Striking: There is no better time to place such perfectly staged ads with lots of skin than in late fall, when it is really cold and frosty outside

There's no better time to place such perfectly staged ads with lots of skin than in late fall, when it's really cold and frosty outside, when even the trees are shedding their leaves, and when the chicken skin only recedes after the second Maggi Quick soup. What's the point of that now? Shoes are advertised on both ads, once topless and once bottomless. The perky-eyed Ernesto Esposito model is allowed to pose her hip curves amid newly rubberized tires, while the freshly shaved boy is just about to burst his tight-fitting pants. Still, both ads come across as so aesthetically pleasing that you don't know whether you'd rather give her a nice pat on the backside or help him unbutton his tight pants. One thing is as certain as the first fresh snow - once again only Chandra Kurt thinks of new shoes.
Column

Two twins By Dominik Imseng
An idea is "good" if it is "reduced to the essentials" and that means: "reducing to the essentials" is something that local creatives in particular never tire of proclaiming. Yes, Frank Bodin, who writes for "Kult" but is actually chairman of Euro RSCG Switzerland, goes so far as to talk about "essentialism" because he has a high school diploma.
However: Frank Bodin is mistaken, and it is mistaken with him who thinks that essentiality is suitable for the evaluation of ideas. Ideas are always essential, otherwise they would not be, because the word "idea" comes from the ancient Greek "eidos", which means "being". And in this respect, there are no "good" ideas, which is a little sad, but there are no "bad" ones either, which is comforting, especially when you can't think of anything useful.
"What did the twins look like?" "I don't know, but there were two of them." - So redundant, so unessential it is to speak of "essentialist" ideas. Which is why it is precisely those who shout "Reduced to the max" at every opportunity who have to put up with the reproach of being "doubly duplicated".
Smart-ass, you think? True, but it goes a few lines further. Because what's more, as Frank Bodin, I would be wary of providing the same definition of creativity as Danielle Lanz, for example, or Tamás Kiss. Just as I wouldn't be caught dead using the phrase "getting to the point." Or with "dramatize the product benefits in a surprising way." Or with "don't take the consumer for a fool." Instead, I'd talk about an idea bringing rain to deserts. Or cures diseases. Or reconciles enemies. Or no: I would talk about good advertising being art.
That would be something new.
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Dominik Imseng is a copywriter at Jung von Matt/Limmat.
Language Observer

Blind text (IV) for cutting off Last night Franz told me about a country - it's called Astoria or Allotria or something like that - where everything is much more beautiful and better than in all the countries he has already seen. He couldn't even tell me where this country was on the map. He was just trying to make me like his version of paradise. "And do you know what the most beautiful thing is?" he said at the end: "There, people don't drink because they are sad, but out of joy!" We're moving. The house has been too big to clean up. While washing, Simi discovers a scar under his collarbone in front of the mirror that he had not noticed before. He can't remember ever having been injured in this place and runs his hand under his sweater again and again during the course of the day. Before Anna can even address the first word to the new class, she discovers a note on her desk: "I'll never love a grown-up, even if I grow up myself one day." Last weekend I visited Alexandra, who has lunar sand at home and the logbook of Apollo 13. If you told her she could take part in an experiment on how to die in space, she would leave immediately. If one considers the material reality as real, the reality created in the computer actually seems comparatively unreal. However, if one considers that in the meantime a single incorrectly set bit can trigger a catastrophe, then this idea abruptly tips over into its opposite, and a kind of merging of two levels of reality occurs. In the evening, Yvonne doesn't want to eat the cake because there isn't enough cream on it, and when her mother says that she should just leave it, that there isn't any more cream, the little girl says gloomily, well, then she'll call the starving man now, and if she dies then, it's all her mother's fault. Robi Mahrer is now 85 and can't remember anything. The only thing he has is his body, and even there he is not quite sure. Linda is late, but she doesn't hurry, because she will be late soon enough. It's only a few minutes then. When I woke up in the morning, Mike was standing in my room, in overalls, and he was bossing around three painters, they had already covered the furniture. He said to me rather casually that if I would also get up slowly, they could start. Karin writes that little Simon has begun to divide the world into things with motors, things with voices, flowers and unimportant things. Joukie looks for a job. She sits on a chair that doesn't belong to her, at a table that doesn't belong to her, eats an apple that doesn't belong to her, nothing belongs to her, but she's allowed to be here, she works here, she's told, on machines that don't belong to her, the others say it too, and she goes on saying it, because they pay her for it, she marvels herself, it's really incredible. In the parking lot in the underpass Andi, Role and Sybil argue about the name of an actor. Parents, Bude, Tom, Märk, Pesche, Anna, Sonja, Petra, X is written next to the keys of the phone, and of course she presses X to see who that might be. "Well?" she marvels, because the display shows her own number, and in the evening she asks him, "You, why am I only an X on your phone?" He replies, "that's a crossed-out nothing." - "That's another thing about evolution," Hubi picks up the thread again and points to the sky, "that's really the idea of an aging major, a senile old gentleman. The stronger eats the weaker - what catastrophic nonsense!" Colleague Kurer is now in his ninth year of studying at the University of Zurich, and still no degree, not even a small midterm, is in sight. What he is actually studying is impossible to get out of him. Presumably he has embarked on the difficult career of the Jenachdemiker. We were standing on a hill, leaning against the trunks of a group of sunlit trees, there was snow, someone was smoking, shots were popping now and then in the valley, their echoes echoing off the Jura ranges, there was a tank barricade somewhere, someone was saying something, someone was laughing, and I suddenly understood why the Swiss sense of home is so inextricably linked to the military. "As soon as they get a Porsche," Tom says, "I'll be a member of the car cooperative, too." - "No, Evi, you can't do that, you already canceled last week and the week before last, too ..." - "So what. Listen, it really can't be done, this is very important to me, and we can meet next week, what's the big deal?" - "I ... you are by far the most cancelled name in my agenda ..."
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