Mark, and the rest of Excel, want the campaign to be "dramatically different." They totally succeed. Especially if they mean "dramatically different from anything that will let you sleep through the night without waking up in a cold damn sweat." Adam talks about the idea of "magic," the "magic" of Dairy Queen, and they decide on Ginny, the DQ Genie. I find it interesting because DQ kind of already has a female mascot, even if you never see her, and that's the Queen Of All That Is Dairy, and I'd rather see Mark dressed up as that than as the stuff of nightmares. Josh hype-talks to the crew about how Ginny is, for a young kid, "motherly," while to a tween, it's "sexy." Gross, gross, gross. I mean, I get it, and people in Japan dress up like Ronald McDonald and fuck each other, and Betsy Braddock can get her legs behind her head, but you are talking about fucking a person made of ice cream, okay, and the ice cream person you're fucking? Is wearing a fez.
In counterpoint to Alla's hatred of the conventional wisdom and truism of "brand as product," Clay squeals that her belt buckle should be "totally DQ!" I have not told you what it looks like yet. It's like Predator in that way: you never see the whole thing at once, and then...you totally do! And you scream! Randal tells us, very fucking optimistically, that people "will want to hang out with her, they'll want to do...everything with her." (Beat.) "And come get a Blizzard!" The delivery on this is really, really cute and hard to describe, but Randal is really funny. Mark accompanies Clay to what Clay calls "izzyquierredo studio" for the costume design.
Once at Izquierdo, which is totally normal word everybody knows, especially if they're from frigging TEXAS, Clay asks them, brilliantly, for "a genie from Alaska or Antarctica," and the design people nod, because they get it, because all advertising people are the same and they say this shit all the time. He wants her "almost edible," with "flowing hair like ice cream," "fairly large" breasts, and lots of DQ "bling." I get it, it's great, but it's like watching a Lamborghini going through a tunnel at a thousand miles an hour: Nothing has changed, and it never will. The Izquierdans ask who will be dressing up as Ginny, so they can start measuring for the costume, and the guys are somewhat flummoxed. But see, they were meant to design a costume, for one thing, and the other: this show is designed to humiliate you. Which part of this memo have you still not received? Mark steps up, so to speak, and offers without a second's pause.
Clay finds this bizarre. Why? Has he ever met another Southern guy before? He likens it to being a "drag queen." Why? Because it's a costume of a female person? That's dumb. This is dumb. The established gender roles going on here mean that nothing's being called into question, it's just a razz, and anyway, without any implications about Mark happening, this is more like dressing up like anything he considers kind of dumb or inferior. Something completely non-him like that. Missquierda is like, "This is a drawing of a woman. But you're wearing it?" And Mark smiles in an incredibly charming fashion: "Right. Give me boobs and a nice mask." He interviews that his "good old redneck buddies" have ever seen a "drag diva queen" (a what now?) like "[he] will be." Southern boys are all the same. Boy cheerleaders get so much ass, you guys, and at least once a year the football team dresses up like big scary girls to cheer a Powder Puff game, but if you let them do it, they'd prefer that every day, like, over anything but maybe Homecoming, they'd do it, because it's hilarious to them. It's not gay, it's just Texas. Well, Kentucky, but you know what I mean. "If I'm gonna have boobs, I want 'em big." Again with the huge, awesome smile, and I think Mark's fairly charming after all, you guys.