A Letter To Marketing Hot Guy

TNG Contributor Ben submits this post as part of our growing collection of letters.

Dear Marketing Hot Guy,

I'm confused by your signals. For the last several months, you have dominated in your role as anonymous symbol of homosexual desire. I've seen your photo in the Blade, MetroWeekly, and numerous other print and online publications (always with your shirt off) promoting methods by which I can get my rocks off. Whether you're marketing phone sex, online sex, or products and locations that increase my chances of finding sex, our relationship (and your perfect chest/blonde glory) has been clearly defined. However, I sense you want more.

Imagine my surprise when I saw you clothed (a suit no less) in a recent ad for a career building website (see photo on right). I'm not sure what's going on here, but there's a big difference between "let's get naked/don't let the sun catch you in my house" and "let me help you develop your resume and improve your interview skills." It's just a bit….fast. Sex is one thing, but keep in mind that gays grind through visual eye candy faster than the ladies in my office kill sugar cookies (their annual consumption of sucrose is equal to the production capacity of several small latin american countries), so if you want to stick around and deepen our relationship, I need more personalized marketing, like those testimonial ads I've seen for headache medicine and personal injury lawyers (Bidderman and Associates got me my money, AND cured my headache!) or maybe ads for the neti pot or shamwow. You know, more intimate items. It's about developing trust, and you've got to earn it. I need our relationship to be based on more than just sex and flashy promises. That means for now, steer clear of the luxury items. Gays are too tough to fall for the pretty lies their tricks tell them, so don't even think about trying to sell me an SUV.

I'm not saying I'm not open to you sticking around, but like most, I've been burned. With any luck, our marketing/consumer relationship will blossom, and one day your wrinkled self will be on TV with your life partner, selling me financial planning services like in those TV commercials where joyful self-involved ex-hippies bounce around on a beach to a 1960s soundtrack, trying not to remember how they sold out their ideals to selfishness and greed (for us, you will probably be floating through a space station to Lady GaGa).

Commitment and transitioning relationships are tricky things, but I'm willing to try.

Love,
Ben