A Monthly Meditation on Branding and Language From Your Favorite Copy
Shop, Editorial
Emergency
#30 (July 31, 2009):
This Time It's Personal
This issue explores the resume as personal
branding; proffers a semi-tutorial on that everyday punctuation hero the semicolon; cheers a nerd-rock masterpiece
from the '70s; and jeers an indigestible combo platter of Not Our Clients. Speaking personally, we think it'll work
for you. Read on.
The Resume as Personal Branding
It's no secret that competition for jobs is fiercer than ever. And as the stacks of
resumes grow taller and the eyes of HR staff grow wearier, it behooves the thoughtful candidate to find a way to
make that rectangle of type into something more than a wan recital of past tasks and responsibilities.
That document is your ambassador, so it needs to do more than rehash old job descriptions; it needs to pique the peaked attention of overburdened employers.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the resume as personal branding tool.
"Consider your resume the same way you think of your business card, your website, your interview outfit, your everything. It's all part of a promotional package that tells me who you are," insists recruiter Keva Dine of The Keva Dine Agency, Inc., who not only screens candidates for her employer clients but also offers "custom-branded resumes" via the subsidiary TKDAResume* (and whose insights into personal branding for job-seekers could fill several issues of Editorializing). "If I don't 'get' you after reading your resume — skimming it, if you want the truth — you haven't effectively differentiated, or branded, yourself."
Red Pen Diaries: Semicolons — Not Just for Winking
Admit it — you're afraid of semicolons.
Lots of folks, even professional writers, will cop to this phobia. No fear? Prove it (or engage in a little immersion
therapy) by reviewing the following pairs of independent clauses and identifying the ones that would be better
served by a semicolon than the period you see there now.
A. The milkweeds clearly needed watering. Their leaves were drooping in the blistering midday sun.
B. The hillside landscape glows rose-gold. The hummingbirds dart hither and yon among the pitcher
sage.
C. The adolescent red-tailed hawk couldn't quite get his lines right. Instead of the piercing, high-lonesome
cry heard in so many Westerns, all he managed was a squawk.
D. I saw a cat on the driveway devouring a lizard, the reptile's lower half contorting in protest as it
disappeared between the predator's jaws. I recall there being a cat in our neighbor's house when we gave him his
mail, but I couldn't be certain this was the one.
E. The Plumeria flower has a delicious vanilla-bean aroma. I'd like to make ice cream out of it.
1976 was a transitional year for pop. Glam was in its death throes, morphing into stack-heeled
bubblegum;
"progressive" rock had climbed to ever-airier reaches of complexity; blues-rock was losing steam; punk was on the
horizon. That was the year 801 made its lasting, uncategorizable contribution to the pantheon.
Less a band than a sort of floating side project, 801 was largely a platform for musical adventurer Brian Eno,
who'd donned mascara and ostrich feathers as synthesizer player for U.K. art-rockers Roxy Music, and Roxy guitar
wizard Phil Manzanera.
Eno parted ways with RM after the release of their 1973 sophomore album, spending the next several years creating his own warped, playful pop on
records like "Here Come the Warm Jets," "Before and After Science," "Another Green World" and "Taking Tiger
Mountain by Strategy."
We know "Mediterranean" isn't the easiest word to spell. But we've never seen it quite so awfully,
falafel-y mangled:
Best of all, this is the NAME of the establishment in question (which also does "katering," in case you want to
entrust them with your next party). They spelled it right on their sign, but whoever drew the short straw and had to
get business cards printed up probably shouldn't be given any future branding assignments.
Hungry for more? Dig into our latest piping-hot Not Our Clients here. And if a sign, article, web
page, bench ad or other message has killed your appetite, drop it in a virtual doggie bag and send it to us at post haste. If we choose to serve it up in a
subsequent issue, we'll send you a delicious iTunes Music Store gift card. (Oh, and belated thanks to dedicated reader Lena Potapova for contributing the notorious "Secretery" ad to our previous issue.)
Editorial Emergency
puts
words in your mouth.
Assuming
you're a marketer, creative, lifestyler, publicist,
artist and/or do-gooder who wants to connect with and persuade
consumers. We've worked for
these kinds of
clients on this kind of
stuff.
In case of editorial emergency, break glass and call ...
(323) 259-5876 e-mail: surf:
www.editorialemergency.com send checks: 2062 Panamint Drive, Los Angeles, CA 90065
It's no secret that competition for jobs is fiercer than ever. And as the stacks of
resumes grow taller and the eyes of HR staff grow wearier, it behooves the thoughtful candidate to find a way to
make that rectangle of type into something more than a wan recital of past tasks and responsibilities.
Admit it — you're afraid of semicolons.
1976 was a transitional year for pop. Glam was in its death throes, morphing into stack-heeled
bubblegum;
"progressive" rock had climbed to ever-airier reaches of complexity; blues-rock was losing steam; punk was on the
horizon. That was the year 801 made its lasting, uncategorizable contribution to the pantheon.
