, to bring a ringing endorsement your way?
Well, it’s not easy to get a Royal Thumbs-Up off HM. But you’ll find a load of others off the telly who’ll do it gladly.
See, in our post-Warhol world, everyone’s had their go in the spotlight. Z-List Celebs are everywhere, scratching about for their next easy gig. And if they can’t get on that show where they eat koala scrotum on the set of Carry On Up The Jungle, they’ve still got to pay the gas bill. So they’ll whore themselves out to you, for a few spare shekels. Or less.
Even if you’re just a local business, you can get in on this. Hire that sports star who’s just retired from your local team. Or the has-been who opens your village fete, or switches on the Christmas lights. Or the TV star who’s doing panto in your local theatre.
If they can pull a crowd…and your customers are part of that crowd…tis worth it. A photo shoot, half a day in studio, it’s not gonna break the bank.
So – a thought for this week:
EITHER grab yourself a Royal Warrant (it only takes 5 years).
OR pick a celeb who your customers can relate to. And ask the question.
Don’t ask, don’t get.
In the meantime, let’s hope the Queen gets a new fitter soon. Otherwise, it’ll be knee-sweepers at Ascot. And that’ll never do.