Ivanka enters in a cool navy shrug-with-vest outfit. She's so cool. Tammy gets that PM voice they always get when the Viceroys enter, but tones it down more than most: "How are we going to capture people's attention?" Brent wants to go with a health message, about weight loss, and wants to have a bathroom scale feature heavily into the image. Which is, I suppose, an original concept in that nobody has ever used it, but the whole accusatory campaign is a very dicey one. Even a gym campaign is usually predicated more on either incredibly sexy, headless people working out in a sweaty, sexy way ("You could fuck this lady if you lost some pounds!") or on how fun and not-at-all inconvenient or heart-killing the experience will be ("Come to Curves! An invigorating obstacle course hidden far from the sight of menfolk!") -- only actual weight-loss programs occasionally stray into "Go weigh yourself right this second, fatty," and even then they have a seemingly friendly moderately-weighted lady telling you how great it's going to be. (Although I will tell you right now if the price of weight loss is having to hang out with Kirstie Alley's crazy ass, I'd rather be fat.) Allie also points out that this strategy wouldn't really point up the "newness" of the PGNTMC, because "the old Grape-Nuts was healthy, too," which is very insightful and a good response. Since nobody knows what they are talking about besides Brent, he registers this less as an acknowledgment and rebuttal, and more of an outright rejection based on playground politics. His face falls. If this didn't happen, it wouldn't be Brent. Much like the next thing that happens: Tammy asks for other ideas, and Brent has one: "Try [PGNTMC], and kick-start your ten pounds-plus weight loss today!" Everybody is irritated and Tammy makes Brent agree -- to Ivanka's subtle nod -- that this is old ground and that they should be moving on. He does so graciously. It's not that sophisticated to remark on the irony of Brent's diet obsession, but I will say this: he's got the aspirational market down pat. He looks at the product and thinks, "What would make me buy this?" And there are two answers that you can count on: "I will magically lose weight and somehow thus become likable," and/or "the hands of a stranger on my naked, pale flesh." Which makes him a good guinea pig. But the point of advertising is being able to jump back and forth over that fence: I'll buy it, but I'm not the only audience. What's the broadest possible appeal? In other words, asking Brent to consider the thoughts and needs of other people, which makes him half of a valuable team member on this marketing task. Which is half more than usual. In other words: