Deodorant. Someone’s got to make it. The human race need to use it. If we didn’t, we’d smell like turnips, broth and wee like we did in the olden days.
But do there really need to be eleventy thousand different types? They all do the same thing, sealing up your salty pit-pores with a thick layer of (possibly carcinogenic) chemicals so Brian who you share an office with doesn’t think you’re a stinky minger.
There’s deodorant for men, for women, for teenagers, for your hoo-hah, for babies, the list is endless…
You’d think that the market was saturated with anti-sweat products, but Suralun disagrees. this week (you’ve guessed it) the Apprentlings will have to design and market their own brand of smell repellent.
Might be tricky to find a gap in a market that already includes cat deodorant, but you know what they say: if you can’t take the heat, spray yourself with stuff that’ll seal every iota of sweat inside your body until you end up looking like a distressed water balloon and/or explode.
See you at 9!
9pm: Blah blah blah, teenagers, blah blah blah, all over the country, blah blah blah Britain’s brightest, blah blah blah this is not a talent show.
Yes it is. Lord Sir Alan is looking for talent, and this is a show. Someone should direct him to the Apprentice Wikipedia page.
We’re reminded that last week the young people went to an old people’s show to sell overpriced guff to the infirm: shopping trolleys, hairnets, catfood, new hips etc.
Lewis was fired, almost certainly because no one in London could understand his Scouse accent. They probably thought he was some kind of rare gull.
9.04pm The Youths have been summoned to Wembley stadium for what has to be the most tenuous Tenuous Briefing ever. “Yer in Wembley, and people get excited ‘ere, which results in an unpleasant byproduct”
What: Riots? Sectarian violence? Incontinence?
Oh, it’s sweat.
Zara is made Project Manager of either Kinetic or Atomic. Again, as I can’t remember which kind of energy she’s captaining I’m going to make it up. She’s henceforth in charge of Team Elastic Potential.
Harry M is in charge of the other team: Magnets.
Team Magnets want to go for the female market. And by ‘team magnets’ I mean ‘Harry’, who’s more dictatorial than a herd of Hitlers.
As far as I can tell, they’ve decided to call their deodorant ‘Manatee’. Bit harsh. I know fat ladies tend to sweat slightly more, but there’s no need to be so hurtful.
Oh, it’s ‘Vanity’. Never mind.
9.09pm: Zara’s team go for a 24 hour deodorant idea. So, like all other deodorants on the market then. Hmm.
However the market researchers announce that their boy-focus group hated that idea. They don’t want a deodorant that can be used all day, they want one that’s more ‘special’ and aftershavey. You know, for night time.
So, they’ve decided to invent Lynx. *slow hand clap*
9.13pm: Lizzie and Gbemi from Team Magnets are off to meet their product designers, constantly interrupted in the car by calls from Harry who thinks the bottle should have ‘big bold’ (i.e. pink) colours. Because ladies like colours. And mirrors. And they’re vain.
Good to see that feminism is alive and well.
9.15pm: Gbemi choses a vanity mirror for the bottle design. Nick thinks it looks ‘ancient’. More ancient than him, in fact.
Nick, there’s nothing more ancient than you. Your face looks like pyramids and dust.
9.17pm: It’s the day of the advert shoot. Team Elastic Potential get their horrible deodorant, ‘Raw’, delivered to a leisure centre. Raw? Really? It sounds like a shaving rash.
Over in Team Magnets, Harry is telling James to ‘park it up’ and ‘focus on the task’. He then apologises to the girls, presumably for offending their delicate, pink, vain little ears with his manly, lumberjack-shirt clad blokewords.
James and Harry haven’t planned a storyboard for their ad. At all. Nick holds up what was meant to be their plot: it’s a series of blank rectangles. If there’s a joke there, I can’t quite reach it: but it’s probably about them being a bit dim.
Team Elastic Potential aren’t doing much better. They’ve kidnapped one of the members of Diversity they got to dance with as a prize back in Week Two and are making him perform inhuman feats of leg-kicking, back flipping, MC-Hammer crab dancing and body-popping. So much so, Karren points out, that his face is covered in sweat.
D’oh! They forgot to spray him in the face!
9.27pm: Time for the pitch. Team EP show their energetic man advert although sadly his sweat moustache, begging, tears and exhausted trembling have been edited out. The panel ask some fairly easy questions about demographics, what young people want etc. They get off fairly lightly.
Over to Team Magnets. They show their advert: an ‘unattractive’ (i.e. glasses-wearing) girl chicken dancing in a bog standard nightclub. She sprays herself with ‘Girl Lynx’ and two handsome chaps come and join in her nonsense-boogy.
The pitchees ask whether they think the ad is ‘aspirational’ enough. Ah, I see: it’s ok for an ugly bloke to use man-deodorant to get hot, semi clad ladies to pursue him but it doesn’t work the other way round, apparently. Also, they wonder whether the mirror design is appropriate for a deodorant. Um, well, it’s called ‘Vanity’ and it’s a vanity mirror, so I’m going to go with ‘yes’.
9.34pm: The boardroom, and the moment where Suralun gets to look at the Z-movie horrors his money has created. It’s a wonder he’s not gone utterly insane: how many utterly terrible adverts has the poor man had to sit through in all his years of Apprentice-hunting? Wake up call, Octi-Kleen, Treasure Flakes…the list goes on and on.
Actually, that last one was pretty good.
Lordshugga points out that Raw isn’t a very good name for a product that might irritate skin. Thank goodness he didn’t hear their rejected ideas: Flayed, Burny and OhmygodgetitoffGETITOFFaargh.
9.41pm: Lord Alan announces that TEAM ELASTIC POTENTIAL (a.k.a. Team Raw, a.k.a. Atomic) have won the deodorant task! Not sure how the panel decided. They probably tested it on animals:
Rabbit: “Arrgh! That advert’s awful”
9.45pm: Team EP head off for their treat: Alan’s ‘laid on’ a stunt plane for them. The pilot chap looks a bit, um, er…dodgy. Let’s hope a man in a pilot’s uniform doesn’t run out of a nearby building going ‘Hey! Who stole my plane?” once they take off.
9.46pm: Team Magnets are facing a grilling from the Lord of Alan. Harry doesn’t think he’s responsible for the failure: he thinks the others weren’t an easy team to manage and that James was disruptive because he pointed out mid-task that Harry should probably do some work.
Darn him, what a cad!
9:50pm: Harry brings Gbemi and James back into the boardroom. Harry calls James a ‘Hive of Negativity’, sadly missing the point that he himself is a Gigantic Wasps-Nest of Uselessness.
Gbemi has a go at Harry, ‘It’s not all about YOU, Harry M!” she cries, pronouncing the letter M in exactly the same tone someone else might say ‘massive fuckbasket’.
9.54pm: Alan points out that Harry is always in the losing team. He says James came into the process like a ‘bull in a china shop’ but that he’s improved a bit over the last few weeks. Gbemi was the can’s designer: he thinks that was the main culprit of the failure of the task.
He ums and ahs, flips and flops, sweats and then applies some RAW, looks shifty and then fires:
Well, that’s pretty much entirely unfair. Harry M deserved to get the bum’s rush, but apparently being more posh than the lovechild of Prince Phillip and a rare 18th century porcelain vase from the Qing dynasty makes for good television.
So what do YOU think of that result, eh? Did you think it smelled worse than a Vanity-soaked teenager, or was as sweet as Vanilla Impulse? Leave your thoughts in the comment box below and I’ll see you here next week.
You can follow Hilary on the Twitters: she’s @Hilary_W