Re: The best a man can get.
If I’ve gotten to the point in my career where the “innovation is one more blade on our razor” Gillette Company is capable of judging me, I’m not worth the money you’re going to pay me. So, I haven’t included my resume. Only this:
Do you remember when you were “the best a man can get,” Gillette? Before you decided that the best that men could get were faces as soft as baby bottoms? Before you decided that being a man meant being a woman?
You need to go back to your roots. You need to go back to the straight razor. That was a product.
You want dangerous? Forget about speeding cars. You want Gillette razors against a businessman’s throat in an alley. Gillette razors hidden in the mouths of inmates. Hidden under their skin. Scabbed over. Finally dug out with dirty fingers in the dark.
You want coming of age? That has nothing to do with a clean shave. You want a young boy sneaking into his father’s bathroom. Sneaking a razor from the box. Hiding it in the brim of his baseball cap. Riding his bike hard and fast. In the woods with his best friend. A Gillette razor digging into their palms. That one handshake. Blood brothers.
You want romance? Nobody gives a f*** about kisses. You want Gillette razors in bed, cutting while they move against one another. Both of them tearing open, bright and bleeding, eyes wide. Sex.
They’re going to buy your razor and shave and go to work, but they’re going to buy it because they know they’re animals inside. They don’t want smiling clean faces. They want blood swirling down the drain. You’re selling a product to men who have no other way of touching that part of themselves. They want suicide and murder and rape.
I can help.
Letter via Overqualified, Joey Comeau’s collection of real cover letters.
Photo via Le Container.