Recently, I stumbled across the world’s worst drink. A drink that made claims so outrageous that I had to read it three times to make sure it meant what I thought it did.
It did.
I love exposing scams, so I started writing a debunking article in my head. It would be headlined “Snake Oil In a Can,” and was going to start with an anecdote of me drinking it.
I checked with a medical friend to ensure that the claim was as outrageous as I thought it was (it was), and went so far as to contact a consumer lawyer to learn more about the legalities of the product’s claim.
And, of course, I contacted the PR agency representing the product, requesting an interview with the founders.
That’s when the problems started
The agency staff were thrilled that I was going to write about it. Mistaking me for an influencer, they asked me if I could write an article to coincide with the product’s re-launch. They were all young and, judging by their enthusiasm, hadn’t been able to drum up much media attention for their client.That made me feel awkward. I didn’t want to be the asshole who accepted their help, only to blow them up. Not cool.
But I did want to write the story.
So I prevaricated and said I didn’t want an exclusive, and I didn’t want to be held to a specific date. Also, I was travelling, so could we do it later…?
As it happened, another journalist expressed interest, so they stopped emailing me so much, and just sent me some samples. I opened them in the company of a friend. Much like swamp water, the drink tasted as if it had been created by people who didn’t know anything about taste, consistency or texture. Or who maybe didn’t care.
Then things got weird.
The pressure mounted
The other journalist backed out and the PR agency began to pursue me relentlessly, sending me multiple emails reminding me that I could have an interview. Finally, they sent me an email saying that I had promised to do the interview, that I owed them. “Please, please,” they wrote. If they could do anything to make the article happen, they would.
The fact that they were so desperate told me they weren’t getting any attention. And that made me stop and think about whether I should be writing about it at all. See, there’s something called the “mere exposure effect”, which means the more familiar something is, the more people develop positive feelings towards it — so if you talk about it, you boost it, even if you’re being critical.*
I wrote back and told them I wasn’t going to pursue it.
I can only imagine what they said about me when they got that.
What they don’t understand is that me backing out saved their client from a disastrous article.
The situation reminded me of wine press trips where regional bodies schlep busloads of journalists and influencers to their member wineries — not all of which are newsworthy. The wineries lay on the hospitality, but never get any coverage. I’ve heard winery owners complain bitterly about this. It’s understandable. They have given time, attention and hospitality, to get nothing in return.
Silence can be a gift
People who write about drinks for a living are generally people who love, more than anything, finding something wonderful to write about. That’s how wine and spirits writers make their reputations. If they see something good, they pounce.
Any beverage maker who simply cannot get anybody to feature their drink, no matter how many samples or press kits they send out, should think seriously about why that is. It could be that the silence is telling them something loud and clear — that their product isn’t very good.
Or that it’s really bad, and they’re lucky that nobody is writing about it.
As for Snake Oil In a Can… the FDA has opened an investigation.
*The mere exposure effect is why I’m not naming the product or the claim.
The views and opinions expressed in the Devil's Advocate pieces are those of the writer, and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of the publication. They are intended to provoke discussion and debate. If you would like to offer your own response to this or any other article, please email the editor-in-chief, Anja Zimmer at zimmer@meininger.de.
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