"Babe in Jobland" is yet another intermittent series detailing my search for a job in the shittiest economy imaginable. Updates will appear any time I actually get an interview.
Company: Dial House, self-described "media think tank"
Position: Cultural Research Analyst
The Dial House in San Francisco was the first company to find my resume appealing enough to ask me to come in for an interview. I found their ad on Craigslist, in which they asked applicants to list their favorite authors, artists, musicians, et cetera. EASY CAKE. I thought I had it so in the bag, and I did for a little while.
Dial House's offices are in a rather cracked out area of SF, you know, for street cred. The interior is like any other converted warehouse/loft taken over by some art snobs, complete with gaudy oversized couches and bookshelves filled with the most pretentious reading material imaginable. High art mags, cultural theory tomes and the like. Of course, I immediately fell in love.
Above one of the couches hangs a poster explaining the origins of the company's name. Dial House is named after an anarchist-pacifist commune in England that was staunchly opposed to war, violence, religious hypocrisy and blind consumerism. I thought it was a bold move for a company that specializes in marketing and branding to take on such a loaded name. Maybe I'm just not subversive enough to understand the logic.
Anyway, I first met with some twentysomething gate-keepers whose job was to size me up, feel me out, whatever. Hipsters, all. To make sure I knew what I might be getting myself into, one of them admitted that my would-be boss actually made her cry once. Awkward.
They explained to me that "cultural research" involves obsessively reading about the habits, worldviews and cultural products of obscure (and not-so-obscure) populations in the States and beyond to help certain brands better position themselves. Most people call this market research.
It must have gone well because I got called in for a second interview. I met with this new guy who was in charge of Account Planning. Or something. Anyway, it was going along rather swimmingly. He was impressed and intrigued by my profile, which did absolute fucking wonders for my narcissism. And then they brought in someone else to grill me. This is when it all started to fall apart.
Down the stairs came a guy, all piercings and tattoos and exceptional displays of high-horsery. The edgy one in the boy band. He took a copy of my resume and skimmed it in front of me. He reached the very bottom where I listed an article that I had published (in a student journal, but hey, I'm just starting out). The title of the article is Culture Jamming and the Formation of Counterpublics: Pranking the Megaspectacle. He asked me what the fuck the Megaspectacle is. So I started on my usual explanation which begins with an overview of Guy Debord and the Situationists, then moves on to avant-garde art and ends with how art and activism blended together to form culture jamming.
I didn't even make it past Guy Debord before he interrupted me and said "Stop, you're already smarter than me." That type of shit makes my blood boil. So, I seethed quietly while he moved on to ask me if I had ever myself pranked any spectacles, mega or otherwise. The answer is no. Before I could explain my reasons for not participating in culture jamming (I think it is counterproductive and ultimately backfires, making culture jammers look like foolish pranksters), he called me an armchair revolutionary.
Surprisingly, I kept it together. What I really wanted to say to the Pot was that this Kettle was onto him and his fucking hypocritical Dial House cohorts. A "media think tank"? REALLY? Peddling propaganda for brands while associating your company with a commune that stands in direct opposition to such tomfoolery is the ultimate form of deception. Marketing while proclaiming that you hate marketing. You've built such a lovely glass house.
Company: Dial House, self-described "media think tank"
Position: Cultural Research Analyst
The Dial House in San Francisco was the first company to find my resume appealing enough to ask me to come in for an interview. I found their ad on Craigslist, in which they asked applicants to list their favorite authors, artists, musicians, et cetera. EASY CAKE. I thought I had it so in the bag, and I did for a little while.
Dial House's offices are in a rather cracked out area of SF, you know, for street cred. The interior is like any other converted warehouse/loft taken over by some art snobs, complete with gaudy oversized couches and bookshelves filled with the most pretentious reading material imaginable. High art mags, cultural theory tomes and the like. Of course, I immediately fell in love.
Above one of the couches hangs a poster explaining the origins of the company's name. Dial House is named after an anarchist-pacifist commune in England that was staunchly opposed to war, violence, religious hypocrisy and blind consumerism. I thought it was a bold move for a company that specializes in marketing and branding to take on such a loaded name. Maybe I'm just not subversive enough to understand the logic.
Anyway, I first met with some twentysomething gate-keepers whose job was to size me up, feel me out, whatever. Hipsters, all. To make sure I knew what I might be getting myself into, one of them admitted that my would-be boss actually made her cry once. Awkward.
They explained to me that "cultural research" involves obsessively reading about the habits, worldviews and cultural products of obscure (and not-so-obscure) populations in the States and beyond to help certain brands better position themselves. Most people call this market research.
It must have gone well because I got called in for a second interview. I met with this new guy who was in charge of Account Planning. Or something. Anyway, it was going along rather swimmingly. He was impressed and intrigued by my profile, which did absolute fucking wonders for my narcissism. And then they brought in someone else to grill me. This is when it all started to fall apart.
Down the stairs came a guy, all piercings and tattoos and exceptional displays of high-horsery. The edgy one in the boy band. He took a copy of my resume and skimmed it in front of me. He reached the very bottom where I listed an article that I had published (in a student journal, but hey, I'm just starting out). The title of the article is Culture Jamming and the Formation of Counterpublics: Pranking the Megaspectacle. He asked me what the fuck the Megaspectacle is. So I started on my usual explanation which begins with an overview of Guy Debord and the Situationists, then moves on to avant-garde art and ends with how art and activism blended together to form culture jamming.
I didn't even make it past Guy Debord before he interrupted me and said "Stop, you're already smarter than me." That type of shit makes my blood boil. So, I seethed quietly while he moved on to ask me if I had ever myself pranked any spectacles, mega or otherwise. The answer is no. Before I could explain my reasons for not participating in culture jamming (I think it is counterproductive and ultimately backfires, making culture jammers look like foolish pranksters), he called me an armchair revolutionary.
Surprisingly, I kept it together. What I really wanted to say to the Pot was that this Kettle was onto him and his fucking hypocritical Dial House cohorts. A "media think tank"? REALLY? Peddling propaganda for brands while associating your company with a commune that stands in direct opposition to such tomfoolery is the ultimate form of deception. Marketing while proclaiming that you hate marketing. You've built such a lovely glass house.
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