Earlier today I wrote a long and emotional post about my election-related misery. You will never see this post for two reasons:

1. My friend, Jesse, reminded me that my hatred for the Republicans and Sarah Palin actually has nothing to do with either (hard to believe) and everything about what they’ve tapped into inside of me. He reminded me of the words of Shunryu Suzuki: “Things that look like they exist outside are actually existing inside ourselves. When you think, ‘He is not good,’ you are actually criticizing someone within yourself. It is a picture of you.” Much as I hate to admit it, I know he’s right. There is nothing inherently bad about any of these people or their actions. “You hate your inner Palin,” he wisely corrected with five words that instantly dissolved my 1,000-word rant.

2. As Jesse also points out, there’s no time for complaining. I don’t need to add to the steady stream of negativity out there already. I have spent the last 48-hours online looking for sympathy or something that might make me feel better about the direction things are headed. I have seen a lot of evidence that we’re all suffering. The references to sleepless nights and crying are freakishly high and very similar. So we’re all lying around tired and puffy-eyed, and without a real solution. For that reason, I will spare you my screed and hope that in doing so, our collective load will lighten.

So while I feel like yelling and pointing fingers and scratching out eyeballs…and yes, crying…I will turn that energy into something productive. Maybe I’ll investigate what it is about Palin that makes me so angry. Maybe if I get to the bottom of it, I will release some sort of pressure valve. Maybe she’ll stop looking so evil to me if I am honest about the fact that she reminds me a little of myself. Not in a librarian-firing, choice-hating, hypocritical, aggressive, pitbull-with-lipstick kind of way, but in that she is trying to get ahead in the world, trying to make a difference and committed to her own beliefs to a maybe-dangerous degree. Let’s face it: We’ve all been that person. I know I have.

The bottom line is that Sarah reminds me of the me I used to be before I started taking responsibility for my thoughts and actions. It kills me that she is having “success” in the world and being “lauded” as a change-maker, when I often feel my own efforts to change myself and the world around me have fallen on deaf ears (maybe even like this and all my posts). I hate my inner Palin because I have been fighting her desire for attention and approval, for years.

Sarah, I will stop hating you now. You’re living life the best you know how–just like all of us. You’ve reminded me of the approval-seeking, opinionated, scared girl I once was, and still have inside me. I guess I should thank you for that. Now that I see her, I can deal with her…maybe even forgive her.

Now will that make you go away?
Baby steps. Baby steps.

Of course, she has many other qualities I appreciate, qualities that are more important in this life. But, over the years I have been a close observer and sometimes benefactress of this particular expertise and I can tell you with confidence: she’s got a gift.

So it was jarring when I received this email from her the other day:

SUBJECT: CHRISTMAS GIFTS
I’ve been thinking that perhaps we should exchange names among ourselves this year…I’m trying to pay attention to my consumption and cut down on unnecessary purchases, reuse bags and save the earth. (Dad says maybe I’m just cheap). I’d like to commit to buying nothing new for a year, except for food and hygiene, but I’m not there mentally yet! Santa would still have stockings for everyone…but there would only be one present for each of us. How do you feel about it???

What’s most striking to me about this email is that it is proof positive that the change in consumerism we have been talking about in marketing meetings and in the media is at hand. Possibly, it’s even bigger than we imagined.

For my mother (and me) shopping has never been solely about consumption. It’s been a cultural event: we’ve found beauty in the most unlikely of places, and then bought it. It’s been an act of love: bonding on shopping trips, comforting each other with gifts. For us, the act of shopping incorporates the thrill of the hunt, the ecstasy of a bargain, the sensual pleasures of sound, touch, smell, and sight…taste reserved for the lunch break. Shopping is a near biological imperative for my mom and me; we are most certainly descended from a mighty strong line of “gatherers.”

Reading this email, I felt a deep sense of pride and admiration. It’s hard to give up something that feeds a need in you, something that–let’s face it–is just plain fun. Of course, I agreed to the proposition wholeheartedly. And I intend to do whatever I can to help her find the strength to achieve her ultimate goal. Though I think that’s something she’s going to have to find within herself. You go, Mom.

The process my mother is going through should be a wake-up call to brands. The message: Make yourself indispensable. It’s going to get tougher to survive the screening process. Consumers are considering their purchases, and it’s not just closet space they’re worried about.

For my mother to make a decision so counter to her DNA, means business. This is about walking away from a personal passion for the greater good. And for every woman out there reassessing her love of shopping against the bigger issues–the economy, the state of the planet, a nagging sense (or absolute certainty) that happiness is not to be found in objects–there are many more who never really liked shopping that much in the first place. They’ve probably already walked away from your 2-for-1s and gifts-with-purchase.

If you are in the area, or interested in the topic, come join! I’d love to say to hello to a like mind.

On my way to work I stopped at the farmer’s market for a single tomato and two ears of corn for dinner. Short on time and low on space in my bike bag, I was determined to keep it at that despite the irresistible bounty of mid-summer. As I passed a pile of peaches, I wavered. They were a deep orange red, plump, and I could tell they were soft before I even touched one. I quickly chose two for dessert.

As I was walking away from the stand, an old man stopped me. He appeared to be homeless. The calm in his manner made me hesitate. As I looked into his sad brown eyes I saw they were cloudy with cataracts. He asked in a soft voice, “Could you help me out please and buy me a peach? I’m a little hungry.”

The specificity of the request moved me immediately. I reached into my bag and pulled out one of the big, beautiful peaches I’d just bought, “How about this?”

He took the peach, looked at it approvingly, turned and walked away. After a couple of steps I saw him take a bite. Walking along beside him I asked, genuinely curious, “How is it? Is it good?”

He nodded and continued on. His focus told me it was.

For a second I considered replacing it, but realized I didn’t have time. I hadn’t come for peaches in the first place, and though the thought of sharing those peaches with my husband made me happy, I was happier having given one to the old man. I was down a peach but uplifted. A fair trade, I thought.

A few minutes later, in another area of the farmers market I went to retrieve my bike. As I passed the last booth, a young man who was restocking his display, reached under the table into a box and pulled out a fruit. Without turning to look at me, he swung it behind his back and said, “Would you like a peach?” I looked around and then at him. “I’m offering you a peach,” he said and handed it to me. I took it, wondering if he wanted payment, but he had moved on. “Thanks,” I said to his back.

I stared at the peach as the old man had done. In awe at the perfect symmetry of the exchange, I stood there with the peach in my hand. I smiled as my senses extended beyond the fuzzy fruit and into the buzz of the farmer’s market as people raced around me. For a second I actually felt the rotation of the entire universe and all of us in it.

My partner and I had a phone call recently with a brand manager at a major consumer goods company. We’re planning to do some in-home research interviews for this company and we were on the phone explaining to her our process.

At one point we could tell we’d lost her. She was quiet in a way that suggested she was chewing on something we’d said earlier. Figuring it was a question related to the deliverable or the process, we paused for a check-in.

Her major concern? Where ever will you find these people?

At first we didn’t understand the question. Then we realized that the gulf between her understanding of the “consumer” and the idea of real people moving through their daily activities was so enormous it was stopping her in her tracks. She was looking at the data in front of her and listening to our description of the activities we planned to engage in with these people and the result was: does not compute. She couldn’t fathom where we might find a human being who could accurately embody the combination of numbers, pie charts, and graphs, she had come to know so intimately. Was it possible that the “Early Riser” might actually have a face, expressions, emotions? Might she be able to sit and have a conversation with a “Tired, But Still Fighting?” Or see with her own eyes the handwriting of the “List Checker?”

I wanted to shake her awake. I wanted to give the human being inside of the corporate android CPR. I wanted to yell, “Lady, these are not exotic creatures we’re talking about! This is not a zoo or a Petri dish! You are not so far removed from these beings you seek! There are at least two women on my block who fit your profile. They probably buy your products, and you know what? They’d be happy to talk to us about their lives. These people go to your grocery store. They sit next to you at the DMV. You play tennis with them. They are my neighbors and they are your neighbors. They’re human beings. Get up from behind that desk, walk outside, and take a look. You’ll find lots of them.”

Instead we calmly explained the mystery of how we find actual consumers–by phone, online, by asking around, by walking up to them on the street. I am not sure she was satisfied with the response, but we were able to move on. I left the call wondering how corporate culture can be so dehumanizing and then confused about why they have so much trouble reaching “the consumer.”

Now most of the music I hear is in yoga class.

Through much of my career as a pop culture theorist and brand strategist, my obsession with music served me well. Hip-hop music introduced me to cultural anthropology. As a teenager in Kentucky, I knew every lyric to Eazy-E’s Eazy-Duz-It, but it took years of investigation to figure out many of the South Central LA references. I loved the thrill of experiencing another culture through music.

Being attuned to music also helped me decode that most mystifying of target audiences: youth. For global youth culture, English is the language of communication, but music is the music of relating. I could access pretty much any international culture or homegrown subculture through its music. I was able to establish credibility with my subjects through an intricate game of name-dropping and code switching.

My love for the music was genuine, so the references were meaningful and always led to valuable conversations. Music was the bridge. Simply having been to see a particular artist or knowing about an upcoming album release could mean the difference between a surface-level engagement and true bonding. As long as I was up on music, I was in. I looked at people older than me on the subway with their pathetic iPod selections and outdated playlists and thought: OLD. I formed the naïve belief that losing my grip on music would signal not just the end of youth for me, but the end of my career in pop culture.

Yes, I had a tendency in those days towards black or white thinking.

A few years and life changes later, I started to feel my grasp on popular music slipping. At first I blamed my increasing musical obliviousness on the rising level of difficulty of staying abreast of new music. The industry was splintered, the channels too varied and too plentiful. There were suddenly too many genres, too many Sirius stations. I just couldn’t find the time to cruise MySpace looking for new music. Internet phenoms like Lilly Allen escaped me completely. I tried to ignore the early warning signs by immersing myself in back issues of Paste.

Then the other day it hit me: it’s no accident that I am still listening to a playlist called “New Years Eve 2007.” Hey, I like the songs and haven’t gotten around to creating “Summer Mix 2008.” And there’s no excuse for the fact that the new music samplers I receive from an indie magazine editor have started to pile up on my desk unopened. Then there was the night a couple of weeks ago when some friends had a cookout with the intention of heading over to the band shell in Prospect Park afterwards to see Cold War Kids. As dinner ran long, I realized I was happier talking to my friends in the comfort of the apartment than venturing out into the unknown to see a band I knew by name only.

It was time for me to own up to the fact that I was slipping. As the idea gained momentum, I realized the best remedy for slipping is to just let go. It was time for me to let go of this idea that music=youth. With a sense of relief, I put it up on the shelf of discarded youthful delusions along with: “fame is the key to happiness,” “nothing worthwhile happens before midnight,” and “it’s better to be overdressed.”

Suddenly, this quality that had defined me for so long was gone and I didn’t care a lick. This is the beauty of being older that young people cannot understand and refuse to believe. Your priorities shift as you get older and man, it’s nice. You are no longer the center of your universe. Your tastes do not define you. Those people I once pitied on the subway? They couldn’t have cared less that I had the new Sia CD before anyone else. Now, as is often the case in life, I am “them.”

The verdict is in: I am now musically passé. Which is fine with me personally, but what does it mean for my ability to relate to subcultures, different cultures, and that most elusive of all cultures: youth?

Thankfully, I’ve found I have lost my grip but I have not lost my ability to relate to anyone, least of all young people. Growing up and out of the insular euphoria of youth has actually given me greater perspective. I’ve learned: 1) you don’t need to relate to youth to understand them. My ability to listen and empathize has improved markedly as I’ve grown into myself. I’ve found that for the most part, young people are quite adept at self-analysis. They spend a lot of time thinking about themselves and their place in the world. A few good conversations, and I can access the information I need to understand how kids today are just like I was, we all were, only with slightly different idols and objects; 2) when it comes to understanding those differences, there’s no substitute for having a few smart young people on hand to set you straight. I never do a project that revolves around youth without a solid team of youth to back me up. Just recently I completed a global survey of pop culture for a major clothing retailer. The whole project revolved around the input of 20somethings. I stepped back as they weighed in with their firsthand experience. My job was to merely steer their magnificent energy and observations in the right direction.

It’s funny. In the last year, just as I have relaxed into the idea of growing up and settling down, I have been called on by more brands and companies to help decode youth culture. I have worked on healthy beverages for tweens, beauty products for young women, jeans for urban youth, soft drinks for teens…just a week ago I was asked by a major cosmetics company to come explain teen female sexuality.

I believe it’s no coincidence. I think I am actually better at understanding youth than ever before. As an adult (not a kidult or a grup) there are fewer assumptions and there’s less of a need to be right. I can be curious. I can ask questions without worrying about seeming out of it. I can see the forest for the trees. Not being in the middle of the action has turned out to be a great asset.

Just the other day I walked into a cool shoe shop on Lafayette. I found something to buy and approached the counter. On the wall behind the sales girl a music video was playing that caught my attention. As I was paying, I gestured to the video and said, “What’s that?” The girl, who couldn’t have been more than 16, studied me for a second and said, “Uh, that’s hip-hop?” I didn’t push for more and didn’t bother to tell her I had been there for the birth of hip-hop. I just paid for my shoes and left, smiling. She thought I was out of it. She didn’t know how right she was.

A Moment of Clarity
March 2, 1966
“A flash of sanity: the momentary realization that there is no need to come to certain conclusions about persons, events, conflicts, trends, even trends towards evil and disaster, as if from day to day, and even from moment to moment, I had to know and declare (at least to myself) that this is so and so, this is good, this is bad. We are heading for a “new era” or we are heading for destruction. What do such judgments mean? Little or nothing. Things are as they are in an immense whole of which I am a part and which I cannot pretend to grasp. To say I grasp it is to immediately put myself in a false position, as if I were “outside” it. Whereas to be “in” it is to seek the truth in my own life and action, moving where movement is possible and keeping still when movement is unnecessary, realizing that things will continue to define themselves and that the judgments and mercies of God will clarify themselves and will be more clear to me if I am silent and attentive, obedient to His will, rather than constantly formulating statements in this age which is smothered in language, in meaningless and inconclusive debate in which, in the last analysis, nobody listens to anything except what agrees with his own prejudices.” –A Year with Thomas Merton: Daily Meditations from His Journals

There is so much wisdom encapsulated in this journal entry I hate to take it into a business context, but it did strike me deeply as a writer (often welding words onto experiences) and recovering trendspotter.

Trends have become a crutch in marketing. Companies unable to open their eyes to their current reality crane their necks forward, looking for the sure thing that will get them to the future first.

In my own life and professional practice, I have stopped trying to harness the future, and have instead focused my senses and instincts on getting to the truth that is the present moment. When companies hire me to do trends, I tell them that I won’t guarantee the future, but what I can do is bring them a multi-dimensional, inspirational, accurate, and thought-provoking portrait of what is. What they do with that is up to them…and that is the future. It’s not something that happens to you, it’s something you make yourself.

I do not know what hypnosis will get you that an honest conversation between two respectful people can’t. As a sometimes-reluctant marketer, I insist on absolute transparency with consumers. I do not conduct interviews under false pretenses and I will not run a workshop or discussion where the participants are not briefed in advance on the purpose and use of their contribution. More often than not, when my team and I leave an interview with a consumer we have made a friend. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Using hypnosis to disarm consumers is the kind of “stunt” marketers love to flaunt in front of clients. The article refers to the practice as a “secret weapon.” Weapon against what? Consumers? PEOPLE? I am all for using unconventional means to generate insights, but this seems devious and unnecessarily so.

I actually saw some of the raw footage of one of these groups a few months ago over the shoulder of a colleague. As I walked past, the stultifying background and bad audio signaled the familiar footage of a focus group, but the half-closed eyes and dreamy speech of the participants was different…creepy.

What magical insight was being imparted? What depths of the subconscious were laid bare on the table? When asked to describe the experience of biting into a certain classic snack cracker, the response was a deep, meaningful and breathy, “Mmmmmm, butter-y.”

When I snap my fingers, your dignity will be restored. Snap!