In Trump times SIZE really matters. Except for maybe Italians who love their espresso, nobody wants a small cup of coffee, or small anything else, least of all President Trump who as candidate Trump would continually complain about the media not showing how immense were the crowds at his rallies.
Today it’s all about size. It’s the era of the not-so-nuanced, sometimes naughty noun that means the relative extent of something—the almighty, all telling, all-defining size.
Is that wise? Or wise that, you ask?
Because SIZE matters. Simple as that!
It always has and now in Trump times, it always will keep coming up again and again, looming higher and higher as a bigger and bigger measure of importance, maybe omnipotence, power and prophesy.
How big was the crowd on Inauguration Day? Was the size of the Woman’s March on Washington bigger?
The noun born in the bedroom as the measure of a man’s ability to please a woman even came up large during the GOP campaign for president. It was the innuendo behind a remark aimed at the relatively small hands of then candidate Trump.
Do small hands mean small something else?
That was the joking implication behind a remark by the candidate whom Trump would derogatively refer to during the campaign as “little Marco.” This was little Marco’s provocative inference when he made the remark during the Presidential debates. It was vigorously batted down and emphatically denied by a sexually triumphant Trump during one of the campaign’s not-so uplifting moments?
And more recently size matters reared its Microcephaly head in questions about the size of the crowd that marched for life, then how large were the numbers of protesters at airports across the country following President Trump’s temporary ban on travelers from seven predominantly Muslim countries known for their ties to terrorists?
This whole focus on size reminds me of a PR campaign I did a few years ago during my peripatetic career in promoting dietary supplements. I had my own run in with size, the size of women’s thighs. I called it “Thighs Matter.”
I was promoting a product called Cellasene, a pill that allegedly reduced the unattractive cellulite bulging in women’s thighs. It was supposed to fight cellulite from the inside out. I started the campaign for my erstwhile client Rexall Sundown handing out “Don’t Panic” buttons, promising there would be enough Cellasene to go around and I made store clerks wear them on their lapels at Duane Reade drugstores in Manhattan.
After arranging a huge eight-minute segment on NBC DATELINE followed by stories on other national TV shows and articles in hundreds of newspapers and magazines, my client sold $54 million worth of the Thighs Matter product. I collected a cool $1 million fee, one of the biggest I ever earned for one campaign. And shortly afterward Rexall Sundown’s fortunate founder Carl DeSantis sold the company for $1.6 billion.
It all proved once again that size or thighs matter. And probably always will.